After the non-success of Digs, I suggested to Hippo that we go down-home, and she suggested that we go to Ao Sen, a Vietnamese pho joint back in my old ‘hood, when I was still living and eating alone.
Reflecting on our visit brings a flood of memories - of days alone gorging on Church’s chicken, fishing for edible boxed goods at Albertson’s, dishing out ATM fees at the local non-Citibank ATM and watching movies alone, beer in hand, at the Parkway, after a day’s work at the almost always, almost all black (and no doubt almost always struggling) local coffee shop. None of this was on my mind, though, as we parked along the curb across the street from the neighborhood’s very own rent-a-Segway-in-Oakland business mistake, housed next to our final destination: the noodle resto we were most fond of in hidden Little Vietnam near Lake Merritt.
The noodle shop was home to an all-Vietnamese lunch crowd, and what was perhaps a multiple-species fly infestation.
No worries. Pho tastes better with protein, traditionally of the raw or cooked beef variety, but hey…maybe a little fly is the secret that makes Ao Sen at least among the top three pho places in the area.
Let me editorialize a bit here. I have no idea what goes into making proper pho broth, but I do know one thing: it’s the broth, stupid. It’s not the Niman Ranch steak you throw into the broth because you and your diners -cough…at Noodle Theory…cough- can afford it.
A steaming bowl of tripe, steak, brisket and noodles.
Anyway, I don’t remember much except a wave of nostalgia hit me as I drank that very first sip of that rich beef flank, beef brisket, beef tendon, beef tripe-infused beef broth (oh yah, there’s the seasoning too…). “Man, we sure haven’t had this in a while,” was I all I could say to Hippo, recalling the other night’s Whatever F-ing Ranch flank steak.
Of course, after the first sip - you know, to respect the actual flavor of the thing - I go to town: Hoisin, fish sauce, Siracha, two more kinds of chili sauce, jalapeno, bean sprouts, some Viet herb (”ngo gai”), basil, basil, basil, lime. Hey, whatever about purity, man. This is like a pho buffet after a night full of drunken haute-dining tomfoolery. Besides, the flies sharing my meal can’t taste subtlety.
4.2 seconds later, I’m done. Oops, I guess it tasted good.
I then proceeded to spend the next 4.2 hours just watching Hippo eat her own dish. I don’t recommend such a thing in such a place - it’s just enough time to count the flies, and remind yourself of just exactly what kind of plastic cafeteria chair-like thing you’re sitting on. Take your time just eating.
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Ao Sen - another one of our “old favorites” - never fails to disappoint. We visited the other day for lunch from feeling nostalgic for the old hood, and they delivered: authentic Vietnamese food served in an environment as close to the real thing without going to SJ, LA, or Hanoi. The flies waiting for their next bite, the old parquet floor, the servers speaking only in Vietnamese, and the grease on the tables — everything was replicated with utmost dedication and detail. Although I’ve never visited Vietnam, I still felt that Ao Sen evoked a feeling like “home” - memories of the street eateries, the quick, cheap, and delicious food, and the hustle and bustle of urban Asia.
But the food, the food! Indeed, the food is what we came here for. Elephant ordered his usual pho, an ensemble of beef and onions in a rich, long-brewed broth served with thin flat rice noodles. Pair that with a generous plate of bean sprouts, Vietnamese basil (with the purple stems), jalapeno slices, and sprigs of parsley, and you’ve got a whole range of flavors to soak into. The broth was good as usual: I could still savor the taste in my head. Though I did chastise Elephant slightly for “contaminating the integrity of the broth - it’s the culmination of a chef’s work,” I said. Hmm. I guess he just isn’t as much of a purist as I am.
I had one of my favorites — the Hanoi style bun (pronounced “mbung”), round rice vermicelli served separately from a bowl of vinegar broth, grilled meats (steak and pork/seafood patty), pickled vegetables (carrots and lovely, breath-of-fresh-air thin slices of jicama and chayote), and fresh, fresh herbal greens (iceberg lettuce, Thai basil with green stems, big leafy mint leaves).
I’ve always had a very soft spot for bun (one of many noodle categories I crave) ever since I had it in a Maxims-chain version of a Vietnamese haute-cuisine restaurant when I lived in Hong Kong as a child - ironic, but true. There’s something to say about food fancies developed at a young age: it stays with you, and somehow everything you taste afterwards will be compared back to your first cuisine-discovery experience. And good bun is so hard to come by in the States, even in high-density Vietnamese restaurant areas like San Jose or Atlanta.
So when I first encountered Ao Sen’s version, I knew it was special — at least until I find something better. There’s something about freshly made bun - that almost sticky but never pasty balance of starch, flour and water, coupled with a perfectly-seasoned vinegar broth, that really hits the spot. Hanoi-style bun is an exciting, hands-on dish that really engages the diner to create their own meal: you can dip your ingredients in the broth one by one to enjoy them separately; you can do a simple wrap, like a huge mint leaf with a chunk of the pork patty and some basil, and the taste will surely remind you of a good shiso leaf-kalbi combo at any high-end Korean BBQ restaurant. Or, you can make a wrap with some meat, some chayote slices, a bit of the bun, lots of herbs, and dip it in the broth to make a tantalizing bite - I’d even go as far to say that it tastes better than your typical chubby Mission-style burritos, in most cases!
Bun, all mixed up!
For the more adventurous diners among you — especially anyone who can appreciate sweet-and-salty food, as we don’t get enough respect in the culinary world — try another one of my favorites, a dish (almost) never found anywhere in the Bay Area: a bun served with chewy, crispy julienned pork skin, leafy herbs, and rich coconut milk. The combination, while it sounds strange, is surprisingly tasty and refreshing — almost like having Taiwanese shaved ice and Chiyashi Chuka (Japanese cold noodles served in summertime) together - in the best way imaginable. It’s perfect for your tropical-weather craving appetites when you crave something fatty, smooth, but refreshing all at the same time.
I rest my case. Come taste Ao Sen’s Vietnamese fare for yourself.
P.S. In the meantime, if you are interested in how bun is made for real, please visit this article from EatingAsia, a traveling food blog that lives out my dream to eat, live, and visit Southeast Asia. One of the most respected food blogs around, EatingAsia combines well-written and thoughtful food/social journalism with delectable, cine-verite photographs about the people, places, and events surrounding the world of food in the region. I’ve been a fan of this blog for many years, and I hope you’ll like it too!
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