Phu Quoc’d for the New Year!

I’m not a huge fan of New Year’s Eve. It’s often loud, expensive, crowded, overdressed, overrated and seldom lives up to the hype. There have been a few exceptions of course, but anytime I’ve done anything remotely conventional (i.e. clubs, bars, restaurants) in anyplace one might typically think of spending the holiday (i.e. the city you live in, or any big city for that matter) it has usually been anticlimactic at best or an unmitigated disaster at worst. Usually it’s dreadfully pedestrian. Every once in a while, however, I catch a break and do something fun and even relaxing.

Right after Christmas I got a FB message from my friend Lau, who is from Denmark. He told me he and his girlfriend Thea were in Vietnam, staying on the beach on Phu Quoc island. It’s only a short hop from Saigon, and since I hadn’t seen Lau since Burning Man in 2008 I figured this was an omen to get myself to Phu Quoc for the first time.

I can’t remember the last time I flew in a plane that used propellers. The twin-turbo prop was excruciatingly loud from take off until reaching cruising altitude, but then it mercifully quieted down. However, the landing was so jarring that people cried “ouch” and we wondered aloud if this was the pilot’s first landing. That was only half as funny as the plane making a u-turn on the runway and taxiing in the wrong direction to the terminal—interesting coincidence that they call it the terminal in this case. People craned their necks scanning the airways for more planes. Thankfully the cab ride to my bungalow was uneventful.

After meeting up with Lau and Thea we ordered some beers and relaxed before I got settled into my bungalow.

Mosquito nets are essential.

The proprietors were thoughtful enough to have a Christmas tree decorated for us right on the beach!

Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, your branches, er...

It was exquisitely cozy on this island where all I was expected to do was eat, sleep and drink beer. I’m exceedingly proficient in those areas. Of course there was plenty of time to relax with a book and soak up a few rays. I finally read The Great Gatsby and read The Alchemist once again. I resolved to make reading The Alchemist a New Year’s ritual.

Not a bad spot to read one of your favorite novels and get the New Year off on the right foot, huh? It was great to see Lau again and meet Thea for the first time. I couldn’t help but notice that the ‘catching up’ part of the reunion took about 5 minutes and the rest of the time we talked and had fun like I saw him last week.

The long weekend afforded me the opportunity to reflect a bit and ponder the concept of the New Year’s resolution. I’m usually of the opinion that it’s a bunch of nonsense. New Year’s Day is an arbitrary date likely picked out by a long since dead pope on a calendar that is only one of many throughout the world’s cultures. I live in a country where the New Year doesn’t start for almost three weeks right along with China’s. Jews and Ethiopians have their New Year in September. Tamil and Nepali New Year takes place in April with the Sikhs, Punjabis, Bengalis and a host of others. New Year, depending on which culture we’re discussing, can take place during any of the four seasons. In fact, January 1st has only been recognized as the New Year in Western countries since the 16th century. And if we’re merely discussing how to mark the passage of another year why not use one’s birthday? My time on Earth didn’t start during the same month as everyone else’s. Some people might even use more unconventional dates to mark time like the anniversary of some personal event or a cultural one like Burning Man. January 1st is arbitrary as are the resolutions to change our lives, our bodies or our habits. Or am I being cynical?

Then it occurred to me that perhaps the allure of the New Year’s Resolution is the desire to start over. I’ve learned not to underestimate the desire for a clean slate. Part of the beauty of human beings is our innate ability to reinvent ourselves with nothing more than the will to do so required of us. Perhaps it’s a matter of resolving to change our patterns instead of achieving results. Perhaps it’s a matter of restructuring priorities. After much contemplation what felt most apt to me was that we, as individuals, as a society, and as people all inhabiting this little planet, need to focus more on gratitude and less on desire. And with that I felt lighter, happier and grateful being on that island with friends and nothing to do but relax and enjoy the long weekend.

With the thinking portion of the weekend out-of-the-way it was time for the really important stuff…eating and drinking. We spent New Year’s Eve dining in the night market which is flush with fresh fish and cold beer!

Every restaurant seems to have the same fare, more or less, but we chose the one with the most locals eating there. And we ate there three nights in a row.

Clams, crabs, tiger prawns, oysters, you name it we tried it. To excess I might add, because even moderation must be taken in moderation.

Oysters grilled with peanut sauce and then served with peanuts and some type of spicy chili fish sauce with coconut milk were real crowd pleasers, and baby clams sautéed in a garlic sauce were a delightful mess. Their version of clam chowder seen in the photo was MUCH better than New England clam chowder. We were a little disappointed with the corn, but we weren’t there for the vegetables anyway.

The giant clams were ‘feisty’ as Lau put it, but I enjoyed every chewy mouthful. And what can one say about tiger prawns…I’ll get to them in a moment. We also indulged in some fresh crab.

Before...

After

You have NO IDEA how amazing tiger prawns are until you have them. I swear these things have as much meat in them as small lobsters.

If only the Vietnamese knew what drawn butter was…That is half a kilo of tiger prawns there and they cost about $5. The smaller clams and oysters go for about $2 per plate. They sold larger clams by weight as well. Throw in the corn, about 4 or 5 beers apiece, a huge bowl of their clam soup and some other small things and we paid about $25 or so for the entire meal.

But wait, there’s more!

A group of Vietnamese teachers invited us to join them to ring in the new year. Naturally there was more beer, but we didn’t expect the 5 liter jug of rice liquor they were carrying around with them. Which of course we carried around with us as we all hopped from the restaurant, to a night club, to a bar on the beach where much dancing ensued. As if that wasn’t enough, Thea decided buying a round of Jagermeister was a good idea. It was about this time that I lost my shoes. I know I lost them because when I woke up on New Year’s Day afternoon my shoes were missing. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever lost my shoes. I guess now I can say I’ve lived.

Lau had a pretty good laugh about me losing my shoes. He laughed all afternoon, until it was time to head back to the night market for dinner.

Who is having their laughing now, Shoe-Leth?

My intuition had me pack an extra pair of flip-flops just in case. He had to buy a pair at the night market before dinner! Good fun! And it went on like that for several days. Bright sun, warm water, cold beer, fresh seafood, great company. I read two excellent books and got some important writing started. It was a pretty stellar New Year and I’m grateful for it.

I’m also hopeful that it’s a herald of good things to come for 2012. That’s the great thing about the New Year. No matter when or how you celebrate, it’s a chance for a clean slate.

I’ve got crabs!

The owner of Cua Ba Chi

And they’re delicious!

As part of my Christmas weekend I ventured to a street restaurant recommended by a friend that specializes in crab. Cua Ba Chi does nothing else. Located at 13 Phó Cơ Điều in District 5, they line the sidewalk with tables and cook right at the curb.

Along with fresh crab they put in a melange of spices, heaps of garlic, nuts, candied fruit, veggies of all sorts and then copious amounts of salt and sugar. They are stirred lovingly until the concoction yields a thick, brown sauce whose consistency is akin to maple syrup, but exhibits a taste that is sweet, savory and pungent while delivering a spicy kick.

The finished product alights the taste buds and hooks you after the first bite. I wish this was a scratch and taste blog so you could experience what I’m writing about. It’s served with fresh baguettes that are perfect for dipping into the sauce. Just order a cold beer and you’re ready to go to town!

The whole meal, beer included, is about $9. I suggest you wear dark clothing and refrain from using cell phones, iPods or cameras during dinner. Luckily for me my camera is waterproof so I could just wash it off after smearing the yummy goodness of crab sauce all over it.

It’s a man-eat-dog world…

…in Vietnam that is.

My friend Thanh invited me out for coffee a couple weeks ago. We went to meet a very close friend of hers named Chau. The Vietnamese are bananas about their coffee, although I mostly stick to tea. It turns out Chau is a jewelry maker. In 2010 I purchased a ring at Lightning in a Bottle that I really enjoy wearing, but became too large for my finger after I left the festival. I don’t know why exactly, but those are the facts of the case. The only way I could wear it was by putting electrical tape around the band. It was not only unsightly, it was distracting because the ring still didn’t fit precisely and I was always turning it around my finger.

I wore the ring the night we went to visit Chau in the Go Vap district (which is the 2nd most populous of HCMC’s 19 districts with over 548,000 people).  He generously offered to resize it for me and refused to accept money, being the friend of a very good friend of his. The young man working on it while we went out for coffee and then snails neglected to pop the malachite stone (which has many uses) out and burned it while they were taking some of the metal out of the band…sigh. They polished the stone to smoothness, but not before taking enough off the surface so that it sits just below the edge of the setting and is no longer flush. The ‘Nam giveth, the ‘Nam taketh away.

Regardless, I’ve been back a couple of times to have coffee/tea and then break bread over some informal language and cultural exchanges.  The most recent time, when I picked up my ring, we decided on having a hot-pot at the home of another friend nicknamed Saki; tired, Chau went home early. When we got to Saki’s house he realized he locked himself out, so we had all the things we needed for the meal, but no way to make it.

We rode over to Chau’s house and, at 10:30 at night, knocked on the door and explained the situation. Without hesitation Chau opened up his home and had four people walk in and sit down in his living room. Beers were opened, glasses were filled with ice, and newspaper laid down on the floor to accommodate the little hibachi into which Chau’s wife placed fresh charcoal and then lit it. In went the broth and then we added prawns, veggies, beef, etc. An impromptu hot-pot picnic on the floor of a jewelry shop is something that rarely happens back in the States, but here in Vietnam this kinda thing happens to me every week .

The picnic table

hoofin' it

That’s a beef hoof, bone and all. It was kinda chewy, but not bad. Now why did I eat a hoof? It falls under the Prime Directive which states that I will try any food or beverage served, offered or ordered. And in keeping with the Prime Directive, Chau has a jar of special rice liquor…

What is all that stuff in there? Glad you asked. It’s a bee’s nest broken up and left to break down, soak and infuse itself into the liquor. And what about those white things, you’re wondering. Well…

Cheers!

Those would be larvae, ladies and gentlemen. This drink falls under the Double Secret Prime Directive. The man opened his home after leaving us to go to sleep AND he fixed my ring for free. I had to, you see. Those squishy little larvae had a mild texture. They didn’t pop like salmon roe, but were mushy inside with a firmer skin. They tasted like rice liquor, thank the Buddha.

So what exactly does the title of this post have to do with anything? I’m getting to that. If you are squeamish you might want to stop reading this post and go do a crossword puzzle or something…

The Go Vap district is in the outer ring of HCMC close to where many of the numerous factories that manufacture everything from furniture to Puma, Adidas, The North Face and Gill products lie just beyond the city. Many people in Go Vap come down from Hanoi and the surrounding areas in the north to work in those factories. There are many differences between the North and South Vietnamese, from dialect to lifestyle choices to cuisine, and most of them are accentuated, if not exaggerated. It is in the North, I’m told by Southerners, that eating dog is popular. I haven’t, nor will I ever, dine on dog. Dog is a rare exemption from the Prime Directive. The one caveat to this is if it becomes necessary in a ‘I’m on a plane full of dogs and we’ve crashed in the Himalayas and there’s nothing to eat until spring but dog’ kind of way.

The streets of Go Vap are lined with kiosks of butchers who specialize in dog meat. It’s the first occasion in the time that I’ve lived here I’ve seen this. Naturally I had to stop and take a few photos.

That’s a head there on the left. Notice the way the tongue lolls out of the mouth there on the carcass on the right?

Heads and toes, er, paws.

The paws are a delicacy; right up there with chicken feet.

Side of dog?

I didn’t post these for shock value as much as ‘can you believe this’ value. You hear about it, but nothing prepares you for it. Rows and rows of dog carcasses, which I chose not to post. One seems like plenty.

Return of the Lunch Lady

Okay, so it’s really me returning. After a couple of months back home in the States I was ready to resume eating the wonderful street food of Saigon.  Since I recently realized I’m less than two kilometers away from the Lunch Lady, I’ve decided to spend more of my lunch time hours nestled beneath the big shade tree on her corner eating her soup and spring rolls. For those who aren’t familiar with there, the Lunch Lady serves a different soup each day of the week. In No Reservations, Anthony Bourdain refers to this as a cycle menu. On this particular day she served bún mắm.

Bún mắm

Bún mắm is similar to gumbo. It’s a spicy shrimp paste broth filled with prawns, squid, eggplant, okra, scallions and rice vermicelli noodles. Every dish the Lunch Lady serves comes with two fresh spring rolls and the brown peanut sauce with chilies for dipping.

Initiating some Lunch Lady n00bs

A very happy 4th of July

The 4th of July is not a big deal here. Having not much to do I spent my day as I would most others. I was at a coffee shop going over my notes for an article in the next issue of the magazine for which I write. I generally mind my own business and tune out everyone else around me while I’m tending to these tasks. This time my radar picked up a conversation at the next table over. I heard the people, a group of Europeans and Australians, discussing the fact that it was American Independence Day.

It was one of those moments when we are afforded the opportunity to hear our friends speak about us honestly without them being aware of us listening. It was akin to hearing a lover speak in their sleep. Rather than speak my piece I chose to listen to their opinions uncensored. There were some harsh words which were deserved. I can’t lie, they hurt.

In the middle of the discussion a man, about my age, walked up to the table. He was from Italy. He didn’t know anyone at the table yet he sat down and ordered an espresso. He promptly, but politely and respectfully, launched into a monologue about the good things America has done for the world. He reminded the people at that table, French, English, Germans, Australians, that without America the world would look much different than it does today.

This man, this peer of mine from the country of my ancestors, scolded the people at the table and pointed out that they were being unappreciative. He chastised them for not remembering the hundreds of thousands of American men who sacrificed their lives to defend the liberty of not just Americans, but people all over the world. He reminded them that without America they may not have the right to travel, to learn, to express themselves the way they do now. He pointed out that America could have avoided the European wars but did not. He pointed out that it was America that rebuilt Europe and Japan after WWII.

In all my years not one moment has made as proud of being an American as that moment did. I appreciated the service to my country others have made more so because of that that conversation.

I got a little choked up and quietly slid out of my seat and paid for the bill for the entire table, including the Italian man speaking, and then left the cafe.

That moment was one I won’t ever forget. It steeled my belief that my country can still be the example of freedom for people the world over. But we can only achieve liberty with cooperation. It reminded me of one of one of the most profound statements I know: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

Cloven-hoofed animals & respect.

Once upon a time, not too long ago, I taught in the Los Angeles Unified School District. I discovered I was a pretty good teacher. I was able to connect with the students and relate the information to them in a way they were happy to learn.  Unfortunately, I also discovered that the school district’s priorities were not always aligned with educating the students.  There was an enormous amount of politics, and money’s influence was ubiquitous.  I watched as disheartened individuals, far more committed to teaching children than I, quit after a short time. I lasted a little less than 5 years, which as far as I could tell was about what the district wanted in order to avoid paying higher salaries and benefits. I know it sounds cynical, but I can’t change what I saw. I knew I was not a lifelong teacher. It simply wasn’t my calling.

I’ve been teaching a university course here in Saigon in marketing. It’s been a lot of work and sometimes I haven’t enjoyed the prep work and tedium that accompanies it. The students, however, have been nothing short of wonderful. It’s fun to see students so engaged in the learning process and respectful of those teaching them. It’s a shame this behavior is so rare, in my experience, in America.

When I started teaching they were firmly entrenched in the behavior common in classrooms in Vietnam—rote memorization with no desire or inclination to challenge their teachers. One thing I drilled into them was to ask questions and not accept everything I taught simply because I was their teacher. This was a lesson they took to heart to my great joy and chagrin. They learned to pepper me with questions and challenged many things in class. I was very happy to see them grow in that manner and I hope they continue to question everything they’re taught.

Yesterday I had a lunch meeting with someone who is hiring me to do some writing for their business. We went to a local Indian restaurant. One of my students was a waitress there and she was surprised and happy to see me walk in. We dined on Lamb Vindaloo and Chicken Tikka Masala and a plate of garlic naan bread. She took very good care of us and when the bill arrived she’d arranged for a discount because I was her teacher. That, in and of itself, was enough to impress me. My client picked up the tab and I left a very generous tip to show my appreciation for her gesture. She saw me putting some money down for her and quickly told me that I shouldn’t leave a tip. Naturally I insisted on leaving one. Being an American it’s only natural to take care of those that take care of you, especially when they go above and beyond what’s expected.

She shot me a glance I didn’t expect. It was a stern warning not to leave a tip. She told me that if I did she would never serve me again and make sure that I never received a discount.  She explained that tipping in this situation was a grave insult. I was her teacher and she was the one who needed to show her gratitude, not me.  The only way to describe my feelings was that I was pleasantly shocked. This foreshadowed what was to come.

Today was the final class for the course. We spent two hours reviewing and going over questions they had on the material.  Afterwards some of us went out to dinner. It was a fair turnout. Perhaps a third of the class of 60 showed up. They advised me on Tuesday to dress casually because my normal teaching attire—slacks and a dress shirt—would be uncomfortable where we were going. They warned that our destination was going to be hot and sweaty.

They invited me to a goat restaurant. Like so many eateries in Vietnam, they serve one type of food…in this case, goat. It was extremely warm inside. They brought each table  small barbecue grills and hotpots so that you cook, and sweat, right at the table. Well, if you’re a Westerner you sweat. The Vietnamese seem to be impervious to sweltering temperatures. We started with the barbecued goat. It was doused in some kind of brown sauce and served with okra and a dipping sauce made of tofu and chili peppers called chao.

The goat meat was wrapped in rice paper with sliced green bananas, some kind of green, stalky vegetables, and leafy stuff and then dipped in a chili sauce. I stuffed myself with these and didn’t wrap a single one of them. My students served me the wraps, poured my beer, and put the grilled meats and okra in my bowl.  They had such a great time just hanging out with me and teaching me the Vietnamese words for what I was eating (Dê, pronounced ‘yay’, is the word for goat). There were also a plethora of toasts and even a few “100%” toasts which require you to empty your glass.

And then we moved on to the goat hotpot…

In addition to a delicious stewed goat meat, there were mushrooms, rice noodles, green veggies, lotus flowers, something from China akin to giant, red raisins and of course the broth and yellow noodles. Yum.

And plenty of Tiger beer.

The students refused to let me pay for my dinner. They even paid for my parking. These aren’t kids with a lot of money. They often go without books and paper because they can’t afford them, but they were adamant about paying for my meal because I was their teacher. It’s really quite amazing to see that level of gratitude. I wish that students in America had that level of appreciation for teachers. To be honest, I’d be tickled if parents and administrators did. I’m sure there are some who do, but that’s the exception, not the rule. In Asia teachers are revered and respected above most professions. As we finished dinner they told me that they hoped I would teach their next class and told me how much they enjoyed my class and sense of humor along with a few “we love you”s thrown in for good measure. It really was an unexpected surprise. I’d like to see American students adopt this sort of attitude towards teachers. One can hope. There’s always hope, I hope.

Me, ‘Steve’, and the shaving cream incident.

Living in a 3rd World country in Asia comes with its share of trade-offs. While life is relatively stress free and cheap, there are many things that are not easily accessible. One often has to do without some of the comforts or small pleasures we take for granted in the West where everything is available on a 24/7 basis. Among the things I miss being able to get is my favorite shaving cream: Brave Soldier Brave Shave shaving cream. I have my friends Monica and Allison to thank for getting me hooked on this stuff after giving it to me for a gift one year.

The shaving cream here is usually just the cheapest stuff made. Perhaps it’s a function of economics, or just a lack of a need for shaving in this country. I couldn’t say. I’m almost out and my family doesn’t live near anyplace they sell it, so that would mean TWO shipping charges. That’s stupid. So I went directly to Brave Shave who charges $15 to ship it to Saigon. Figuring I could do better I looked it up on Amazon. Sure enough, not only is the price better, but the shipping was a third of the price…or so I thought.

The information about which product category this would fall under was vague so I initiated a chat session with an Amazon agent in their ‘Help’ department. I got a guy named ‘Steve’ from Bangalore. The following is a transcript of that chat:

ME: I would like some clarification on what the shipping charges would be on getting Brave Soldier Brave Shave shaving cream shipped to Saigon. I’m not sure what category it falls under.

STEVE: I’m sorry to hear about this.

ME: Huh? Why are you sorry? I just need to know what it’s going to cost. The charges page is vague.

STEVE: Let me research this for you.

STEVE: Here’s the link to the item you’re looking for (link).

ME: I already found the item. I need to know about international shipping rates.

STEVE: It’s in stock. You can order it right now if you like. Would you like information about international shipping rates?

ME: Why yes, Steve. That would be lovely. Could you please tell me what those would be to have it delivered to Saigon, Vietnam?

STEVE: What country are you in?

ME: I need it delivered to Saigon, Vietnam. Is your name really Steve?

STEVE: Is that Asia?

ME: Yes, Asia. That is correct, Steve.

STEVE: We have three shipping rates: Standard, Expedited and Priority. Which would you prefer?

ME: Standard.

STEVE: Would you like the prices?

ME: No, I can read them on the page. I’ll use the Standard shipping, I just need to know what category I’m in.

STEVE: The Priority charges are $XX.XX. We realize that Priority shipping can be expensive, and we’re sorry for this inconvenience. However, we felt it was in the best interest of our international customers to ensure that the items they ordered reached them safely and on time.

ME: I want the Standard shipping, Steve.

STEVE: We don’t offer standard shipping to Vietnam. Vietnam is in Asia.

ME: You don’t say. You offered it 90 seconds ago. What’s changed since then?

STEVE: Because packages shipped by non-trackable methods frequently didn’t arrive in a reasonable time-frame, we now offer only Priority International Shipping to International countries.

ME: International countries, huh. Is your name really Steve? So despite what your web page says there is no Standard or Expedited shipping to Vietnam because it’s in Asia and a $10 tube of shaving cream is going to cost me $40. Have I got that right?

STEVE: Amazon cares about its international customers, and we’re working to improve our service and selection. We’ll consider your feedback as we plan further improvements. Customer feedback like yours really helps us continue to improve our store and provide better service to our customers. Thanks for taking time to offer us your thoughts.

I wonder if I’ll have more luck with The Art of Shaving. I’ve really always wanted to try them out anyway.

*Editor’s note: The WordPress tag generator thought ‘pubic hair’ was an appropriate tag for this blog entry. Who am I to argue with WordPress?

Beefsteak and flip-flops

As rainy season descends upon Saigon it occurred to me that I needed a new pair of flip-flops. Of the three pairs I’ve purchased since I moved to Asia one was nicked (great word), another broke while I was riding my motorbike—not the most opportune time for a footwear malfunction—and another, a great pair of orange Havianas knockoffs procured after 2 days of searching in Bangkok, leaves the top of my foot raw because of the way the strap digs into my flesh after only a couple of hours, thus making it very uncomfortable to wear socks or proper shoes for days afterwards while leaving me wide open for yet another infection in my foot. The only serviceable pair I currently own are my brown leather Rainbow flip-flops. The problems with them, if you can call them that (Rainbows are the greatest all-around flip-flop rivaled only by Reef’s patented design which incorporates a bottle opener into the bottom of their flip-flops), are that they become water-logged in a torrential downpour, or even afterwards when one rides through the flooded streets and puddles.  This leaves your feet with that ‘not-so-fresh’ feeling and it takes a while for them to dry out. The other issue is that they’re older now and the bottoms have smoothed out and they quickly turn into ice skates when I hit any sort of water.  You can see where this is a challenge during rainy season, right?

Well just the other day I was leafing through the newest issue of The Word, the magazine for which I write, and this month’s cover story is about rainy season and there are a plethora of articles related to this time of year including a two page spread of rubber flip-flops which are perfect for wet weather. It was basically an ad for a store in the backpacker district that carries Havianas, Crocs, Greenfoot, and Dupé. They’re all made of rubber and fit the bill for rainy weather.  All are also expensive for Vietnam ranging from $14 to $35. Believe me when I say this is a king’s ransom in the land where everyone wears flip-flops. The Crocs were automatically eliminated for two reasons: first they’re the most expensive, but most importantly they’re Crocs and they’re hideous. I would normally point out that they’re the most hideous things anyone ever shod themselves with (which is saying a lot when you take Birkenstocks into account), but during my search the last 3 days I’ve seen some ridonculous footwear.

The Greenfoot flips were also atrocious (I really don’t know how these companies secure funding) and I eliminated those as well. That left Havianas and Dupé. They’re both made in Brazil, so right away they have both fashion cred and beach cred. They are both made of rubber and fulfill the functionality I required. One big difference is that I’d never heard of Dupé.  The other came when I slipped them on my feet. While the Havianas were better than their counterfeit counterparts the Dupés were fantastic and had this GEL technology in the heel that really absorbs the punishment you encounter while hoofing it on pavement. The only issue left was that they were 3 times, or more, what people normally pay for flip-flops around here. So I decided to search and see if I could find a better deal, or at least a knockoff.

I set off on a three-day odyssey that threatened to violate a rule I have adhered to most of my adult life: don’t buy cheap shoes. When it comes to your feet it pays to spoil them. I don’t know whether this is something I’ve come to realize as a result of my own mistakes or because I have paid attention to the women in my life. Well, those with decent taste in footwear anyway.

During my travels through the streets of Saigon, including Nguyễn Đinh Chiếu which is known affectionately as ‘Shoe Street’ for the amount of shoe stores on it, I came across every conceivable flip-flop. There were knockoff Dolce & Gabana, Abercrombie & Fitch, Gucci, Crocs, Adidas, Nike, Puma, animal prints, “leathers”, and everything else you can imagine–except Dupés of course, counterfeit or otherwise. I even saw some made from old tires which were interesting, but they had those strappy things that wrap around your ankles and look good only on women with shapely legs and people of the ancient Mediterranean civilizations. I also went through markets, alleys, and everywhere else I could find including Binh Thanh market where they hook you by the arm to show you the flips that are perfect for you because they’re gender agreeable.  I don’t know how people (read: women) shop like this. I don’t normally shop, I buy.

Midway through my adventure I was overcome with hunger and decided I need to break for lunch. I now understand why women have lunch AND shop. It was exhausting. At least I injected my favorite part into the exercise by haggling everywhere I went. I digress. I happened to pass a place I went with friends for breakfast after the Super Bowl (it ended at 9am here). It’s called Beefsteak Nam Sỏn.

I ordered the beefsteak with egg and some fries. They serve it with a baguette and you can make a tasty sandwich out of it (and stuff the fries in there—that’s a trick I picked up in Paris) all for about $3.

You can order the domestic beef, imported Canadian beef, or ostrich.  I went with the domestic beef, but I’ll be trying the ostrich next. When they set that skillet on the table it’s still all a-bubble with sizzling beefy goodness and an aroma wafting up into your nostrils that triggers one’s salivary glands into ludicrous speed. My tongue went to plaid (raise your hand if you get the reference)!  I savored it as much as any hungry man could in the midst of a Homeric quest for comfortable, practical, stylish footwear. Once I was gastronomically satisfied I returned to my task and found myself back on Bui Vien, right where I started. How like life, right?

It is in these moments—there have been more than a few like it in my life—that I acknowledge my personal neurosis. If everyone I loved and cared about was trapped on the top floor of a high-rise building awaiting certain death because of a thermonuclear device wired up and ticking down to detonation with the only solution being my ability to choose correctly between cutting the blue wire or the red one (FYI – it’s always the blue one. Unless you’re dealing with a Sicilian, or some other criminal master-mind. Then he, or she, knows it’s always the blue one and it will be the red one. Then again, if (s)he knows that you know (s)he knows it’s always the blue one and therefore would rig the red one, it just might be the blue one), I could decide which to cut in a microsecond (or at worst after a few hems and haws if time permitted—why waste a perfectly good opportunity to procrastinate, right?) and not look back. Unfortunately, when it comes to having to decide between the blue tee-shirt or the red one, or between the pomegranate flavor frozen yogurt or the mango flavor at Pinkberry, or which particular carry-on bag is most suitable (some of you know exactly what I’m talking about), I sometimes find my decision-making process becomes about as effective as republican domestic policy.

I went into the store and pretended I was in there for the first time all the while knowing precisely what I wanted (don’t laugh, you’ve all done the same EXACT thing). I feigned interest in the Havianas briefly and then zeroed in on the Dupé flip-flops. I tried them on and told the sales attendant that they were the wrong color and left. Then I went back in and tried them on and told him they were too expensive and left. Finally, I had to admit to myself that in a city of 8 million people, thousands of places to buy footwear, and countless styles of flip-flops these were the only ones that would make me happy. I grabbed them and forked over my money as quickly as I could and left.

I would post a picture of them but it would be anti-climactic. They’re quite simple and elegant. Suffice it to say that if you’re in the market for a new pair of flip-flops for the summer, and in SoCal flip-flops are not just footwear, they’re survival gear, you should check out Dupé (and no, the irony of what the word ‘dupe’ means in English isn’t lost on me).

Cháo Vịt

I never met a duck dish I didn’t like. I recounted the story of the beginning of my love affair with duck as food in an earlier post. Saturday I had to get a haircut and went to visit my friend Xi Xi who cuts it regularly.  We got to chatting and then decided to go have some food. She took me to a place called Gốc Nhà Lá in Bình Thạnh District. They serve cháo vịt, which is duck soup; porridge is a more accurate term.  And like many Vietnamese restaurants they stick to one or two items for which they’re known and when someone is in the mood for it they visit.

Of course they serve it with all the trimmings.  You get a hearty bowl of broth filled with rice and flavored with a generous helping of black pepper.

Then there’s the sliced duck breast. Depending upon how many people are eating they increase the size of the plate of duck meat. Next time I’ll just tell them to add extra. They also provide a plate of plant material. I’m not sure I’m comfortable calling them vegetables because other than the shredded banana tree stuff (which isn’t a vegetable, is it?) I don’t really know what it was.

Then they bring you the interesting parts.  And by parts I mean duck parts. You have the necks…

and the congealed duck blood.

I didn’t think of it at the time, but when I visit next I’ll see if they have wings and feet. I’ve grown fond of fowl feet. When it all gets to the table you have this magnificent feast in front of you:

The duck and ‘salad’ can be dipped into the fish sauce laced with red chilies (it’s ubiquitous here) that you can see in the upper left of the photo, or you can put it in your soup.  Same thing goes for the rest of the meal. The duck of course is delish, and the necks were surprisingly good. There isn’t as much meat to bite into, but it’s still quite tasty. ‘The Pact’ committed me to eat the congealed duck blood. I ventured a quick question knowing the answer in advance, but I was attempting to quell any apprehension.  When I asked Xi Xi if duck’s blood was healthy she flatly answered ‘yes’ and shot me a look as though I was from another galaxy.  I’ve never heard anywhere that blood is good for humans to consume, but it was on the table. There was nothing I could do about it.

While I have much to learn about the Vietnamese and their culture, this much I knew is true: ‘healthy’ is not an issue where food on the table is concerned. It’s about taste, calories and satisfaction. I ate it anyway and I very much enjoyed it. The texture was…fun. That’s the only word to describe it. It wasn’t chewy, or slimy, or even mushy. It was a firm type of jello but with a salty, not sweet taste. And of course, a quick bath in the spicy fish sauce or soup always helps.

Her mother and sister joined us and the four of us ate well for $11, and it included a beer or two for me. This place is going on my list of eateries to keep visiting.

The pact is intact.

Before I left for Saigon I made a pact with myself. Knowing that Asia would present all sorts of dietary oddities I promised myself that I would not shun anything without trying it at least once. According to the bylaws of the pact I don’t necessarily have to order the weirdest stuff I see, but if it’s put in front of me or offered I must at least take a bite.

Well, a couple of nights ago I joined some friends for a birthday celebration of one of the people in our little tribe. The birthday girl ordered up something new and different. The waiter brought a plate of scorpions to the table. Not a typo: SCORPIONS.

Here I am!

Notice the beady little eyes? Scorpions are very creepy to look at from across the room. It’s strange to bite into one.

They do NOT taste like chicken. They have a very unusual taste to them that I’ve never come across. However, the claws are very tasty. They remind me of crab in both taste and texture. They don’t have very much meat though. It would take a pile of scorpion claws to get anywhere.