My anticipation had been building for months. I had been avidly devouring cookbooks, magazine articles, Web sites and blogs for information about Vietnam and its food culture. The predominately Asian faces and the Chinese food options on the flight over had begun to set the stage; still, I was not in Vietnam yet.

When the plane finally touched the tarmac at Tan Son Nhat airport in Ho Chi Minh City — formerly known as Saigon, still the name preferred by locals — I was immediately taken back to evening news reports of the late 1960s and early '70s. At this final battleground of the American war, you could still see battle-scarred concrete hangers and bunkers crumbling from age and disuse. Perhaps because of jet lag and self-induced excitement, the experience of déjà vu — the feeling of returning to a place I had actually never visited before — was both surreal and palpable.

After clearing immigration and customs and exchanging a hundred dollars for 16 million dong, I stepped outside the terminal and was immediately engulfed in the aromas of food prepared and offered by vendors with small-wheeled carts and the sight of women in conical hats balancing a don ganh. The don ganh is an ingenious device made from a bamboo pole that is slung over the shoulders. Baskets full of goodies — often a complete portable kitchen — hang from each end of the pole.

On the taxi ride to my hotel, I saw food hawkers, sidewalk restaurants and neighborhood markets seemingly everywhere. Richard Sterling, writing in Lonely Planet's World Food Vietnam, was right on target when he said, "Often times in Vietnam you don't have to look for food. It looks for you."

Upon arrival at the Hotel Saigon, I was greeted by Marv Freedman, a Vietnam War vet, frequent visitor and, more recently, a part-time resident of the country. Freedman and his wife, Phuong, work with the Santa Fe-based Vietnam Project, a humanitarian-assistance program.

We immediately headed around the corner to a pho restaurant, where he plied me with that intoxicating soup that is more than soup. Pho has become the national breakfast — although it is consumed at all hours of the day — followed by the syrupy cah phe (coffee), aromatic, dark and sweet with condensed milk. I soon could not live without a daily dose or two.

That evening, we visited the Luong Son Restaurant, also known as Bo Tung Xeo, in search of the beef dish that is char-grilled by the guests at their own tables. Through the haze of grill smoke and the sounds of moist-towel packets popping like small firecrackers around the open-air dining room — along with frequent calls of the ubiquitous drinking toast "Yo!" — I devoured my first full meal in the country. I definitely was not in Kansas — or New Mexico — anymore. This was going to be an amazing, if not life-changing, gastronomic experience.

Hands-on experience

I had worked alongside many Vietnamese refugees and immigrants in restaurants in the late '70s and the early '80s, refining my Chinese cooking skills under the tutelage of several people who were of Chinese-Vietnamese heritage.

When a good friend, who is of French and Vietnamese descent, first visited his fatherland in the early '90s after the reopening of the country to the West, he lobbied hard to get me to visit, as he felt that it fit my passion for food incredibly well.

For many years it was not practical for me to make the trip; however, after the successful publication of two cookbooks and another on the way, I convinced my publisher that a book on Vietnamese cooking from my point of view was a viable concept — despite the fact that my specialty as a chef, author and gastronomic-adventure tour leader had been focused on Mexican and Southwestern cuisine.

My stay in Saigon was a whirlwind of sights, sounds and tastes. I visited markets where the colors and aromas of familiar and exotic fruits, vegetables and spices had my head spinning and my taste buds tingling. I dined at numerous restaurants, snacked on tasty delicacies from sidewalk vendors and was treated to a late-night street-food crawl with my new friend Khai, an up-and-coming young chef whose mother is a popular television food-program hostess in Vietnam.

Vietnam's offerings

Freedman took me to Ben Tre province in the Mekong Delta to spend a few days with Phuong's family. The Mekong visit was memorable because I was staying in the countryside with a local family, far from the usual tourist haunts. I was able to enjoy a number of delicious meals there, several in the company of People's Committee members, where we shared stories over cups of homemade rice "wine" — a distilled beverage much stronger than wine.

My travels then took me to Nha Trang, a stunning beach resort, and to historic Hoi An and Hue, where the influences of imperial cuisine create a style of Vietnamese cooking unique to the central part of the long and narrow country.

Hue has long been an important political and cultural center in Vietnam. From the early 1800s to the mid-1900s, it became the seat of the Nguyen royal dynasty, the first time that the entire territory was ruled by a central power. It is the site of the Citadel, a walled fortress and palace complex that was modeled after the Forbidden City in Beijing. Intricate tombs of past emperors are found around the city. The royal (or imperial) cuisine was one that offered a huge variety of dishes in small servings and emphasized elaborate presentations. That practice is evident today even in simple offerings in the central region.

From Hue, I headed north to Hanoi, the capital of the country. In some ways — although those from the south would argue differently — it's also the country's center for food.

In Hanoi, I shopped for ingredients in the Merchant District of the old city, where food and household goods have been sold in the streets for centuries. After an overnight cruise on a Chinese junk in Ha Long Bay, where we had some of the best seafood I have ever been served, I took the train to Loa Cai along the Chinese border in the north.

From the train depot, I was whisked away to Bac Ha to experience the Sunday morning market, a gathering point for all of the ethnic minority people from the different villages in the area. This bazaar is the real deal. Every indigenous group has its own unique style of dress and, often, language. There is a riot of colors and smells. Even though the setting was rustic, the food remained impeccably fresh and tasty — just as it had been throughout Vietnam.

'Fresh' defines cuisine

Vietnamese cuisine follows three different, yet compatible, principles: the scientific/spiritual precepts of balance, yin and yang, passed on from the Chinese culture; an aesthetic approach to satisfy all of the senses through taste, texture, aroma, sound and presentation; and a practical approach that makes use of what is available and is meant to please — even if it means ignoring the previous rules.

The influences are many — from the Chinese, especially in the north; the Khmer and Thai peoples and, through them, India from the west; the complexity and artistry of the royal imperial cooks; the thread of sophistication that the Vietnamese adopted from the French during the colonial period; and many other subtle influences from their history of almost continuous occupation. Despite all of these influences, though, Vietnamese people are fiercely independent and maintain their own character — especially when it comes to food.

If there could be only one adjective to describe Vietnamese food and cooking, it would have to be "fresh."

When I was shopping with Khai in the markets in Ho Chi Minh City, he pointed out that the herbs we were using for our cooking session had been picked in the early morning and were suitable for use only through lunchtime. Any herbs for dinner needed to be more recently harvested and purchased later in the day.

Housewives, vendors and restaurateurs make multiple daily trips to the markets or to the street-side neighborhood food sellers to ensure freshness. Refrigerated or frozen products are generally frowned upon.

The extent of the Vietnamese commitment to freshness was brought home to me by an incident in Hanoi. Lai Nguyen, the manager of reception at my hotel, was looking at photos from my Mexico trips on my Web site. She was fascinated by the market shots and amazed at the similarity between Mexican and Vietnamese markets.

Inspired by her interest and hoping to impress her with my international experience, I clicked on a shot from the fish market in Veracruz. While gazing at the photo of the two proprietors proudly smiling behind the display of that day's catch, I noticed that Lai was frowning. I asked her what was wrong — something you should do only if you want the truth, as the Vietnamese will not mince their words.

"I do not think that is very good — the fish is not fresh," she said.

I hastened to assure her that this was one of the best seafood markets in all of Mexico and that the fish had been recently caught and kept on ice for freshness.

"But Daniel," she said, "that is not fresh — it is dead."

Throughout Vietnam, even the humblest sidewalk hawker of prawn soup will have live crustaceans in a bucket next to the charcoal stove — and they will remain alive until you place your order.

Promoting acceptance

I am often asked how the Vietnamese people feel about Americans. In my experience, the Vietnamese are a forward-looking people and do not hold grudges against us for the war. I found them to be some of the friendliest, wittiest, most adaptable and hard-working people that I have had the pleasure of knowing.

The culture in Vietnam is family-oriented and I have acquired a whole new "family" from my travels there. Vietnam also is a very safe place to travel. This combination of exotic culture, friendly people, history, safety and unbelievably good food is one that is hard to match anywhere else.



A preview from the in-progress cookbook, Culinary Vietnam, by Daniel Hoyer:
This fairly simple recipe is a great example of Vietnamese comfort food. Often served steaming hot at breakfast along with a crusty, freshly baked baguette, Thit Bo Kho also makes a great dinner for a cold winter's night when served over noodles or steamed jasmine rice.
The rich, gravy-like broth is satisfying and the aromatic star anise, basil, cilantro and lemongrass give it a faintly exotic aroma and that characteristic Vietnamese fresh quality. Sometimes potatoes are added, along with the carrots; in the south, whole eggs are simmered in the stew during the last few minutes of cooking.
This is a one-pot dish that is traditionally cooked in terra cotta pots but any heavy skillet, large pot or Dutch oven will work fine.

THIT BO KHO
Vietnamese Beef Stew with Star Anise and Basil
(Serves 6)

2 to 2-1/2 pounds boneless beef chuck or beef stew meat cut in 11/2-inch cubes
1 tablespoon ground annatto seeds (achiote) OR mild paprika
2 teaspoons Chinese five spice powder OR 1 teaspoon curry powder and 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground white or black pepper
3-4 whole star anise, lightly toasted
2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger
2 tablespoons chopped shallots or scallions
3-4 cloves minced garlic
1 or 2 red serrano or jalapeño chiles, chopped OR 1-2 teaspoons hot chile flakes (use more or less to taste)
2 tablespoons fish sauce (Vietnamese is preferred)
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon raw or brown sugar
6-8 (3-inch) pieces lemongrass, lightly crushed (if you cannot get lemongrass, add 2 tablespoons lime juice at the end of the cooking)
1/2 cup seeded and diced tomatoes or 1/3 cup tomato purée
3-1/2 cups beef or chicken broth or water
1/2 pound carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch thick rounds
1/2 cup very thinly sliced onions
1/2 cup Thai or sweet basil leaves, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup whole cilantro leaves
3 tablespoons vegetable oil

Mix the annatto, five spice powder, sugar, salt and pepper together and toss with the beef cubes

Heat the oil to very hot in a heavy skillet or pot and brown the meat well. Add the ginger, garlic and shallots and continue cooking for a minute or two. Add the tomato and fry for two more minutes while stirring.

Pour in the broth; add the fish and soy sauces, lemongrass, chiles and star anise. Bring to a boil and reduce to a high simmer. Cook for 40 to 60 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the meat is fork-tender

Add the carrot slices and cook for 15 more minutes or until the carrot is tender. The liquid should have a light gravy-like consistency. Taste for salt and add more fish or soy sauce if needed.

Remove the lemongrass (if you want), stir in the basil and serve topped with onion slices and cilantro leaves.


In Santa Fe, you can find many of the necessary ingredients to prepare a Vietnamese meal at local supermarkets, particularly Whole Foods Market, Wild Oats Natural Marketplace and Albertson’s.
In Albuquerque, there are a number of Asian markets. The best are Ta Lin, 88 Louisiana SE, on the corner of Central Ave.; 99 Banh, Oriental Supermarket, 5315 Gibson SE; and A-Ri-Rang, 1826 Eubank NE.
Online, you can try
*www.orientalpantry.com
*www.pacificrimgourmet.com
*www.melissas.com

In May 2008 Daniel Hoyer will team up with Kim Phuong Nguyen — a native Vietnamese, who along with her husband, Marv Freedman, is a board member of the Santa Fe-based Vietnam Project — to offer two culinary and cultural trips to Vietnam.
One is a 10-day and one is 15-day trip. Both offer a south-to-north itinerary with market tours, city stays and side trips to the countryside, visits to museums, temples, pagodas and tombs along with home visits, cooking classes with locals, shopping and great eating.
The price of the 10-day insider adventure is $3,095 per person (double occupancy, single supplement $825), not including airfare to and from Vietnam. The 15-nights trip is $3,895 per person (double occupancy, single supplement $950), not including airfare to and from Vietnam.
For more information about the specific itineraries for each trip and included amenities, log onto www.welleatenpath.com/Vietnam_2008_tours.htm.