Harris/Carter-Brown's Kitchen Nightmares

*A collaborative effort, Kate in black and Duncan in red.

 

When Duncan and I decided to come to Vietnam, we knew (and were warned) that the food may be a bit different to what we usually like. Neither of us are fussy eaters so we thought it would be a hurdle we could overcome fairly quickly – which is true, for the most part. Since we have been here it's fair to say that we have found some local cuisine which we love, as well as a few things that will haunt us forever.

If you look up Vietnamese food, snake is often included in the description. In a previous blog I mentioned that one drunk night, a few of us from the course stumbled upon a local restaurant which served a variety of creatures you could eat, things ranging from frog, snake, chicken brain and scorpion. A little gross, but things you will brave after drinking about 15 Tiger draughts on a hot day. To our amusement the menu didn't end at these little critters, the restaurant could also serve more disgusting things like (and I quote) "salad of pink fish thing, head slightly cooked. A drilled, dried cuttlefish (Presumably it died on an oil rig in the North Atlantic sea). Dried prawn, root litter, botanic duck egg (whole baby duck foetus included). Dried snakehead fish salad with endives (??) and ox penis." Yes, ox penis.

Not surprising that amidst this collection of culinary catastrophes, barbequed whole scorpion seemed like a lip smacking delight straight from Nigella's cook book. It wasn't. Imagine a Charka briquette, now imagine it in the shape of an oversized cockroach with nippers and a stingy tail, that's scorpion.

We had to try something, so scorpion it was. Not too bad, not that great either. A bit like a piece of charcoal. I do remember thinking I will never eat this again. We also tried chicken brain, although I do believe I was conned into this. Duncan bit the actual head and, being Duncan – king of description, has a lovely mental image for you – I do warn it is pretty gag worthy .... "It was like biting into a boil that burst Maggie chicken noodle soup into your mouth." This description, though extremely nauseating, is pretty accurate. And I apologise to those that have taken a sachet of Maggie's chicken noodle soup for lunch today.

Once we left, tummy's feeling slightly molested but strong, we all happily agreed that we had done our duty of eating something weird in 'Nam. That is until my cousin visited 5 weeks later. 5 weeks is a long time and your stomach is quick to forget. We met for a beer, and 10 beers later we were back at the same restaurant eating scorpions again! Mine was severely undercooked or possibly still alive because it stung me on the way down, that is the real reason I could not leave the bed the next day, it wasn't a hangover, I was poisoned!

Come to think of it, drinking too many beers and having a language barrier is not the brightest of ideas. Especially when you get hungry. After watching some sporting event and downing a few at a pub we were hungry. I remembered seeing a Chinese restaurant about a block away and though that some sweet and sour pork would go down well. Now, I don't know which cretin made all of us westerners believe that sweet and sour pork is legit Chinese food, but it isn't. And, whoever you are, you almost got me deported. We walked into the restaurant, looked at the menu which was a combination of Chinese symbols, Vietnamese and a few pictures of a catfish, a gecko and a budgie – and absolutely no mention of sweet and sour pork. When you've had a few beers it's easy to forget that not everybody speaks English, and that charades doesn't work when you keep giggling. I found some poor, unsuspecting waitress and half asked, half mimed "sweet and sour pork" to which she gave me a disgusted look. I tried again, she got more agitated and we left. Porkless. It was only the next day that I realised what she must have seen. I was pretending to be a "pork" (you know, grunting, scratching around in the dirt, pretending I had foot and mouth disease) while saying the words "sweet...sour". Funny thing is, the word "Sour" is said exactly the same way as the Vietnamese word "Sawa" – directly translated as "big liar". No wonder she was getting angry with me, I was calling her a "big, sweet, lying pig". Either that or the fact that I was trying to coax a live octopus, presumably Pauls cousin, into telling me who would win the rugby world cup.

On a bit of a tangent relating to mispronouncing words. I don't feel bad, we definitely get as good as we give. When we were doing our course one of the Ex-pat teachers told us the story of "ma wa la wa wa". Vietnamese for some reason tend to drop the last syllable off certain words. "ma wa la wa wa" is actually "my wife likes white wine" said in Vietnamese English. We  have come to understand these words and always have a good chuckle, deliberately ordering chicken cordon bleau and then waiting for the waiter to read the order back to us, asking what the special of the day is when we can clearly see shitake and Portobello mushroom soup written on the specials blackboard in the corner. The shoe was severely on the other foot last week and I was left red faced and cringing in my travel and tourism class, when a dear young lady in the front row asked a question relating to my favourite travel destination and dropped the last syllable of the word country!

 

When reading a food menu, and you come across a range of different dishes you will always know from experience, or thought, what you will and won't like. For example I know I like beef noodles – I have tasted them, they are good. I know I won't like sautéed sea slugs – I have never tasted them, nor do I ever intend to. It is easy to make a decision when you can identify food. One thing that we keep coming across is "imitation dog". To put to rest any myths about dog meat, it is illegal to eat it here – however, many restaurants pride themselves in having imitation dog meat on the menu. It's not cheap either, which is saying a lot in a country where you can get a decent meal for 2 dollars. Duncan and I have been trying to figure out exactly what imitation dog meat is, and we each have separate theories.

Kate's idea: Imitation dog meat is meat from any living organism that has, at any stage of its life, imitated a dog. This could be a bird that imitates a dogs bark, maybe a cat that has herded a flock of sheep...perhaps even a baby who's first words were "woof!"

Duncan's ideas: I have two theories on the 'fake dog' front, firstly there aren't any real dogs here anyway. In six months I have seen not one terrier, hound or schnauzer. The 'dogs' here are squat but elongated, somehow have both long and short hair simultaneously and in a positively chameleon like manner take on the colour of their surroundings, furthermore it is well known that dogs are mans best friends and these flea bags all look at me as though they are imagining me basted in soy sauce and served with a portion of rice-in a strange way I am both flattered and terrified. Secondly, there are no beggars in this city!

 

We recently moved to a bigger room in our guest house with a lovely balcony. Unfortunately one of the neighbours has a rooster. Now call me a romantic but I always pictured a rooster as a farmyard animal standing proud on a white picket fence, silhouetted by the first light of dawn, his song a single, regal "COCKADOODLEDOO!" Oh how life has a way of screwing with you. This foul fowl that lives across from us wakes up at 03:30 in the morning, EVERY MORNING. He doesn't so much cockadoodledoo instead it's an annoying, croaky "BWAAAAAAAAK" and he does this every 7 minutes which is exactly the length of time it takes to fall back asleep after the previous "BWAAAAAAAAK"  woke you up. First there is no Santa, then no tooth fairy, no Easter bunny, no sweet and sour pork and now this! I have developed an irrational hatred for all things poultry recently and I have come to a realisation. We do not farm chicken and eat them because they taste good, no bacon is far superior to chicken. There is a war that has raged between man and fowl since the dawn of time. Man larger, smarter and carnivorous versus the chicken, crafty, edible and an early riser. Colonel sanders was a man driven mad from sleep deprivation, he sought vengeance and he sought it bad, a quick clean death was too good for the chicken, it deserved to be coated in MSG and boiled in oil.

 

In all honesty, the food in the city is generally really good. About a month ago, after enjoying a few cocktails at the Hard Rock, we were invited out by some friends we have made here. They had just finished work and were hungry. They took us to a Vietnamese cafe (the ones with the tiny plastic tables and chairs) and we sat there, on the pavement, at 3 am rolling our own spring rolls and cooking our own meat. The type of thing you could only do in a city as diverse as this. We have had many good dining experiences, but I doubt you would want to read about how we enjoyed a bottle of Italian red and a prawn curry while gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Occasionally we miss certain things from home, like Bovril and Bar Ones, but we never want for anything. Speak for yourself...Pablo Escobar managed to fly tons of Colombian dancing dust into America for years and not one of our readers has sent us any biltong yet.

 

If there is one thing I have learnt from writing this blog, it's that every good story starts with one question. "Shall we go for a drink?"