Ben Tre in the Mekong is the coconut capital of Vietnam. I can testify that the coconuts I drank there were the best in Asia. On the day I arrived I met "Hung," (and no, his surname was not "Low.") He would be my guide for the next few days.
This was my 4th town along the Mekong Delta and Hung agreed to share local food with me the next evening. I had been typically straight-forward about avoiding some touristy haven so, once past the "paddle-steamer-style-floating restaurant," idea, he soon picked up on what I was about.
A 29 year old local man looking half his age with decent English and a boyishness I could see in myself, we were going to have a laugh.
At 7pm he arrived, "avec" scooter at the Dong Khoi hotel which I had picked as a mid-range option. Now, at this point I must emphasise that on this occasion, the Lonley Planet guide recommendation didn't hold true.....
They mention, "spotless rooms," but mine was engrained with a filth that could only have been accumulated over many decades. I was able to write my name in the grime on the floor.
Sure, for 14 dollars there was "aircon," but the jet-fighter-like noise could have woken cats in Hanoi. Yes, there was a bathroom, but the plumber was trained at the, "John Wayne," school for plumbers. Both taps leaked, the toilet rattled (constantly) and a stream of water flowed across the floor to a drinage hole forming my own mini-Mekong!
Bang on cue, my mates, the mozzies appeared at dusk, their salivating gobs open as they eyed up my fleshy bits. I tried erecting my net but there was little chance in a room where the only decoration was a single light bulb. I really needed some high points but there were none except the light on the wall. So, being a boy scout, I improvised by attaching the four corners of the net to - my backpack, a chair, the lightbulb and the TV set. (it was no use for anything else)
When I finally managed to slide under the limp construction I got a full waft of the sheets. They honked to the high heavens of P*SS! Turning away sharply in disgust my back caught the mozzie net and a series of events began.....................down went the backpack, thudding harshly off head, over went the chair with a crash, the TV came hurtling towards my feet just as the lightbulb went out.
In total darkness I felt around for the TV, my loose mozzie net trapping my body like one of Spidermans villians. I felt a cold screen perched on the end of my bed, inches from dropping.
When I finally retired, (a defeated man) it was 2.00am.
The book also never mentioned that at 5am a loudspeaker announces to all in Ben Tre that its time to start work. Apparently this is common in the delta and other towns have the same system. I am confident that when this thing went off it was no less than 4 feet from my window. I bolted from my bed, convinced that the Americans had returned for one last mission.
For anyone visiting Ben Tre, I whole-heartedly recommend the palatial (in contrast) Huong Vong Hotel. For a few dollars more you'll get really spotless rooms, complimentary fruit, delicious "Hu Tieu," breakfast, no mozzies (at time of writing) and if you're lucky, a full view of the Mekong from your window.
The following night Hung drove us 4km into the countryside to find a restaurant. Many outdoor eateries lined the road identified by their brightly shining light bulbs in the trees.
He drove up to a packed place of open-air eating where the cicada shrill from the dense surroundings was almost deafening. Only two of the aluminium tables were vacant out of maybe 30 in the restaurant. This was a good sign. It was noisy in there.
There were families spooning broth to their animated children from a central pot, groups of scruffy-looking drunk men hockling loyudly as they gobbed on the floor and groups of mixed daters the girls sneaking a glance at the, "handsome," westerner who had just arrived. Beneath the tables of people were mini-war zones. I could see tissues, peanut shells, bottle tops, bones, toothpicks, spit and spent chopsticks.
We were sat next to a rowdy group of drunk, smoking males who looked like labourers. The entire table gawped at me (for some time)as I sat. One unshaven bloke with an eye that was half shut staggered over and toasting me pushed a shot glass of whisky into my hand. Obligingly I necked the lot, it was ok actually. A huge discoloured grin appeared across his face and he as he fet his way back to his leering mates he put his thumb up at me.
Thin strips of raw goat marinated in oil, lemongrass and chilli appeared with our very own charcoal table-top BBQ. One plate came with piles of herbs, okra and lotus shoots, another with rice paper wrappers, another with banana shoots, spring onion and holy basil.
There were dips arriving by the minute. Soya milk cheese, Nuoc mam with chilli and sweet chilli. Accompaniments were also fresh and varied. There was chopped raw lemongrass, starfruit, lettuce, slices of green banana with the skin attached.
As the goat strips sizzled, a mouth watering aroma drifted to my nostils in a cloud of savouriness. The goat was really tender. We made cigar- shaped wraps using rice paper and filled them with the meat, cooked okra, rice vermicelli and fresh herbs. We then dipped our pale "cigars" in the dip of our choice.
Like I had witnessed in China, everything is used. A clay pot was placed on the now, white-hot charcoal. A hearty liquid began to bubble. It contained straw and ear mushrooms, lettuce, nutty taro, tender bamboo and lotus shoots and chestnut brown pieces of goat bones attached to the bones. It looked phenominal.
I stole a quick spoon of the steaming liquid. The meaty flavour had a chilli-ginger zip which enhanced the meat and made me smile.
We were handed a plate with a block of white tofu, some egg noodles and two white eggs. More do-it-yourself!
As the bones danced in the broth, Hung carefully placed the noodles in the soup, then some herbs and finally, he cracked open the first egg.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT," I blurted looking shocked. A stream of viscous blood and an embryonic, alien-like form had evacuated the capsule.
This was a duck embryo and quite common in this part of the Mekong. Would I try it?
I had to. I was a guest in the country and I can hardly call myself a food explorer if I don't at least try.
The noodles, embryo, tofu and bones moved in a choreographed sequence. For many minutes we watached until Hung spooned the curled up creature into my bowl. There was no more blood but I could identify large black eyes, some beginnings of feathers and once cut with my spoon, little internal organs.
If eating cobra was pole-vaulting my comfort zone, then this was a longer pole. The flavour of the egg yolk was rich, cloying in the mouth and just as you might expect from the unfertilised version. The white part containing the duck was lightly chickeny in flavour with crunchy pieces of organ, bone and feather.
I was enjoying this meal very much indeed. Every element challenged a western way of thinking about food.
After we had washed our food down with Saigon beer, one of the staff came over and gave us a cigarette each! Maybe this was some kind of gastro-porn.
The best meal yet?
Certainly the most memorable and at times exceptional. It challenged my perceptions of Vietnamese food and even my own comfort zone. It even made me look again at my favourite cuisine in the world. (Italian)and I hold that in very high esteem indeed.
