#Saigon Deli

[formeryelpers]

Saigon Deli, 832 N Broadway, Los Angeles (Chinatown), CA 90012

I’ve walked by Saigon Deli so many times over the years. They have so much on the sidewalk that they look like a street vendor – but there is a small indoor area with a cash register. A woman made banh mi sandwiches in one corner (the banh mi is made to order).

The menu includes fruit, smoothies, spring rolls, egg rolls, fried banana, meatballs on a stick, and banh mi (combo, chicken, BBQ pork, sardine, meatball, BBQ beef, beef lemongrass, pork cake). Sandwiches are $6 - $7. They make fresh sugarcane juice to order, on the sidewalk.

#1 Banh mi dac biet ($6): This was a long baguette stuffed with pickled carrots and daikon (lightly pickled, crunchy), fresh jalapeno, mayo, and 3 kinds of meat (BBQ pork, cha lu/pork cake, and ham). There was no pate, cilantro, or cucumber. The meat wasn’t bad but it wasn’t what I expected. Normally, the meat is thinly sliced. Here the meat was in big thick pieces. There was a ton of meat. The sandwich seemed thrown together. The baguette was not toasted but was soft and chewy. It was not terrible but it was missing some key elements.

The prices posted on the menu outside seem to be outdated. The current prices can be found on the indoor menu. There is no seating.

3 out of 5 stars

By Lolia S.

[cruella-devegan]

Kashew Cheese Deli / Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Cashew cheese pesto toasted sandwich with a soy latte 🧀

[avictimofthejazz]

🍰 Three foods (for Face)

Peanut Butter & Jelly sandwiches 

When Face first came to Sacred Heart, while the priests decided what they needed to do, he was entrusted to Sister Gwenny to get cleaned up, and get some food in him. Needing something fast, she made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Even years later, he has very vivid memories of sitting at a table in the warm kitchen, eating the sandwich with a glass of milk, feeling like it was manna from heaven after being hungry for so long. Even decades, and quite a bit of money later, Face still returns to PB&J as a comfort food. 

Fruit Pies

Face enjoys a good fruit pie--isn’t even picky about the flavor. If made correctly, they aren’t too sweet, and are generally fairly easy to find for a guy who  spends a lot of his life on the road. Pretty much every diner has them. Much to his dismay however, he does not get to  finish his pie as often as he would like... especially when he is traveling with his friends. This is mostly because his friends can’t get through one meal without creating a crisis... 

Bánh Mì 

While Face would rather leave MOST aspects of Vietnam well and truly in the dust, he has a special soft spot for bánh mì, a Vietnamese sandwich that was a popular street-vendor option in Saigon. Most of his informants in Saigon were street kids. He never paid them in money, fearing that they could be badly injured if someone tried to rob them. Instead, information was rewarded by Face making sure they got a solid meal, and other necessities, along with fun treats that he produced seemingly out of the blue. Bánh mì was one of his favorite options because it  was always easy to find a cart selling them, and they gave the kids a balanced meal without cutting into his funds too badly.  A few of the older kids he knew made it to America after the Fall of Saigon. When they decided they wanted to open a deli specializing in Vietnamese food, including bánh mì, Face became one of their investors. To date, he is very happy to see the kids flourishing in their new business. 

[cassieuncaged]

Grave Bound - Chapter 9

Chapter 8

Summary: Elias has a torturous recovery ahead of him, not to mention the ire of an abusive father.

TW: medical gore, blood, allusions to verbal abuse, physical recovery, language, etc.

WC: 2.9 K

1969

Collapsed, flattened like a pancake.

Elias’s left lung had folded in on itself. The surgeons inserted a hard tube down his throat before slicing the man open like a piece of deli meat. Rachel considered herself to be a strong-willed person. She’d been in the emergency room in Jacksonville when two dumb teenagers came in from a car accident, legs smashed beyond recognition.

That had been simple in comparison. She was forced to dutifully watch as doctors dug bullets out of his chest before unceremoniously flopping him to one side. Tubes were worked into a wiry frame, an attempt to get a shredded lung reinflated. It was unlikely he’d survive something so strenuous, in the middle of enemy ground with little to no resources.

All they needed was to get him stabilized to survive a chopper ride to Saigon. There was a larger chance of survival at a functioning hospital. Warm breath was humid beneath the cloth mask as Rachel scurried to assist the doctors. Bright red was smeared across latex gloves as the tube was held in place. His mouth was wired open, unnaturally wide as air was pumped in.

The nurse was shifted to holding an oxygen mask over a slack jaw. Eyes twitched beneath heavy lids, dark and sunken. Every breath was shallow, growing slightly stronger. It was too much to see a man so energetic and good-hearted barely clinging onto life. The young woman, like the rest, had seen death far too often. The lives of men they knew and cared about; the men they loved. Attempting to keep Maggie from her mind was a difficulty, knowing there was nothing she could do to comfort her friend.

Knowing that she’d be completely inconsolable if Sgt. Grodin died.

Rachel tried not to think about that, growing hopeful as his vitals improved. The lead surgeon barked out a slew of orders, covered in a stained smock as before slicing open his chest to dig out another slug.

Rumors had begun to circulate while Harris contended with Barnes. The boys were all somber about the entire ordeal. Even O’Neill kept his lips buttoned. Rachel had her own suspicions. They were all sitting ducks until the court martial was ordered.

“Scalpel!” the head surgeon demanded as Kelly quickly complied with a shaking utensil tray. Only a few more slices and the final bullet would be removed from a flattened pectoral. Their odds to stabilize the sergeant were hopeful.

As long they could all stay alive long enough to get him transferred to a chopper and shipped back to the city.

……

An uneasy hush fell over the camp.

Bob was questioned by Harris, who was quick to order a court martial.  The captain lived by the book and wanted answers about what the hell unfolded between he and Grodin. Lying in the barracks, the red head could hardly believe how bloody he’d been when the doctors peeled him from the stained stretcher. It was brutal, enough to rip her heart free from an aching body. Sobbing on the ground, Caldwell and Rachel practically had to carry the nurse from the mud to her bed.

Crying herself dry, Maggie felt completely hollow. This was why she didn’t want to get attached; tomorrow was hardly a guarantee in normal times. Throw a war into it and their odds were even lower. Elias Grodin, her light in the dark, all but extinguished.

By one of his own men. And what the hell for? What did Barnes think would happen? Blame it on an attack by the Viet Cong? Did he even consider being caught?

Sadness was swiftly replaced with a white hot anger. Rage wrapped its poisonous fingers around the woman’s heart, suddenly craving revenge. Rain pattered on the roof of the canvas tent when she hopped from the ramshackle bunk. Marching to the mouth of the settlement, the flap was pushed back roughly. A humid mist covered ruddy cheeks as the encampment was searched for Barnes. Harris had left the sergeant alone, still armed to the teeth with his assault rifle. Rain dripped down the mangled scars splitting an angry face, knee wrapped with gauze. Until the court martial arrived, they were unable to spare any of their men. O’Neill sheepishly sidled up to Bob. Words were lost as he gestured to the medical tent, tight red curls soaked. Bob looked irritated, scowling.

Red looked uneasy while Maggie found an opportunity.

Charging like a wild mare, strong legs carried the woman a mere twenty yards before she was colliding with a solid body. Pummeling Bob into the mud had been simple enough, the muddy earth making it easy enough to upend his bad foot. Solid muscle was rendered useless as lithe fingers were fast to attach around a thick neck. Thumb pressing into a soft windpipe, blunt fingernails scraped at open palms.

“You son of a bitch!” Maggie growled with all the vitriolic acid that could be injected into the words. Coughing and grunting against her hands, Bob began to peel himself free of her grasp.

“What the fuck-” he choked. Before the sergeant could say another word, a pale fist collided with the hard plane of a scarred jaw. Large hands reached up to bare down on prominent clavicles as the woman hissed in pain. It felt like the bone would surely give. That was until a sharp knee was brought down onto an unguarded groin.

Howling in pain, one arm attempted to toss her to the side while Maggie was able to land another hit. She could barely register the upheaval of the men around her. Captain Harris was nowhere to be found while Wolfe let the assault unfold. An elbow collided with O’Neill’s nose when he attempted to intervene.

“Fuck,” the man hissed, blood pouring from freckled nostrils as Barnes was bombarded with a fresh attack of smacks and scratches.

“Haven’t you taken enough from me?” An open handed collided with a bloody cheek as the weather morphed into a torrential down pour. “Why don’t you kneel me down at knife point again, you piece of shit!”

Barnes’ squad barely reacted, though that wasn’t shocking; most of them had attempted assaulting several other nurses back on base, succeeding with a few. She wanted Sgt. Barnes to meet his reckoning, beaten into a bloody pulp on enemy soil. By her fists and her fists alone.

King pushed through the throng of onlookers, knowing he was the only one that could talk some sense into the nurse while Harris and Caldwell were preoccupied.

“Maggie!” His voice competed with claps of thunder. “He’s not worth it!”

Thick arms looped around a slender torso, peeling her away. Flailing against the intervention, she attempted to claw herself free of the man. The nurse was easily slung over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Bastard’s got a court martial coming for his ass. Let them handle it.” Taylor attempted to reason with the woman, earning a snicker from Bunny in the process. Angry and ruffled by the mess, the private laid out his compatriot with a sharp blow to the jaw.

“Damn it, Chris,” King turned on his heel, “Get your shit together.”

“That’s not enough! Put me down!” Small fists collided with a broad back as King ignored her protests. Rhah and Taylor flanked the soldier to make sure the scrappy nurse didn’t free herself and run amok.

Ducking into their makeshift barracks, they were hit with the warmth of stale smoke. Unsure what else would calm her, he swaddled the woman in Elias’s hammock. Swinging for a wildly for a moment, Maggie looked desperately at the worried faces hovering above her.

A lone headband hanged on a nail on the same post that kept the hammock stable. Grabbing at the scrap of fabric, Maggie inhaled all that she could. Sweat and weed permeated from it, catching the salty tears being shed.

“Mags,” King dropped to his knees beside her, “He’s not gone. Not yet.”

“What if he doesn’t make it? What do I do then?” voice wavering, the private gave the others a look to grant them some privacy. Crowd thinning, she repeated herself, “What happens to me?”

“We keep fighting, Maggie.” He swallowed down his own sob, “We don’t have a fucking choice. If we don’t fight with Elias, we fight for him.”

Cobalt eyes remained unfocused when King left the nurse alone. The men filed back out into the rain, her only company the groan of the sling beneath her. Squeezing her eyes shut, Maggie imagined muscular arms were wrapped tightly around her before sobbing helplessly into silence.

1971

It had been more than a year of rehabilitation.

Time had passed bitterly when Elias was forced to return home to Wisconsin. He was lucky to be alive, even if it was back in The Dells living with his folks. Mary Grodin was doting if not overbearing. She waited on the landing as he limped down the stairs, arms outstretched.

“I got it, ma.” Forcing a smile, he ignored the scream resonating in both his leg and chest. “I can handle myself okay.”

“I’ll do anything to make life easier on you.” Mary watched attentively, genuine in her motive. Nothing stung a mother’s heart like watching her child struggle to become whole again. The surgeries had been endless, keeping Elias in an induced coma for what felt like years. Mary had stayed by his side whenever she could to assure her eldest wouldn’t wake up alone. Even Art had been genuinely worried for the child he often rooted against. That changed abruptly when Elias returned home.

“You’re a sweetheart.” Grinning softly, the soldier accepted his mother’s hand as he worked down the final few stairs. It wasn’t her fault. Mary Grodin wasn’t perfect but tried her damnedest while her husband refused. Every chance he’d had to call his eldest a pansy or Nancy, Art took it. There was no hiding his disdain for Elias’ near-death experience, the one that would leave him in a world of pain for the remainder of his life.

“Paul’s here.” She was quick to add, watching as Elias limped to the kitchen. Stiffening at the admission he silently grabbed an apple from the counter. “Thought you’d like to say hello to your brother.”

He could read between the lines, seeing his mother’s desperate and searching eyes. His relationship with his brother was strained, leaving part of the family fractured with turmoil.

“I don’t know, ma.” Elias took a contemplative bite of the red fruit. “We’re not the best of buddies.”

“He’s been worried about you,” Mary added somberly. “It’d do you both good to talk, to leave the past behind.”

“It’s not that simple,” he ignored how his mother’s eyes glistened, tears ready to fall. Taking another bite, the man sighed. He’d do it just to appease Mary; all she ever wanted was a happy family and was given endless arguments and an onslaught of verbal abuse. Pressing a kiss to a wrinkled temple, Elias headed to the living room.

Art sat in his chair, Paul on the sofa as the pigskin was tossed across the screen of the hulking Zenith television. Both men nursed beers, ignoring Elias as he sauntered over to an empty armchair.

"Dad, Paul." Crossing one leg, Elias bounced his foot nervously before Art’s attention was suddenly on him. A loud crunch was taken out of a dwindling apple.

“Haven’t been to the barber.” He grumbled, the youngest of the group smirking before coming to his brother’s defense.

“A little shag looks nice.” Paul added hollowly. Sporting honey blond hair and standing at a towering 6’2, the younger Grodin was traditionally handsome. Though he also suffered from severe aggression and anger issues. But he was in decent spirits, genuinely curious how his brother’s recovery was going. Art was sullen, though less hostile than usual. It was painfully obvious how unwelcome he was in his own family.

“How’s the ball game going?” Elias asked awkwardly, never giving much of a damn about the sport. Arthur rolled dark eyes as Paul wordlessly gestured to the score on the screen. The Packers were winning. At least that meant his father would be in a better mood for the evening. “How’s Bonnie and the kids?”

“Good, good.” Paul nodded before cracking open another beer. He and Elias had never known how to hold a conversation, sharing no common interests. The veteran had always been closer with his sister, who was far more empathetic and interesting. His father and brother exuded an unwelcomeness that confirmed Elias was a piece of the puzzle that no longer fit, if he ever really did to begin with.

Paul stayed for a strained dinner, quietly buttering a roll as Mary scooped a hearty helping of casserole onto each plate. Elias' appetite had been minimal. He felt like a picky child that didn’t like the meal his mother so meticulously made.

“You gonna eat tonight?” Arthur questioned gruffly.

“I’m not a kid.” Blue eyes offered a warning gaze as a sharp jaw set.

“Then stop acting like one and eat your damned dinner.” A balled fist struck the table, sending a tumultuous shake across the surface. Paul pretended not to notice while Mary burrowed her hand in a weathered one.

“How’s the baby?” their mother turned the attention back to the younger of the two, giving her eldest a moment to gather himself. Living with Arthur Grodin as a father had been difficult enough the first time around. Now the man was incensed, angered by the fact that Elias was only human and suffered the repercussions of gunshot wounds. He hated that the slamming of a door or a balloon popping would send his son into a panicked frenzy. Mind racing, the addled vet tried not to think of their troubled past, the broken ribs or bloody noses. Not to mention the amount of drugs that had been consumed in attempt to soften mental wounds.

Paul shared a couple stories about the new edition, Mary ecstatic to hear about her grandchild. There were a couple pointed comments about the childless Elias, who ignored the conversation completely.

Breathing becoming shallow, a lean body shook nervously as anxiety surged through the man. He wasn’t even sure what triggered him as large hands clutched the table. Nails dug into the underside of the wood, splinters digging into calloused skin.

“What the hell was it this time?” Art grumbled with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Paul looked genuinely worried as Mary was rushing to her son’s side. “You’ve got to stop babying him or he’ll never get better!”

“Hush, now. That isn’t helping,” silvery blonde fell worried eyes as she gently rubbed broad shoulders. Elias looked up to his mother, eyes watering with desperation as she helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you upstairs, honey.”

Elias nodded as she led him carefully from the dining room and to the dim stairwell. It wasn’t a quick enough exit to save him from his Art’s words. They raced through the folds of a tired mind as his body sagged into the twin mattress. Mary sought a warm blanket and prepared a cup of tea, the best comfort she could provide.

Yet his mother’s tenderness didn’t shake what his father had so casually spat out. Elias wasn’t sure if he was meant for him to hear or not, but now he was plagued to remember. Those words hurt worse than any bullet ever could. Stifling a cry, tears were hot running down a stricken face. Curling around his pillow, his body shuddered as the sobs became impossible to hold back.

Sometimes I wish he didn’t come back at all.

Like a punch to gut, he was instantly grounded. What really stung was the remorse the sentence was delivered with. Not angry or vitriolic. Only resigned and sympathetic. Elias bit his tongue while trying to swallow the thoughts bubbling up a dry throat. Bitter and scarring, the voice in his head urged him to end it all. He never took the subconscious advice though it made him ache more. What was his purpose if not to ache and suffer? What if his father was right? What if he were better off rotting alone in the jungle?

Blue eyes screwed tightly shut as watery rivulets danced across a sharp cheeks. Pillow now damp, he attempted to will the tears away until sleep won the battle.

[plokjnhb]

candace marie hughes dharavi flooded appling rd. paid to fletcher creek pile paid bismark st memphis tennessee paid silverage ave memphis tennessee paid deli silverage ave memphis tennessee paid pennsylvania memphis tennessee paid florida st memphis tennessee paid memphis wings and grill 1472 florida st memphis tennessee 38109 paid baltimore maryland paid egaricia paid jarchie/take me to church paid oocL hong kong container ship with key paid john boats with paddles and keys paid gravy manchurian street foods in saigon on cycle paid road to zion cartbasket paid laids paids loc must return to candace marie hughes and on paid loc. loc. paid. laid. paid. loced. mail kiy key card dh to candace marie hughes on paid. loc. laid. paid. loced.

[gordiestravels]

Tuesday 17 January 23 Phuong is in The Plaza Premium Lounge in Singapore, having a long, hot shower and food, waiting for her 1pm flight to Saigon and I'm at North Beach Deli for a coffee...

[coento]

Esta noche #vietnamesefood #whatsonmyplate #Soup #PhoSaigonDeli And as a starter #bangcuong @saigondelibreda #tastyfood #foodphotography #foodphotographer #foodieofinstagram #foodie #foodspotting (at Saigon Deli) https://www.instagram.com/p/CluC1T6rVMR/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[eatingtheave]

Welcome back to the U District

On Sept. 13, UW staff and faculty returned to campus, and today, Sept. 29, students are joining them with the beginning of fall quarter. I am a UW staff member, and I am slowly making my return back to the office. This means that I will regularly be in my favorite neighborhood and will be able to more easily explore U District restaurants again!

For my job, I wrote about the state of the U District community as it recovers from the worst of — and continues to cope with — the pandemic. The U District is experiencing a lot of change, with light rail opening on Oct. 2 and the development of towers and many other new buildings, following an upzone of the neighborhood in 2017. I have mixed feelings about the changes. I value the small, family-run businesses in the U District. I worry that they will be priced out and that the character of the neighborhood will change — a conversation happening in many parts of our rapidly developing city. But I talked to six U District community members, and I left every interview feeling optimistic for the neighborhood’s future, which is reflected in the story.

One of the people I talked to was Don Blakeney, executive director of the U District Partnership (UDP), an organization that represents the neighborhood’s business and community interests. The UDP is hosting a festival when light rail opens, and it is showing off the food scene as part of the celebration with a $3 food walk at 40 U District restaurants. I hope you’ll be there on Oct. 2. I will be!

I went back to the office on Sept. 13. It was my first day at the office of my new job, which I started in March 2020. My co-workers and I ventured to the Ave for lunch. We headed to a crowd-pleaser and perennial favorite, Sizzle & Crunch. Sadly, we found it boarded up and closed! 

It was a letdown to find Sizzle & Crunch this way after looking forward to coming back to the neighborhood. I checked Facebook and saw that they opened a new location in Federal Way, so I couldn’t imagine that it went out of business. Still, there was no sign indicating an opening date; it was a mystery. We ended up at Saigon Deli around the corner, a reliable spot for banh-mis and other Vietnamese food.

The following Friday, my boss offered to take me out to lunch as a welcome to the office. He had told me that he liked Arepa Venezuelan Kitchen, which serves its namesake sandwiches made with maize dough. So we headed up to the 50th and the Ave, which required a car ride from my current office on campus, as opposed to the brisk walk from my old office at UW Tower.

I got the Best Bart arepa, which includes pork and shredded beef with cilantro sauce. I’ve always found the pork a bit dry, and this time was no different. But I really enjoyed the shredded beef, so I think I’ll go with shredded beef only next time. I really tried not to stuff my face. I wanted to eat it daintily with a fork, like a civilized person. Instead, my attempts at mannerliness lost out to gluttony. I opened my mouth as wide as it could to get the clumps of meat into my belly.

The plantains we shared were fried, seared with a nice carmelized taste that contrasted nicely with the gooey, sweet inside I topped it off with an Inca Cola, a soda I haven’t seen since I went to Peru 10 years ago! I remembered it tasting like bubble gum 10 years ago, and yep, it tasted like bubble gum again. My boss asked, “How is it?” “Not great,” I said. It wasn’t disgusting, but I don’t need to have it for another 10 years. Still, it was a delight to find a Peruvian soda in Seattle. These small encounters with other cultures are what make the U District special.

After I finished work that Friday, I walked around the neighborhood, swinging by Sizzle & Crunch four days after the last time I visited it. This time, instead of boarded up and closed, I found a door open.

The opened door beckoned, so I poked my head in. I found the owner there — the same guy I talked to when he caught me taking a picture in 2017 and I explained I was a blogger. He was so happy and eager then — he thought I was a much more important blogger than I actually am. I’ve seen him many other times, sometimes rushed at the register with a furrowed brow. This time he was calm, a contrast to the chaos indicated by the door with the broken window. “We’re redecorating,” he said.

I let out a sigh of relief. There was definitely some damage to the restaurant, but maybe he was using the time to make the business better. It was another symbol of the neighborhood — broken but on the brink of good things to come.

[tieutru236]

Một chút mắm tôm cho thêm thơm mới. #food #foodie #foody #instafood #delicious #deli #good #goodfood #cook #cooky #saigon #saigonfood #vietnamfood #thanhriviu #riview #vietnamoi #diadiemanuong #sàigòn https://www.instagram.com/p/CBE41vRjjSP/?igshid=cz8opc3leptz

[my-bobohu-blog]

i fucking hate the model minority myth because it completely erases the existence of asians (mainly southeast asians) living in poverty in america

[baohouse]

bánh mì, grand-père & the multiverse

Bánh mì is a Vietnamese term for wheat bread, as well as the sandwich derived from them. As a sandwich, in its most popular form, it uses a loaf of baguette, chicken liver pâté spread, deli meats (especially chả lụa ham, char siu BBQ pork, and/or grilled pork), topped with julienned pickled daikon and carrot, a sprig of cilantro for aromatics, and a few slices of fresh jalapeño peppers.

There is a similar food, bò né, which is essentially Vietnamese steak & eggs, often served with pâté, sometimes grilled onions, and with a side of baguette. I jokingly call it deconstructed bánh mì, a sandwich that you eat off the plate. The day before my grandfather's funeral, I took my father out to eat some "deconstructed bánh mì".

"Did grandpa ever had to go to reeducation camp like you did Dad?"

I wasn't very close to my grandfather. I met him enough times to count on two hands, perhaps. And even during those times, it was difficult to communicate with him because of my limited Vietnamese language proficiency. Or maybe I was just very shy and didn't know what to say to him. It turns out he was more fluent in English than I gave him credit for. It was not until I was already in college that I first learned he was a poet, about anything interesting about him.

Dad said no; ông nội had already left the Republic of Vietnam's War Psychology Department, having served in the early 1960s for three years, about a decade before the end of the war between North and South Vietnam. He served as a battlefield journalist (aka war correspondent), reporting events from the front lines. I was curious whether grandpa—having served for an institution connected to the South Vietnam government that opposed the victorious communist political class—would have been incarcerated into reeducation camps following the end of the war. They were prisons with the purpose of de-radicalizing any possible insurgent elements loyal to the former South Vietnam. My father spent 3 years in one as a low rank-and-file soldier; and that was considered short and for good behavior. I asked that question wondering if grandpa had to endure that kind of hardship, on top of the fact that postwar Vietnam had to face difficulty in reconstruction while getting embargoed by America and by China due to Cold War politics. And although grandpa wasn't detained into one, I can only imagine what he felt knowing he had friends and relatives (my dad among them) who disappeared from his life for years.

Bò né as deconstructed bánh mì is a somewhat silly (and delicious) way of describing how I have this tendency to take things apart, appreciate the pieces, and then recombining them again. And so over the few years that I had a chance to try to understand grandpa, I placed his life in front of me, deconstructed it, and examined the moments of his life. There are many details to everyone's life, his included. But what I think stood out to me, as soon as I examined his life, was this inexplicable parallels to my own life.

Born Ngô Đa Thiện in 1923 in Quảng Trị, Việt-Nam, then part of the Indochinese Union as a French colony, he was the son of a Chinese immigrant from the nearby island of Hainan who married into a local Vietnamese family. Dad told me how grandpa was kind of the black sheep among his siblings. He grew up taking an interest in literature, especially foreign literature, while his siblings made their living through trade and business. In his youth he would participate in poetry recitals. By 1943, during the time of Imperial Japanese occupation, he would earn his Diplôme d'Étude Primaire Supérieurs Franco-Indigène as proof of his French fluency, and continued to learn English himself. Shortly thereafter, he would move to Saigon, work for a French commercial company as an accountant, marry my paternal grandmother, and have their first child in the late 1940s. My father would become their third child in 1949, whereupon my grandfather would move back to Quảng Trị to open up a portrait photography studio and operate it for ten years while becoming a father to more children (my aunts and uncles). By the end of his life, he would have 13 children; 11 with his wife, and adopting another 2. In 1960, he moved back to Saigon and served for three years as a war correspondent. In 1966, he would go work for an American financial company for three years. When my father sponsored the entire family over to the United States through the Orderly Departure Program, my grandfather would continue to hone his translation skills by taking courses in Japanese at a local community college, as well as helping translate news articles and poems among Vietnamese, English, French, and Chinese.

If I could speak to grandpa, I would tell him—despite not having grown up around him all that much—I grew up reading the English dictionary, and in my middle school years, started composing poetry. I learned French and Spanish in high school. Parlez-vous français pépère? I entered university UCLA and, rather than focusing on my computer science major—selected as the sensible thing to choose given many of my aunts and uncles on my mother's side had a career in the technology industry—I instead developed my photography and graphic design sensibilities. I dropped out of UCLA's computer science program, trying to pursue and survive on a graphic design career. Thinking that I had to try to get back into a "real career", I tried to pursue accounting. I could not get past the second quarter in it. And yet within the past 3 years, I would join my best friend Duy to help him create a financial technology company. And now I am married to my beloved Thuy. (As she was reading this paragraph noting the parallels between my and my grandfather's lives, she insisted on not having 13 children.)

Even my father has a creative streak: a singer-songwriter, musician, and three degrees in Buddhist philosophy, Vietnamese literature, and radio telecommunications.

And so there is a part of me that is in awe and wonder of the parallels of creative men of three generations. It is a mysterious coincidence, that perhaps there is some kind of underlying order in the universe that gives rise to this kind of repetition. My dad would say it is karma or that it runs in the blood. I don't know about karma. However I concede that there are still things about the universe human beings only have the faintest glimpses of understanding. Maybe our souls are mathematically divine states of quantum wave functions, vibrating like music along cosmic strings.

But the idea of human behavior running in the blood, or rather our DNA, has some merit. Consider that when kittens are born and begin to grow up, they instinctively know to use a litter box. There is plenty we do not know about human epigenetics, little "programs" within our DNA that facilitate certain behaviors. And then I had a rather interesting thought about my relationship to my grandfather and to my extended family on my father's side of 12 aunts/uncles and ~30 first cousins. Me and every single one of my first cousins have about 25% of each of our DNA shared with our grandfather. Each of us is literally 25% Ngô Đa Thiện. I felt like each us are an alternate reality of his DNA. I, Ngô Thiên Bảo, am the manifestation of his genetics living as a male Vietnamese American doing software engineering. My cousin Catherine Ngo is the manifestation of his genetics living as a female Vietnamese American learning animation. Christie Ngo is the expression of his genetics living as a female Vietnamese American studying statistics/informatics. And Richard Ngo is the manifestation of his DNA as a Vietnamese American aspiring to be a computer scientist.

There are times when I dream of alternate realities and alter egos, like a role-playing video game where you assume the life of another person. And yet, my family are the very physical, real, manifestations of my own genes played out in different lives in different ways. And when you deconstruct their lives, and then "replay" their lives to understand where each one is coming from, you not only build empathy, but start to become aware of your own possibilities. Family is the manifestation of your own personal multiverse. (I am aware of the multiverse connection to the recently debuted film Everything Everywhere All at Once.) Like it or not, they are what you are if you were born as another person. If that is not reason enough to state why family is important, then I don't know what is.

And so after understanding glimpses of grandpa's life, what is my possibility? What I see from his life, is a life filled with love and compassion (I mean... with 13 children and his wife, my grandmother, that is impossible to refute). I see a life filled with awe and wonder of the deep mysteries and patterns of the universe. I see a life of creativity, and the courage to take the road less traveled (one of the poems he translated in his book was "The road not taken" by Robert Frost). And it fills me with warmth and hope that that legacy that my grandfather has bestowed upon our family will carry on into my as-yet-born child who will draw breath this autumn.

Rest in peace grandpa. You're not only with me in spirit. You are me.

Ngô Đa Thiện (1923 Quảng Trị, Việt-Nam–2022 San Jose, California)

[formeryelpers]

Phuc Loc, 14024 Magnolia St., Ste 100, Westminster, CA 92683

How is there one egg roll specialist a few feet from another egg roll place in this strip mall? Westminster has a ridiculous number of Vietnamese eateries. As for Vietnamese egg rolls, I never met one that I didn’t like. They’re addictive. And the more you order, the bigger the discount. You can get them hot or frozen in a bag.

While Phuc Loc specializes in egg rolls, they also offer noodle soup, beef stew, chicken congee, etc. All the menu items were $5. Three egg rolls are $2.50.

* Egg roll: Thin, golden crisp shell tightly packed with ground chicken and pork, glass noodles, wood ear mushrooms and carrots. These were a wider than usual. While they were delicious, I would have preferred more pepper and a heavier hand at seasoning.

Phuc Loc is no frills and set up like a deli. Order at the counter. The service was interesting – I ordered, paid and got the change without hearing one word from the cashier.

The credit card minimum is $20.

4.5 out of 5 stars

By Lolia S.

[cruella-devegan]

Kashew Cheese Deli / Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Kashew cheeseboard for one, with an assortment of bread and crisps, 4 types of cashew cheese including cashew cream, pesto, pickled vegetables and oil. Incredible cafe, with amazing assortment of cheese options! 🧀

[marisagertz]

WFH Lunch Ode to Saigon Vietnamese Sandwich Deli

[nicks-lunchbox-service]

9.23.21 Lunchtime drawing: Saigon Vietnamese Sandwich Deli on Broome St., I used to stop here each evening I went to the studio back when I had a space in Dumbo, killer vegetarian Banh Mi options! Also, the two people I sketched in got up and left before I finished, so just empty chairs on the left.

[thegoodhausfrau]

I’m killing time at work so I figured I'd post a list of some of the NYC food spots on my list. Of course this list is gigantic, not divided up by neighborhoods at all, and doesn't even include everything as I decided to cut it off at 100. But not even my top 100 because I feel I've already posted about a bunch of those spots and you can just search for them. Also I’m not going to give you any context or what I want off these menus. Just know that something here looked like something I need to have in my my mouth. Given the size of this incomplete and forever growing list you see what I mean when I say I can make grown men cry. What can I say except I'm hungry.

Don Angie

An Choi

Scarr's Pizza

Donna

Katana Kitten

District Saigon

Mekelburg's Domino

Chillato

Yungshang Rice Noodle House

GFG Bakery

Legend of Taste

Shanghai You Garden

Lao Bei Fang

Olio e Piu

Sticky's Finger Joint

Boucherie

Doughnut Plant

Russ & Daughters

Cheeky Sandwiches

La Caridad 78

Ganesh Temple Canteen

Blue Sky Deli Grocery Corp

Lilia Ristorante

Indo Java

BZ Grill

Artopolis

Main Street C&L Imperial Taiwanese Gourmet

El Nuevo Bohio Lechonera

Moloko

Via Carota

Sake Bar Decibel

Myung San

Clover Club

Murray's Bagels

Lee Lee's Baked Goods

188 Bakery Cuchifrito's

Asian Jewels Seafood Restaurant

East Harbor Seafood Palace

Kai Feng Fu

Yun Nan Flavor Garden

Empanadas Cafe

Unidentified Flying Chickens

De Mayo Food Market

Brooklyn Bagel & Coffee Company

Kung Fu Xiao Long Bao

Golden Shopping Mall

New World Mall Food Court

Mamoun's Falafel

The Chipper Truck

Africa Kine Restaurant

Xin Taste Hand Pull Noodle

Nepali Bhanchha Ghar

Chengdu Heaven

Luna de Xelaju Restaurant & Pizzeria

Shanghai Zhen Gong Fu

Dumpling Galaxy

Cheburechnaya

Arepa Lady

Gloria Pizza

Di Fara Pizza

Corner Slice

NY Pizza Suprema

Peppa's Jerk Chicken Restaurant

St. Anslem

Szechuan Mountain Horse

Utopia Bagels

Kossar's

Zucker's Bagels & Smoked Fish

Hwa Yuan

Peking Duck Sandwich Stall

Decoy

The Little One

Joe's Pizza

Emilio's Ballato

New Park Pizza

Best Pizza

Kababish

Eddie's Sweet Shop

Super Taste

Sammy's Roumanian Steakhouse

Peter Luger

Delmonico's

Momo Sushi Shack

El Tina Fish Market

Dyckman Bakery

Mama Sushi

Malecon Restaurant

Mario's Restaurant

Cosenza's Fish Market

Teitel Brothers

Ralph's Italian Ices & Ice Cream

Denino's Pizzeria Tavern

The Original Goodfella's Brick Oven Pizza

Lee's Tavern

Mi Casa Bar & Restaurant

Alfie's Pizza

Dani's House of Pizza

Imperial Palace

Nan Xiang Xiao Long Bao

Wonton Noodle Garden Restaurant