Eating Scary Food.

So I took off early for lunch in order to interview with the school where O.'s been teaching. I have plenty of hours at Smartcom, but I hate having all my halibuts in one net.

The interview went well, got a couple teaching gigs and some tutoring hours, back on the street within 15 minutes feeling pretty pleased with myself. Now I could go back to Smartcom and grab lunch at the safe restaurant in the bottom floor of the high-rise next door: My Way (complete with supergraphics featuring the song lyrics in English), but that would be a little boring, wouldn't it?

So I sauntered as jauntily as a puffy white guy in long pants can down the street in the violent tropical sunshine, instantly soaked in sweat, looking for something new and interesting to eat. A small cafe beckoned; I went in and sat down. I turned around to find the waitress covering her mouth and looking from me to the owner as if to say: "Oh, my god, what are we going to do with this large foreigner?"

"You want something drink?"
"Ca phe (see, I do know a little Vietnamese already!) with milk."

So the coffee came, but it was iced and I was afraid, so I removed the ice as quickly as I could. Sat sipping for quite a while, no menu. Finally she asks, "You want anything else?"
"Do you have any food?"
Much consternation, rapid exchange of thoughts between waitress and owner.
"You eat Vietnamese food?"
"Sure!"
Much rummaging about in the tiny space behind the counter. Finally the owner displays a a gaily-colored package of ramen noodles and an egg. "Is this okay?

Okay, by this time even I had figured out that the place only served drinks and they were doing their best to accommodate my inscrutable Western desires. "Thank you. I'll go somewhere else."

Out into the heat again, sauntering no longer. I finally spotted a little sign reading "Banh My Hue" Hue style sandwiches. Yum. And the place is packed--always a good sign. So I presented myself to the hostess, indicating by signs: one hungry person. Soon a seat was produced, and I sat in it. Problem: the menu says nothing about sandwiches. True, everyone has huge, crusty rolls on their plates, but on closer inspection they are not sandwiches. The hostess and her assistant don't speak English, and I have less Vietnamese. "Beff," they keep saying with friendly smiles. "Beff. Steak. Beff." Okay, looking around I see everyone is eating what looks like beef fajitas, but that's not what I'm in the mood for. I scan the menu again and spot one thing I can read: "Bun Bo Hue." Beef noodles Hue-style. I point, they nod, and all is well until the steaming bowl is thrust beneath my sweaty nose.

The bowl is awash with hunks of nameless meat. Let's see: those huge chunks are either congealed blood or liver, these are either very gristle-y beef or tripe, THAT is either a snout or perhaps a kneecap, and what's this? Oh, a wafer cut pork chop. Well, let's start with that.

So you throw on the chopped onions, bean sprouts, heaps of fresh basil, pickled garlic and chiles, squeeze lime all over it and dig in.

The pork chop is good. The broth, however, is just incredibly delicious. Light, yet beefy, basilly, and limey. I sample, then gulp down the sinewy bits, even some of the, yep, that's congealed blood alright. (Actually fairly tasteless, having yielded all savor to the triumphant broth.

By the time I finish, naught remains but the three blocks of congealed blood and the kneecap thing, and I am one happy, sweat-drenched camper.

That set me back all of a buck and a half, American.

Oh, and later that afternoon, we signed the lease on the house. We move in tomorrow. Pictures to follow.

P.