The king of late-night street food
It was after the first shift volunteering as a bartender in my hostel that I realized I was going to love Hanoi. My supervisor and I finished a shift at our rooftop hostel bar. It was late, we were most definitely drunk from the copious amounts of espresso martinis, but we were hungry. As soon as we walked outside, we were led by the faint smell of warm food in the air. Minutes of walking led to a fairy light lit spot, plastic furniture, and steam everywhere. My supervisor was a seasoned late-night eater and knew exactly what to order. Our table soon filled with dishes I couldn’t pronounce, and like every hungry drunks would, we shut up and started eating.
You can say a lot about Asia. Damn, I have. But whatever flaws people point to, Asia will always dominate in one thing: late-night street food.
It’s dirty, it’s cheap, and it will probably make you question whether you just voluntarily got food poisoning. But in the end, it’s there when you need it, and it’s incredible. Sweaty Banh Mis made to order from a cart on the street. Greasy plates of Pad Thai that are cheaper than an Espresso in Amsterdam. Or hell, a whole scorpion on a stick.
If you haven’t experienced this first-hand, you might question whether I’m selling you snake oil or convincing you of something truly amazing. Picture this.
You’ve just knocked back as many beers as your liver allowed on beer street, maybe even a shot or two of happy water. It’s 4 AM, and while you can’t even walk straight, your stomach rumbles. Not the ‘’find the nearest corner to puke in’’ rumble, but the ‘’feed me right now’’ rumble.
You might think finding food is as hard as dodging tomorrow’s hangover. But, you smell food in the air. You look around and find that every food spot is still open, tables filled with both tourists and locals alike. The aromas of fried spring rolls, comically large bowls of fried rice, and the steam of sliced pork intertwining with the sweat on your brow. The best part, this is normal, this is Asia’s nightlife culture in a nutshell.
I miss those nights — ordering a bit too much food with friends as we crack open another round of Saigon beers. The fifteen-year-old son of the owner battling the wok as if they’ve been at war for decades. Flip-flops, shorts, and a stained T-shirt as his armour.
You never forget the first city that feeds you like that.
