something about bún feels so endless. and i’m a hoe for food that is endless.

that goes down easy.

thin, pearl-colored vermicelli noodles have the perfect girth and texture for slurping down fast. chewing becomes optional. a satisfied woman becomes inevitable.

The Beauty Of Bún

of all the components in my steamy morning bowl of bún riêu cua, and the dozens of permutations of condiments at my fingertips, i only wanted plain bún. and mouthfuls of it.

when my period is about to come, i want bún. when it does come, i want bún.

it doesn’t have to be bún riêu. it can be bún đậu, bún bò, or bún cá.

bún chả is particularly easy to tank down.

but at bún riêu 45, it feels like a clean home. far away from any tourist, cô (aunty) needs to make sure i want to eat.

“ăn?” 
yes. i’m here to eat.

i’m always here to eat.

cô is not aggressive the way so many of her counterparts tend to be in this country. she is the warmth that every hurting inner child craves.

i haven’t blogged about a food outside of its region of origin, but this quaint spot in southern vietnam does its take on the northern dish better (and more hygienically) than many a stall in hanoi.

two pairs of hands set my blank steel table with pungent sauces, lime wedges, baby green chilis, vegetables, utensils, and soup. my plastic chair is no more than two-feet off the ground.

the broth is clear and lightly sweet. usually with topped with one or two crab-shrimp-pork balls, her’s came with three of smaller-than-average dimensions.

the hot temperature of the bowl was given away by the amount of steam swirling off its wide surface. the two chopstick-lifts of raw shredded lettuce, bean sprouts, and basil leaves wilted into a buttery mush within minutes, the broth’s bright orange animal grease bathing them for extra fattiness.

nothing makes you feel more balanced than an asian breakfast before 9am.

skewed from your spiritual journey? have an aloo parantha with urad dal or rajma.

can’t find the present moment? join the dawn patrol for lanzhou beef noodle soup.

having trouble seeing the magical shades of green every leaf on earth? time for a bowl of beef pho.

panic-doubting if you’ve had enough beach boy bullshit, if it’s time to start your pan-africa journey that you’ve put off for three years? remind your difficult ass why you moved to vietnam in the first place.

as always, this morning i reach the bottom of the bowl too soon and am fishing for any last bits of broken bún.

the eleven minutes of glory has me breaking out in a sweat. half an hour later, when i’ve chugged a coconut coffee slush and discovered a no-music study room with a view a two blocks away from my bedroom, my brain hurts from the chill, my heart is pounding out of my ribcage, and i’m cursing myself for not bringing my patagonia nano puff with me.

📍quán bún riêu 45
đường phong châu, vĩnh thái, nha trang, khánh hòa
06:30-10:00 daily

25.000 ₫
$1.03