The banh mi op la — a delicious skillet of fresh tomato, cilantro, egg, pate and sausage

Behold, the beauty of the runny egg.

I’ve mentioned my love of a vibrantly yellow, viscous egg yolk before, and that chord resonated deep within me in two dishes we discovered in Vietnam.

How to banh mi op la: tear off a piece of baguette, dunk it in the eggy goodness, top it off with fresh cucumber and onion

The first, called banh mi op la, is now one of my all-time favorite breakfasts.  We discovered it at a street stall in Hoi An, an old port city in Vietnam along the coast of China Beach.  As with all street stalls worthy of trying, this one was packed with locals early one morning, and every patron was tearing off chunks of perfectly baked baguettes and dunking them into a tomato-based broth topped with a runny egg.  The broth arrived in a hot skillet, which cooked the egg ever so slightly at the makeshift folding table we were crouched around on plastic stools.  Among the egg and brothy goodness were delicious relics of French and Vietnamese influence.  There was a pork meatball, a staple in all sorts of Asian soups, but also a thick slice of pate, a la Françoise.  The dish was topped with cilantro, onion, scallions and fresh chilies and accompanied by slices of cucumber and onion, all of which not only added flavor but also brought freshness to the dish, just the kind you’d want to greet you every morning.  Right next door to our banh mi op la spot was a man who poured a solid cup of café sua da, or iced Vietnamese coffee with condensed milk.

Bo trum men: not the sexiest looking dish, but a great Vietnamese version of steak and eggs

The other egg dish is a nighttime eat, which I interpret to be Vietnam’s answer to the U.S. equivalent of steak and eggs at a greasy diner.  The hubby and I stumbled upon this little gem while strolling around the central park in Saigon.

The glare of headlights from a sea of motor scooters in Saigon

I need to digress here for a minute about what it’s like to stroll around the park in Saigon.  In any other city, such a stroll would be aptly described as lovely, quaint, or even romantic, but it ain’t so in Saigon.  First of all, crossing the street into the park requires traversing an ocean of motor scooters, each one contributing to a distinctive grumbling roar that vibrates your insides as you’re trying to navigate through them.  Add to those motor scooters a sprinkling of cars, pedestrians, and street cart vendors, and, oh yes, subtract traffic lights.  There simply aren’t any.

The key to surviving, I’ve been told, is to maintain a steady, deliberate path so that the motor scooters can swing in front or behind you as you’re crossing the street, but it’s really hard to keep that in mind when you feel like you’re staring death in the face.  Once you’re in the park, the scene is visually assaulting as well – neon lights, Christmas décor, and scores of Vietnamese revelers dot the landscape so that you’re reduced to cowering along the edges, searching for some way to integrate into the chaos without disrupting the harmony.  And there really is harmony – even though the hubbub seems like complete insanity at first, after awhile you start to notice that no one is getting hurt, there aren’t any fights, and people seem completely comfortable that this is just the way life should be, and we, as foreigners unaccustomed to it all, are the crazy ones.

The scene on the sidewalk indicated something tasty was going on

So the hubby and I, in our search for a snack, were maneuvering our way through the madness when we found again that telltale sign of street eat heaven – masses of Vietnamese diners perched on tiny plastic stools.  Each table held variations of the same thing — a hot, single-serving cast-iron skillet akin to those you’d find holding fajitas back home.  Instead of fajitas, though, this place was serving bo trum men, a dish of grilled beef shank chunks, caramelized onions, and my manna, the runny egg.  Topping the dish off was just the tiniest dollop of cold butter, which melted within seconds of arriving at the table and made me feel immediately that no matter what, I’d be okay and that the world was good and decent and right.   Along with the dish came the standard Vietnamese assortment of fresh greens, cucumber, tomato, and two baguettes.   We tore into our baguettes, building sandwiches layered with fresh ingredients and sinfully buttery beef and onions.  Our sandwiches were crunchy from the crusty bread and cucumbers, yet soft and warm from the beef and its au jus.  And oh, how that runny egg spoke to me.   It told me that the Vietnamese are doing so many things really, really right.

Banh mi op la, Hoi An | corner of Duong Tran Cao Van & Duong Tran Hung Dao | open mornings | 3 orders and 5 baguettes cost 70,000 Vietnamese dong, or approximately $4 USD
Bo trum men, Saigon | next to Hem (Alley) 96 on Le Loi, in between Ben Tranh Market and the park | open evenings until 10:00 PM