Banh Mi Insanity

Following stories in the Times and New York magazine and a ton of other places, we finally decided to check out the Vietnamese sandwich craze currently gripping New York. Served on preferably freshly-baked demi baguettes, Banh Mi usually contain pickled carrots, daikon, cucumber, cilantro, jalapenos (although I usually get mine without) and Sriracha. Although the main ingredient can vary (sardines, mushrooms, fried fish, chicken), the classic Banh Mi includes cha (pork roll), ground pork and Vietnamese ham. They've obviously been around for years, but for whatever reason, it seems like people here are going nuts for them and, at the risk of being pegged as another hanger-on to the most recent fad, that includes us. The past few weekends, we've made a handful of trips all the way down into the depths of Chinatown to try all sorts of Banh Mi, into narrow little store fronts, in the back of jewelry shops and across countertops stacked with all sorts of pre-made foods wrapped in cellophane I couldn't even guess at. The beauty of Banh Mi is their price: the standard classic in Chinatown goes for about $3.75 ($1 more for extra meat, which I recommend) and that's usually filling enough for a meal, although a side of summer rolls might or might not be too much to go with the sandwich. Outside of Chinatown, a classic is closer to $5, but still not a price worthy of complaint. It's hard to explain how truly addictive they are: the crunch of the cucumber, carrot and daikon is so new and different, the pork and ham so much more tasty than you expect (in my book, Vietnamese cooking does more to bring out the great flavors in pork than any other culture) and the crusty french bread like that you'd find on a po-boy. Our first introduction to Banh Mi was at Nicky's Vietnamese Sandwiches in Alphabet City. I'd later discover there's one in downtown Brooklyn and have ordered delivery more than once. Nicky's delivers the classics, but after repeated orders from the Brooklyn outpost, I found them to skimp on the pork and load the sandwich with too much daikon (not to mention unreliable delivery), so I was turned off Banh Mi for a while. Then we discovered Baoguette, which has locations on 26th & Lex and on St. Mark's Place near 2nd Ave. True they have the outside-of-Chinatown prices, but they also have less traditional versions like the "Sloppy Bao," which is like the Southeast Asian version of a Sloppy Joe: curried ground beef in a brown sauce slopping out of the baguette with green mango strips, thai basil leaves and lemongrass. Awesome. There's also one with spicy catfish and a more traditional pork chop sandwich made slightly funky (and more satisfying) with fried egg. These go up to $8. The downtown location also has soft-serve...and not like any we'd every tried before. They offer pandan and durian flavors, or -- even better -- you can get them swirled together on a cone. Pandan, to save you going to the link, is a tropical tasting leaf used in Southeast Asian cooking that makes for not a very unique, but very pleasantly sweet, slightly minty, flavor. Durian, the king of stinky and bizarre tasting fruits (if you don't already know...I didn't until we got to Thailand), defies explanation. A New York mag piece on the soft-serve brilliantly described it as "sweetened dumpster water." Bizarre Foods host Andrew Zimmern can't even get it down. My wife, on the other hand, revels in being able to eat it and actually enjoying it. I had a taste on our trip and, while it didn't make me ill, it wasn't something that would make me rush back for seconds (I still recall Julie, the friend we stayed with -- and featured in last year's post on BLT Market -- ordering us to bring the durian out onto her deck before cutting it and then providing several plastic bags for the remains, which I promptly raced down to the lobby. The waiting doorman who grabbed the bag from my hand, upon learning of the contents, sprinted off for a dumpster around the corner). The flavor of the soft-serve isn't strong enough to warrant such a strong reaction, but it does get just enough of the rotten-ness down to give you a sense of what durian's about without throwing the cone away in disgust. Anyway, enough about durian. The weekend before last, we visited Viet-Nam Banh Mi So 1, a tiny counter off Mott Street. These were pretty good, but again, not enough meat (although, as Alisa points out, we failed to opt for the extra meat for a $1 more and cannot truly judge until we return for the beefed-up version). The following day we hit Paris Sandwich, probably the largest Banh Mi outpost, given that it actually includes about half a dozen four-tops so you have a place to sit and eat (unlike others in Chinatown, where you're best option is a friendly stoop somewhere or a nearby park bench). A massive floor-to-ceiling oven includes hundreds of demi baguettes rotating as they're baked on premises. I got a classic and Alisa got the sardine, both of which were filled with all the best stuff and worthy of a return visit. Yesterday, we became truly obsessive and headed below Houston Street once again to visit Banh Mi Saigon Bakery, which wins distinction for best setting ever, since the sandwich counter is literally located in the rear of a jewelry store. While a crowd waits for sandwiches, others examine precious stones beneath a glass counter at front. Theirs are among the best sandwiches I've had, made particularly memorable by what they do to their ground pork -- somehow it's fried to the consistency of bacon, but sweet and tangy and perfect in every way. Alisa was equally impressed with her sardine version. With nowhere to sit, we ate in the car, crumbs falling all over our laps.