“Lizard curry,” Darling Man announces, seemingly apropos of nothing.

I snigger.

We are in Bookafe in Quy Nhon, a seaside town on Vietnam’s south-central coast. We have been talking about lizards since before the train started pulling out of Ho Chi Minh City station, when a local guy told us it was the local food specialty of Phu Yen, the neighbouring province to Quy Nhon.

“You want the recipe?” Darling Man asks, looking up from the “How To Raise Dong Lizards” book he snagged from the rack at the entrance to the cafe. It seems fate really wants us to track down the local lizards, which are apparently best served in the form of “paste”. But this book has a number of other lizard dining options.

“YES, give me the recipe. I’m going to write it down,” I say.

Darling Man begins, speaking clearly and seriously as he concentrates on his translation.

1 kg of dong lizard
1 small bowl of oil or pork fat
1 dry coconut
1 fresh coconut
3 cloves of garlic
1 sachet of curry powder
3 spoons of curry oil
1 kg of potato
(For some reason this everyday addition to the lizard curry recipe sends my into paroxysms of laughter.)
1 kg of onion
50 g shallots
5 stalks of lemongrass, cut into short lengths
chilli, salt, pepper and sugar to taste
fresh noodles or bánh mì (baguettes)

Method:

Peel the skin off the dong lizards and chop into small pieces.
Heat the pan with the oil or fat.
Brown the chopped onion and garlic.
Add the dong lizard meat, the curry powder and the lemongrass and stir until the meat is cooked.
Remove the dong lizard meat mix from the pan, draining the excess oil, and put it into a fresh pan.
Add the water from the fresh coconut.
Add the cubed potato and curry oil.
Simmer until the potato is tender.
Add chilli, salt, pepper and sugar to taste.
Add the coconut milk (from the dry coconut) and bring to the boil.
Serve with fresh bánh mì (baguettes) or rice noodles.

I finish transcribing and I just can’t stop laughing. Who thinks up this stuff?

We agree that we simply must find lizard on a menu somewhere in Phu Yen the next day.

If you haven’t done so already, like The Dropout Diaries on Facebook

The post A Lizard Tale (With Recipe) appeared first on The Dropout Diaries.

We settle into the tiny plastic chairs at the only restaurant in Nhon Hai, a picturesque fishing village just outside of Quy Nhon on Vietnam’s central coast.

The restaurant is actually someone’s back patio. That someone is Thang, who beams as he presents us with the fancy-pants menu: two laminated pages of colourful photos.

Off to one side of the restaurant, down on the beach, a couple of guys are cracking open sea urchins.

I see a picture of sea urchins on the menu, labeled nhum, and get very excited.

“These!” I squeak, bouncing in my tiny chair. “Let’s eat these. They’ve got to be fresh!”

Thang’s face falls. He waggles his hands under his ears and says “hết“. Finished. Thang is sold out of nhum.

My mouth falls open and says “but ….”

And I point down the beach. I can’t find any Vietnamese words.

Thang looks a bit sheepish.

Darling Man takes charge. He goes down to chat to the guys on the beach. He brokers a deal. And soon we are tucking into barbecued fresh-from-the-ocean sea urchin.

They tasted like barbecued seafood paste made from scallop tongue (you know, the orange bit). Darling Man loved them, I only liked them.

* If you’re ever in Nhon Hai, you can get to Thang’s restaurant by taking the main (and only) access road to Nhon Hai until you get to the main street. Go down onto the beach, start walking left until you see a small sign that says “Cafe Giai Khat NINA”. If you speak Vietnamese, you can ask any local where “the” restaurant is and they’ll point you in the right direction.

If you haven’t done so already, like The Dropout Diaries on Facebook

The post Friday Food Photo: Nhum Nuong (Barbecued Sea Urchin) appeared first on The Dropout Diaries.

We found the cutest little Catholic village just outisde Quy Nhon.

Saint Francis of Assisi was there, as was a statue of a famous Vietnamese poet* and an assortment of cherubs and avenging angels.

Small neat houses lined the street. Behind the village was the beach, where crab fishermen were mending their nets.

Darling Man hunkered down to chat to the fisherman, who specialises in catching ghẹ (flower crab). Miss M and I wandered down to investigate the beach, which was full of parked basket boats. The ocean behind was full of blue fishing boats with painted-on eyes.

After the flatness and city-ness of Ho Chi Minh City, 14 hours south on the train, the mist-covered mountains overlooking the bay were a soothing sight for my eyes. And my soul.

We are here to explore. I am exploring my adopted home. Darling Man is exploring his birthplace. And Miss M is coming along for the ride. She is excited about sleeping on trains and putting her feet in the sea. Darling Man and I are excited about the food we’re going to find. Vietnam has so many regional specialties that not even well-versed Vietnamese foodies like Darling Man are aware of them all.

So here we are, on a rented motorbike, on the other side of the mountain from the main part of Quy Nhon. Exploring.

I love the fact that we can just get on a motorbike and head off into the unknown. Darling Man speaks Vietnamese and so it doesn’t matter that we don’t have a map. Our family looks odd piled onto a motorbike — large white me on the back, handsome Darling Man in the middle and cute-as-a-button Miss M perched up at the front. Vietnamese people are friendly anyway. But when faced with such a strange-looking bunch on a motorbike, they take a little bit of extra time to chat.

And so, wet and tired after our beachy investigations, we head back to our hotel. I ask Darling Man to find out the name of this neat and tidy Catholic village … or a local restaurant. I’m not fussy.

We drive around a bit. No luck on the restaurant.

We notice there are an inordinate number of people in push-wheelchairs chatting in the park-like area in the middle of town.

There are also baskets beside the road containing the cutest little ducklings.

Darling Man pulls his motorbike over in front of an older man wearing pale blue pyjamas and a brown trilby. He’s carrying a bucket in one hand. Darling Man asks directions back to Quy Nhon … and the name of the village.

The pyjama man, who has a kindly lined face, waves his arm around behind him, indicating Quy Nhon is back over the eucalypt-scented mountain. Then he says the name of the village and holds up his right hand. He has no fingers, only stumps. Darling Man and I say “ahhh” at the same time. Darling Man took a few moments to process pyjama-man’s central Vietnamese accent and I took a few moments to remember a mention of a leprosy hospital I’d read about near Quy Nhon.

We were in Qui Hoa.

In halting Vietnamese, I asked pyjama-man if he was healthy now. He smiled a lovely smile and said yes.

* There is now some debate about whether the statue we saw was of a famous Vietnamese poet or Gerhard Hansen, the Norwegen dude who discovered the leprosy bacteria in 1873.

The post Exploring Quy Nhon appeared first on The Dropout Diaries.

It’s time to share a secret with you, a dirty little secret that will potentially expose me as a picky eater.

I don’t eat beef.

I haven’t eaten beef since I was at high school and I discovered our dog would swiftly and silently dispose of the leathery grilled steaks my Mum so lovingly prepared.

When the world was gripped by beef-fear during the mad cow disease outbreak, I felt super-smug.

When I realised that Vietnam specialises in vegetarian fake meat, that feeling of smugness bubbled up again. I realised in Vietnam, I can eat fake beef and experience the wonders of beef dishes without that yukky beef taste. Score!

But there is one dish that taunts me: bò kho, Vietnamese beef stew. It looks and smells amazing and I have half-eaten bowls, picking out the vegetables and using pieces of baguette to soak up the rich broth. The chunks of beef are left to languish in the bottom of the bowl.

The times I have half-finished a bowl of bò kho, I have felt distinctly unsatisfied. I know I am missing out on something great but I just can’t eat beef.

So when I saw a sign in Ho Chi Minh City’s District 5 advertising sườn kho (pork stew), I was across the road and seated in a tiny chair quicker than you can say “it’s not beef”.

Oh my. Sườn kho is fantastic.

This version was actually hủ tiếu sườn kho, meaning that there were hủ tiếu noodles hiding in the broth.

But the noodles weren’t enough for me. I sent Darling Man off on a baguette-hunting expedition so I could soak up every last drop of the broth, which was thick and hearty and lemongrassy.

Even if you eat beef, I recommend you track down some suon kho.

This version is sold at 63 Pho Co Dieu, District 5, Ho Chi Minh City. (I was so deeply in my street food trance that I missed the name of the place.)

If you haven’t done so already, like The Dropout Diaries on Facebook

The post Friday Food Photo: Suon Kho appeared first on The Dropout Diaries.

Once upon a time, a couple in America decided they wanted to move to Southeast Asia.

It was only a vague idea, a glorious daydream. But, being go-getters, they decided to pursue their dream.

The first step: research. But Jessie and Ed couldn’t find the information they were looking for. So they did what go-getters do: they commissioned a book. This book evolved into a series called The Definitive Guide to Moving to Southeast Asia.

The first book in the series, the Cambodia edition, is now available and it is truly fabulous. (The second book, the Vietnam edition, will be equally fabulous, I hope, because it’s being written by yours truly.)

Now it’s time for me to channel Michael Parkinson and interview the author of the Cambodia book, Gabrielle Yetter.

Michael Parkinson, or Parky, is a suave English talk show host who has been on television in the UK and Australia for about 150 years. He used to get all kinds of interesting people on his show to chat about their movies, books, television shows and their lives in general. It was fascinating viewing … but he recorded his last show in 2007.

So now it’s up to me to kick of the virtual chat show circuit of Asia’s hottest new author.

Dear readers, meet Gabrielle Yetter, author and American expat in Cambodia.

Hi Gabrielle, and welcome to the (virtual) show.

Thank you Barbara, it’s lovely to be here, if only virtually.

You’ve just released your book about Cambodia and it’s become an instant best-seller on Amazon. Tell me, who is the book for?

While the title is The Definitive Guide to Moving to SouthEast Asia: Cambodia, it’s really for anyone who comes here – whether they’re moving or just visiting for a couple of weeks.  There are chapters dealing with the nitty-gritty of setting up home for people who move here (what to bring, how to get a work permit, where to network, how to find a language school) but a lot deals with basic information that anyone would need.

In the book, I list the prices of basic items (toothpaste, pizza, bananas), provide tips on dealing with local people (seniors are respected and Westerners highly regarded), safety information (don’t walk home after a dozen beers with your iPhone in your hand), what to do when you are invited to a Cambodian wedding (no need to have a sequined gown made) and what to do if you get sick after getting all your shots and meds (many of which are not needed).

The book is designed to help people cut corners when they come to Cambodia so they don’t have to stress about where to find a decent neighbourhood, where to buy a motorbike helmet or how much to pay for a hair cut. In the three years I’ve lived here, I’ve received emails from people around the world asking for help (how to find a job? how to mail stuff home?) and this book answers as many of their questions as possible.

I still email people personally since no book can provide all the answers and I love to share my personal tips (such as the Japanese salon where you can get a fabulous cut and be treated like royalty), but it provides a great insight into how life works in Cambodia, how to best deal with the small stuff and how to find your way around.

 It sounds like a lot of work went into the book. Was it also fun to write?

Writing about Cambodia is one of my favourite things to do! Since I moved here with my husband, Skip, almost three years ago, I’ve fallen in love with the country and want to share its wonders with everyone else who visits. I’m naturally inquisitive and keen to immerse myself in a new place so I hit the ground running when I arrived (after recovering from the initial shock of realising I was living in a place that was hot, dirty and confusing).

Once I became familiar with my surroundings, I embraced everything that had first appeared challenging and gravitated toward local spots and people instead of going to expat hangouts (which are becoming more and more plentiful).

I’ve been writing freelance articles and blogs since I arrived so I’ve been exposed to all sides of the country. I’ve attended elegant cheese and wine soirees at five-star hotels as well as eaten meals at roadside stands where you pull up a plastic stool and chow down on bowls of noodles costing less than a dollar. So it was great fun for me to put everything into a book and show all the angles, areas and resources available to people who are new to the country.

Gabrielle hard at work researching life in Cambodia.

What’s your favourite thing about living in Cambodia?

It sounds clichéd but I have to say it’s the people. I’ve travelled a lot and lived in many countries, but Cambodians are the gentlest, most childlike and endearing people I’ve ever met.

I also enjoy the fact that I can get a massage for less than $10 and I’ve become addicted to the pampering that comes so cheaply and readily in this part of the world.

I love Asian food and also love the fact that I never have to think about being cold! Granted, the temperatures are sometimes so sweltering that you don’t want to spend much time outside, but I’ll take that any day over snow, sleet and frost.

What is your must-do/must-see/must-experience thing that you make sure people who visit you do/see/experience?

There are so many, but I’d probably emphasise spending time with local people, and doing things in local neighbourhoods. While Angkor Wat is a must-see and the islands are beautiful, it’s the little slices of life that make Cambodia come alive and live on in your memory.

I always encourage visitors to spend time walking through the streets and in taking their time. Spend a couple of hours poking around a local market, interact with a tuktuk driver (instead of the common response of ignoring them which many visitors do), play with a child on the street, give a dollar to a cripple, make eye contact with locals and say a few words in Khmer. Don’t be a “typical” tourist and ignore the best part of Cambodia – the people!

It’s a pet peeve of mine to see Westerners shun service people and street people when they’re usually doing their best to get their attention. One of our favourite things to do is stop and talk to the severely handicapped man who sits on the pavement near the riverside every day weighing people on a bathroom scale to earn a few dollars. He’s an amazing man with a gorgeous smile and it always makes us feel humbled that someone who has so little can radiate such joy.

Skip is the best off-the-beaten-track host I know as he takes our guests across the river in Phnom Penh on bicycles and exposes them to a side of the city most people don’t see: tiny children running on dusty roads shouting “hello”, cows crossing the path, street vendors selling local food and the gentleness and playfulness of country folk who are far removed from the city life of Cambodia’s capital even though it’s only 20 minutes away.

How did you and your husband end up in Cambodia?

It happened by accident as we thought we’d be going to Thailand! After we spent our honeymoon there in 2006, we fell in love with Southeast Asia and decided we wanted to come back and live in this part of the world.

We applied for volunteer posts through Volunteers In Asia and ended up getting jobs with NGOs in Phnom Penh. We sold our home in the U.S., got rid of our cars, put some personal stuff in storage and bought a one-way ticket, trusting that it would all work out. We knew nothing about Cambodia at the time and, almost three years later, we’re still here and have never for a moment regretted coming here. In fact, we’re grateful that fate intervened and sent us here or we’d probably have missed out on experiencing this amazing country.

What’s the best memory you have of your time in Cambodia so far?

About three months after we arrived, our tuktuk driver, SomOn, showed us a tiny plot of land and told us his dream was to build a home on it. He needed about $4,000 and estimated it would take him two to three years to save enough.

Skip and I put out an email appeal to our friends and family, asking them to donate money so we could make SomOn’s dream a reality and, on December 26 that year, we built a gingerbread house with him and his children and presented him with a check for $4,100.

A little more than three months later, SomOn invited us to his housewarming party. He’d decorated the house with dozens of balloons, rented chairs, tables and dinnerware and invited his family and friends. His wife was dressed in a long sparkly gown and SomOn and his kids were outfitted in crisp new clothes and slicked back hair.

It was one of the most moving experiences of our lives – seeing how the kindness of our friends and family around the world had such a great impact on a poor tuktuk driver they’d never met. The gratitude his family showered upon us was humbling and embarrassing and the memory of that day will remain in our hearts as one of the most incredible days of our lives.

So, why do people move to Cambodia?

I’d say for a variety of reason – but nobody ends up in Cambodia by accident!

There are many NGO workers since Cambodia has one of the highest number of NGOs in the world – so a lot of people come here for work opportunities in development. There are some who choose to retire here and a lot of backpackers and young people come for a short time (sometimes to volunteer), fall in love with the country and stay (or return after a trip back home).

The reasons for living here usually include the low prices, easy lifestyle, job opportunities, a desire to help and a change of pace from the western world.

Miss M and I enjoying the sunrise at Bakong Temple in Siem Reap during our trip to Cambodia last November.

Is Cambodia a good base for someone who wants to explore SE Asia?

Yes and no. Yes, because it’s an easy place to travel from if you want to take bus rides (Vietnam, Thailand, Laos are relatively close). No, because there are few direct flights from Cambodia to anywhere in the world.  However, there’s so much in Cambodia to see that it’s worth spending time exploring the provinces, beaches, jungles and far-flung regions first. And it’s also a good place to settle for a while, take advantage of cheap travel and explore the region at your leisure.

Gabrielle, thanks so much for being on the show.

Thanks for having me, Barbara. It’s been a pleasure.

To buy a copy of Gabi’s fabulous book from Amazon (which delivers world wide), click here:

You can also visit Gabi’s Facebook page to keep up to date with what’s happening in Cambodia.

I realise this interview has left some questions unanswered. Questions like: what happened to Ed and Jessie’s dream of moving to Southeast Asia? Well, they’ve been sidetracked by building a publishing empire but they are under strict instructions that they must at least visit me in Vietnam.

And the other unanswered question: is Gabi’s book any good? Hell-yeah! When I finished reading my copy, it was all I could do not to jump on a bus for the six-hour trip to Phomn Penh. If I didn’t already love Cambodia, I would after reading Gabi’s book. It is interesting, informative and very well-written. I highly recommend it if you are planning a trip to Cambodia, no matter whether it’s just a week or a couple of years.

If you haven’t done so already, like The Dropout Diaries on Facebook

The post Review: The Definitive Guide To Moving To Southeast Asia: Cambodia appeared first on The Dropout Diaries.

Vivid purple leaps out at me as I sit in the bus that is taking us home to Ho Chi Minh City from our amazing Mekong Delta wedding.

From the window of the bus I see wandering vendors carrying trays of something folded around brilliant purple … something that looks simply incredible.

My new friend Laurel and I press our noses to the bus window.

It looks like … crepes or waffles, stuffed with something purple. With something white in there too.

We have to eat it.

The bus is stuck in a line of traffic waiting for a ferry.

I risk missing my ride home. I get off the bus to buy some purple things.

Oh my. Warm coconut waffle-crepe wrapped around purple sticky rice and sugared shredded coconut. Mouth heaven.

The vendor told Darling Man the crepe was called bánh kẹp xôi cẩm. Darling Man translates the name into “folded cake with magenta sticky rice”.

I revel in the taste of purple sticky rice, which I’ve never tasted before because Darling Man says it’s usually artificially coloured. (Oh, the horror!). Traditionally, purple sticky rice was coloured with the leaves of the magenta plant but these days Darling Man says it’s rare that people still use leaves. Especially when the rice ends up as eye-shockingly purple as this.

I love finding quirky local food specialties like these colourful Mekong Delta crepes.

If you haven’t done so already, like The Dropout Diaries on Facebook

The post Friday Food Photo: Banh Kep Xoi Cam appeared first on The Dropout Diaries.

The wedding marquee I’m sitting in stretches over the road. Motorbikes, bicycles and food carts trundle by as wedding guests eat, drink, laugh and take photos of each other.

This is the first stage of my friend Thu’s two-day wedding party in her home town in the Mekong Delta, the “casual” evening that is supposed to involve talking, laughing and dancing.

Like just about every wedding I’ve ever been to there’s an array of drunk uncles and a bevy of bustling aunts.

Some of the aunts (at least I think they’re aunts, they could be friends, neighbours or even caterers) are squatting over a small fire on the riverbank, barbecuing things. Fragrant smoke billows through the marquee as the drunk uncles propose toasts with shot glasses of rice wine.

Music is blasting from the front garden of Thu’s family home. The groom, the dashingly handsome Massimo, is looking a little lost. A brother or cousin is busting out his best moves on the dance floor, as is Miss M, who had decided her red tutu is just the thing for a casual wedding party.

Platters of food start being carried through the marquee. The groom leaps into action, distributing bottles of Italian wine.

A drunk uncle seizes a bottle of Sicilian red and pours himself a shot in the traditional Vietnamese manner. He downs it in one and then refills the glass and pushes it towards me. I reluctantly chug the wine, noticing it’s actually very nice.

The drunk uncle mutters something in Vietnamese that I can’t catch. Darling Man tells me he is complaining that the wine tastes like water. The uncle wanders off to find some rice wine, which will taste suitably fiery.

There are people everywhere, drinking, eating, toasting, dancing or just passing through.

Earlier, Thu had prayed to her ancestors, asking for their blessing for her new life with Massimo.

After the prayers, there was a family ceremony. I was roped to act as Massimo’s sister, accepting a tiny ceramic cup of rice wine poured by Thu from a beautiful black teapot. All the important relatives were offered wine. When it was her turn, Ms Thu’s mother dabbed at her her tears with a tissue. I held her hand, worried there was something wrong. But it turns out she was just so happy.

The night wore on. The Sicilian wine flowed. Darling Man raced around taking photos. Miss M danced. Vodka emerged. Ms Thu’s granddad posed for photos …

… and things got a bit hazy.

We left early, worried about Ms M’s cough.

…o0o…

The next morning we blearily told the hotel person knocking on our door that we hadn’t ordered a taxi.

Four-and-a-half minutes later we realised we’d slept in.

We rushed to get ready for the fancy second wedding party, the event at which we were to wear our good clothes.

Miss M, who is prone to vomiting, did just that. Her cough had gotten worse during the night but she said she felt OK, even though every second coughing fit left her retching in the bathroom. We decided to go to the wedding party anyway. It was either that or hide in our hotel room and wait for the 1.30pm bus back to Ho Chi Minh City.

Strangely, we arrived at the breakfast party before another group of Thu’s Ho Chi Minh City friends and colleagues, who had set out on time. Their taxi driver had gotten lost and they’d enjoyed a “scenic” route to the party, along the wrong side of the river and through a couple of rice paddies, held up by not one but two traffic jams caused by giant excavating equipment in the middle of the road. Their taxi fare was more than three times what ours was but they claimed it was worth every penny for the absurdity of the journey.

The second party started off in a much more subdued manner than the last one had finished.

I saw aspirin offered across the table. I saw people looking decidedly peaky. There were long pulls on mugs of coca-cola and iced tea. There was sickly refusals of beer. We found Paul, who we thought was comatose at the hotel. He told us the rice wine at the first party had defeated him and he’d slept at a neighbour’s house.

And there was some absolutely amazing food. A-MAZ-ing.

It’s boring to look at lots of photos, so here’s just one, of some of the dishes in the multi-course breakfast feast ready to be served.

Oh… and here’s just one more from the feast table. Spring rolls and a curled cold meat mountain, Chinese-style duck with tiny rice pancakes and prawn and pork salad.

After the first five or so dishes were served, people began perking up. Our friend Gabe suddenly announced he felt human again.

More and more food was brought out. And it all tasted incredible.

After so many years in Vietnam, the sight of caterers wiping their hands on the marquee curtains and blowing their nose on the road just made me shrug.

But even after all these years, there were still things that made me gape in amazement. The parade of people driving through the wedding marquee just made me shake my head. And when a motorbike piled high with mattresses — yes, MATTRESSES on a motorbike — came through, I started pointing and shouting. Unfortunately, in the excitement, no decent photos were taken.

As midday approached, it was decided it was time to make a move towards home.

Getting to Long Xuyen in the Mekong Delta had taken more than six hours. On a Sunday afternoon at the end of a long weekend, it was going to take longer to get home.

We sadly said goodbye to Tara and Massimo and piled into taxis so we could get to the first bus which would get us to the second bus which would get us to the bus station in District 10 in Ho Chi Minh City, from which we could take a taxi across town to finally get home.

…o0o…

It wasn’t until late Monday morning (after taking Miss M to the doctor for antibiotics for her cough) that we realised we didn’t have any good photos of Thu and Massimo together. Because it was hot in the Mekong Delta and Massimo (like me) isn’t used to the heat. We had a lot of photos of him looking sweaty, but none that captured the true feeling of the two-day wedding party.

Luckily the weather was much cooler on Tuesday when Thu and Massimo had their official wedding photos taken.

Meet the happy couple…

If you haven’t already, like The Dropout Diaries on Facebook

I took some video of Thu’s wedding, which I hope to post on Facebook in the next few weeks. Don’t miss out!

The post Thu’s Amazing Mekong Delta Wedding appeared first on The Dropout Diaries.

Pho Binh is a small noodle shop that was a front for one of the resistance cells involved in planning the 1968 Tet Offensive during the Vietnam War (which is, not surprisingly, called the American War in Vietnam).

Ever since arriving in Ho Chi Minh City in 2007 I have been meaning to check out Pho Binh, not only because I love pho but because of it’s historical significance. But it’s been one of those things that I never got around to doing.

Until we were contacted by an Australian couple who are organising culinary and battlefield tours. They were interested in including our street food tours in their first tour to Vietnam in August.

I mentioned we could include Pho Binh in a tour, since it combined food and Vietnam’s military history and it is pretty close to “our” Snail Street. (There are a few in Ho Chi Minh City). Cath Hopgood said the pho shop sounded like just the thing.

So one Sunday morning we set out to sample the noodle shop’s “peace soup”. (Binh is the Vietnamese word for peace.)

However, one member of our party wasn’t feeling particularly peaceful that morning.

“I don’t want to go in there,” Miss M declared as we pulled up out the front of Pho Binh.

“I don’t want to eat,” she announced as we sat down at a table.

“I WANT PINK JUICE,” she yelled after spotting a man drinking the pink Vietnamese energy drink called Sting.

“I WANT PINK JUICE,” she screamed, going a little pink in the face herself. Oh my. And here’s me feeling a bit whiny and overtired myself. Not in the mood to deal with one of Miss M’s very rare three-year-old tantrums.

Darling Man ordered our phở and a short time later two steaming bowls of phở gà nạc (lean chicken pho) arrived. And they looked delicious.

Pho Binh’s chicken pho … delicious!

“I DON’T WANT TO EAT,” Miss M thundered.

“Ok. Mummy will eat,” I said. “You can drink juice.”

“PINK JUICE,” she demanded shrilly.

Darling Man and I concentrated on throwing herbs in our soup. I furtively spooned noodles, soup and lean chicken into a baby bowl, hiding my actions behind my own giant bowl of peace soup.

The soup was pretty darn good. Sweet and salty and very tasty.

Miss M finally accepted a mouthful of cooled-down noodles. And for all of four seconds we had peace at our table.

The truce broke when we moved into the circus act of one-spoonful-of-noodle-soup-for-you-and-one-for-me.

Finallly, we reached the bottom of our bowls. I was keen on taking some photos and investigating the secret war room upstairs.

Miss M had other plans.

“I WANT TO GO TO THE PLAYGROUND,” she demanded.

We told her we’d take her after we finished our research in the noodle shop. She did not become agreeable.

When I pulled out my camera, Miss M decided that she must be photographed in her jeans. So she proceeded to pose in all kinds of weird positions to show off her new clothes.

The noodle shop’s designated tour guide took charge of us, demanding we hand over our camera so we could be photographed in various locations around the shop and upstairs in the small room that now has the long title of Command Post Office of Subdivision 6 in the General Offensive and Uprising of the Tet Offensive in 1968. Miss M alternated between trying to get her jeans into the photos and screaming for the playground.

A little girl appeared in the war room upstairs. She helped us stage a dramatic re-enactment of the Tet Offensive planning.

When the adults’ backs were turned, the little girl and Miss M proceeded to have a tea party with the 50-year-old tea set.

After that little party was terminated (prematurely, according to the participants), it was back to playground demands.

So we hustled our little dictator out of the war room and down the street. We tried to distract her with a flock of pigeons being fed on the sidewalk. We tried to distract her with a visit to a high-end áo dài shop.

Nothing doing. We went to the playground. Where we finally found some peace.

-o0o-

The Australian couple I mentioned are the brains behind Cook with Love, a company that does cooking classes and culinary and battlefield tours. Cath Hopgood is a long-time chef and her husband David Hopgood is an Australian soldier who found fame in the third series of My Kitchen Rules television show.

The talented team have organised a tour of Vietnam later this year, which will include a Saigon Street Eats night tour with a few extras, including a visit to Pho Binh and a secret munitions store. For details of the 10-day tour, click here.

If you haven’t already, like The Dropout Diaries on Facebook

The post Everyday Adventures: The Search For Peace Soup appeared first on The Dropout Diaries.

Bánh bèo is a dish from central Vietnam that’s still enormously popular in the former capital of Hue.

Traditionally it’s a small steamed rice cake topped with dried prawn and a sprinkle of green onion. Traditionally it’s served in the tiny ramekin it’s steamed in.

Traditionally … it’s quite good.

But at a small shop in Ho Chi Minh City’s District 3, someone has improved on the traditional version of bánh bèo, making the cakes a bit bigger and adding pork mince and tiny baby prawns to the mix of toppings. They call them bánh bèo tôm thịt (bánh bèo with prawn and pork). Darling Man says it’s the extra meat that make these morsels more fabulous than the original.

This version of bánh bèo is served with the traditional nước chấm dipping sauce. And the beauty of the dish is how all the flavours and textures work together: creamy rice pancakes, chewy savoury topping, the sweet nước mắm and the surprise crunch of tiny chunks of deep-fried pork fat.

You can try this non-traditional version of banh beo at Hai Nam, 11A Cao Thang, District 3, Ho Chi Minh City.

Next month we are heading up to Hue and Hoi An to research the local food. Does anyone have any suggestions for must-try central Vietnamese dishes?

If you haven’t already done so, like The Dropout Diaries on Facebook

The post Friday Food Photo: Banh Beo appeared first on The Dropout Diaries.

There’s a middle-aged cross-dressing fortune-teller who does the rounds of Snail Street from time to time.

He/she has clownish makeup, chipped red nail polish and wears an enormous silver ring.

(It seems more natural to call him him than her because he dresses in jeans and a t-shirt. There’s no fake boobs or high heels. Just penciled eyebrows, lipstick and the chipped nail polish).

“You wanna get your fortune told?” Darling Man asked me last night as the fortune-teller walked past our table. Without thinking I said no. I don’t believe in that kind of stuff.

But then I thought of the big exciting plans we are making. Plans that make me talk fast and gesticulate wildly when I start to explain them to anyone.

“Oh wait,” I said. “I do want my fortune told tonight.” Our guests, street food tour customers Angie and David from Singapore, said they didn’t mind.

Darling Man called the fortune-teller over and pointed at me.

The fortune-teller settled himself down in a tiny plastic stool, ordered himself a beer, settled his man-bag on his lap and fussily spread out a little red cloth. He handed me a clean pack of playing cards and told me to shuffle the cards nine times.

Once Vu had relayed the fortune teller’s instructions, we began.

I was surprised at how seriously the fortune teller took proceedings. There was elaborate laying-out of cards: some in lines, some fanned out. There was tapping of certain cards as he divined the meanings behind the everyday-looking nine of diamonds and the ace of spades.

He asked to look at my palms and I held out one of my large square hands for him.

He began to speak, a rapid-fire barrage of Vietnamese. He paused every now and then for Darling Man to translate for me, Angie and David. (The assembled crowd of waiters and food vendors didn’t need the translation, obviously.)

According to Darling Man, the fortune-teller said:

I am a good person but I have man inside – a lady outside but a man inside. That’s why I’m hot tempered.

I like helping people and I’m getting help from my dad. (How did he know my dad was dead?)

I should try to be more calm and patient. Because there’s a man in me.

I will get a call from my family in one week with good news.

I will get a big amount of money from overseas this year from a business deal. I have big plans for this year and they will turn out OK. It will be a good year. (Yay!)

I will have two houses but not with the help of my in-laws.

I will have two children, a boy and a girl.

My daughter is like me: a man inside. I need to be more patient with her. She has a man’s character. (The in-laws are always saying she’s like a boy.)

I have a mole in a secret place. The mole means I’m very lucky. (If secret = embarrassing he’s spot on, so to speak.)

My husband is very stubborn and not-sweet. I should be more patient with him.

I love my husband very much. But it’s up to fate whether we stay together.

Then he asked for me to pose some questions for his deck of playing cards.

I asked when the second child would come along. The answer: in three years.

He asked for another question. I was at a loss. He’d already told me my business plan would be a success.

I asked how many books I would write during my life. The answer: your wishes will be fulfilled.

Then, at Darling Man’s suggestion, I asked if my mother’s health would improve.

The answer: she is fine. She is old but she will be fine. She has many people looking after her. (Vietnamese code for ghosts/ancestors helping from the other side.)

Then the strangely made-up man finished the last of his beer, folded his red cloth around his pack of playing cards, buried the parcel in his man-bag and said good bye.

A few moments later the crowd of wandering food vendors and waiters who had been watching the performance dispersed. And I was left to ponder my fortune.

Some of the observations were eerily accurate. It makes his predictions seem more believable. And I really want to believe that money will flow in and it will be a good year.

But even as I yearned to believe, doubts were blossoming. Not doubts about the fortune. It was Darling Man’s translation that I was questioning.

The fortune-teller spoke for quite a while about this husband of mine, not knowing that the translator was actually the spouse in question. Darling Man’s face went pink and he got that cute embarrassed look that he sometimes gets. But his translation was all of two sentences.

When questioned about this part of the fortune by me and our tour guests, Darling Man just went a bit red again and he said he couldn’t remember. He said there was so much to translate he couldn’t do it all word for word.

Angie, David and I didn’t believe him.

So today, at my favourite weekend cafe, I asked a waiter to review the video of the street-side fortune telling session.

And the second translation was slightly different to the first translation. According to the waiter, the fortune-teller did say my husband is stubborn. But what he said next was that it’s my stubborn husband – not me – who needs to try harder to be patient and calm down. HA!

Sometimes it really does pay to get a second opinion.

Some people might recognise the title of this post. It’s also the name of one of my all-time favourite books, A Fortune-Teller Told Me by Tiziano Terzani. When I first read the book I thought Terzani had my dream life. But then I changed things and now I have my dream life: living in Asia and traveling often to exotic places with my wonderful family. Even that stubborn husband who needs to be more patient makes my life more dreamy.

(Disclaimer: this post contains an affiliate link.)

If you haven’t done so already, like The Dropout Diaries on Facebook

The post A Fortune-Teller Told Me appeared first on The Dropout Diaries.