Food Noir

It was late, and the cupboards were emptier than a banker's heart. Our bellies rumbled like the L over MacDougal Street. We hit the pavement in search of good eats. Poor Mike's a working stiff, so me and Lữ set off by ourselves. We were headed in the direction of dinner--destination, anywhere.

The streets of Saigon were rain-wet, and the heavy air was thick with scooter horns, exhaust, and yellow. Yellow street signs, yellow bike lights, yellow trash in the curb. The rats saw us coming a little too late, ran past our feet like a shot, and slipped in between the cracks of an old concrete wall.

We took the cobblestone sidewalk, where messy, barefoot kids made believe that a plastic golden ball someone would use to play soccer. Their sport hid in shadows cast by neon lights and convenient stores. We see a gang of men in their 20's playing a strange and unfamiliar game with Xiangqi pieces. Three or four players, I couldn't be sure, each held a stack of the plastic pieces, and on a mark, smashed one plastic piece face down on the metal game board and flipped it over. Their peers, who seemed to be placing bets on the game, shouted their joy or anguish with no restraint.

I raised my head, nose to the black, starless sky, and brought in whiffs of barbecued meat. We followed the trail left by the smokey scent, and it led us to a dusky alley. Even the cold white fluorescent lights couldn't beat back the darkness. The food stalls all had grimey stripe cloth overhangs, with crowds of people huddled over stainless steel tables, who made short work of the contents of bowls and glasses.

We found our culprit. Barbecue smoke rose in blue clouds from a hooded outdoor grill. Beneath the hood, a wiry man with a brown t-shirt and a face like soot stood and smeared racks of pork pieces with sweet, tangy sauce and slapped them on the fire. It looked good enough to eat.

The lady opened a short table, sat us down on squat stools, and put two bowls of bún thịt nướng in front of our noses. With fresh herbs, beansprouts, rice noodles, chili, and three kinds of grilled meats, all drenched in fish sauce, I set to work, and for the first time in memory, finished a bowl of food faster than Lữ.

It was a meal. But I knew that sometime, somewhere, the stomach is going to be empty again. Well, that's just the way it goes.