Thinking Allowed: BANH MI story

My expectation coming to Vietnam was that thanks to French colonialism we would get to enjoy some nice French bread. Banh Mi is after all an entirely Vietnamese food found at every street corner and which uses a baguette. And when we arrived here I found that my hypothesis was partly true. The bread they use to make their banh mi is excellent and much more true to the crispy on the outside and soft in the inside attributes of French bread than most we find in Australia. After enjoying a few sandwiches we all decided we also needed some plain bread in our house. Except this is where everything got a little odd - it isn't easy to find bread!

The market near us sometimes has a merchant selling a few slices of purple tinged white bread wrapped in cellophane but other than that no local shops seemed to have bread. No worries I have a bicycle I could just go out to a bakery. And that's what I did - numerous times. The Vietnamese bakeries don't seem to sell bread and the bakeries geared toward expats have expensive loaves that pale in comparison with the banh mi bread. Strange. This simple inquiry started to bother me. I can't walk more than ten feet without seeing a stand selling banh mi sandwiches and yet days of searching had left me with few leads as to where all this bread was coming from. True, the women running the sandwich stands will happily sell you a loaf or two of bread, but it didn't feel like that was enough. Also, at this point the bread question was consuming my thoughts. Maybe the bread was driven in from Da Nang? Maybe the loaves are made in homes? Maybe the stork drops them off each morning before anyone is awake enough to notice?

I considered waking up at 3 am and pacing back and forth inconspicuously on the street in front of a banh mi stall or restaurant waiting for that crucial moment. At which point I would likely have to jump on my bicycle and follow the messenger back to ultimately uncover the truth. That seemed a little extreme so instead I decided to ask around. I asked at a banh mi stall - the woman replied by pointing to the overly cooking eggs in her small fry pan. I asked at a fancy bakery - the man replied by telling me they had only rye bread. I got Jakob to ask his local friends - the ice woman revved her ice saw and the old French man played coy. Something was up. This is obviously what all those abandoned tunnels under the country are now being used for. Some sort of covert bread operation. I adore covert bread operations and this only made me want to find out more.

I started searching the internet in more earnest, coming up with nothing. Aurora and Jakob smirked at each other each time I discussed my slightly pointless research. I read up on the history of banh mi - very interesting but didn't help. And then I started reading up on all the banh mi in town because I get easily distracted and happened upon a half sentence mentioning that one restaurant got their bread from the bakery next door. I was hopeful and my mouth watered. Like a hound on the scent, I dragged Aurora onto the back of my bicycle (thank goodness she is still small enough and good-humoured enough to fit in the baby seat) and pedaled towards the red X on my map. I passed another banh mi stand on the way into town with a long line and figured if I was being thorough I should ask about their bread too. The women behind the counter responded by saying I could buy a bread but then a women in line acted as translator and coaxed her to divulge more. She must have complimented her greatly. She also gets her bread from my target bakery. The smell of fresh bread is getting stronger.

With growing excitement I shoved my way past motorbikes going too slow for my eagerness, and swerved around pedestrians moving not at all. We slotted our bicycle in a lineup of motorbikes and raced across the street and there it was. A Bakery With Bread. Well, more like a dark dirty bread factory. Not just any bread but the bread that had been haunting my dreams. We had made it to the Source. This was like Montreal bagel shop times 5. Bakers continually kneading and ovens continually baking and customers continually lined up with wads of cash and baskets to be filled. A small scornful looking man guarded the doorway doling out bread to those he pleased as soon as it left the oven. This was definitely worth the effort. Aurora and I sat on the filthy curb by a slowly dying tree pleased with life. I can't wait to see what mysteries 2020 will bring our way.