- China's new nationalists revealed
- (from http://www.iht.com/)
Monday, April 21, 2008
revealed
As the Summer Olympics approach, some disturbing aspects of contemporary China are coming into view. A worldwide audience has learned what human rights activists have long known about Beijing's complicity with dictatorships in Sudan and Burma.
The Chinese Communists' harsh repression in Tibet sparked protests along the route of the Olympic torch relay and on college campuses.
And as China spreads blatant lies that the Dalai Lama is inciting violence in Tibet, the government's campaign to keep the Olympics free from politics looks like an excuse for imposing on the rest of the world the sort of censorship that prevails inside China.
There has also been a less obvious revelation: an increasingly zealous nationalism among Chinese youth. This mood of patriotic passion can be seen in counter-demonstrations organized by Chinese student associations in the United States against supporters of a free Tibet.
It is no less striking in Internet imprecations fired off not only against Tibetan "splittists" but also against the rare Chinese student who dares to call for mutual understanding between Chinese and Tibetans.
This kind of witch-hunting occurred at Duke University last week, when a 20-year-old freshman from mainland China tried to encourage dialogue between a large group of Chinese student demonstrators and a smaller group of Tibetans and their supporters holding a vigil for human rights. She was vilified as a traitor. Her personal information was released into cyberspace. Hundreds of thousands of angry and threatening posts appeared on Chinese Web sites. Her parents back in China were threatened and had to go into hiding for their own safety.
It is not easy to determine how much of this nationalistic frenzy may have been fostered and organized by Chinese Communist officials and how much is attributable to the sort of high-spirited group pride common to the youth of other nations.
The Beijing authorities eased up on their restriction of online forums as they observed the patriotic tenor of reactions to foreign criticism.
There is a crucial distinction between a healthy, constructive nationalism and the pathological variety that Hitler sought to inject into the Berlin Olympics of 1936.
Nevertheless, the nationalistic vehemence that has come into view this spring among China's best and brightest is a troubling phenomenon.
It suggests that nationalism has replaced Maoism or Marxism as the legitimating credo of China rulers - and that the critical spirit defining the Tiananmen protests of 1989 has given way in some quarters to an emotional identification with the ancient idols of blood and soil.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
China's new nationalists revealed - http://www.iht.com/
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Toronto
Holy shit! Toronto is beautiful city and I had never made it there. Ot was such a shame, it is even close enough for a day trip ... I should visit Toronto more often from now on.Some pics from my short visit Toronto more precisely the downtown part which includes Chinatown...
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Friday, March 7, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
News!
It looks like nothing is worth paying attention to. The world news (North, East, West, South) presented by Vnexpress this morning is: "How the French president met and married an Italian model".
Vnexpress is one of the most popular sites in VN.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
From the New York Times
August 19, 2007
Movie Spans Vietnam's North - South Divide
By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
Filed at 11:42 a.m. ET
HANOI, Vietnam (AP) -- A new breed of characters has replaced the old communist heroes on Vietnam's big screens: hustlers and dancing girls, drug dealers and cross-dressers.
But perhaps the most startling character of all is Tai, a soldier from the former South Vietnamese army. In a nation where anti-communist soldiers were traditionally cast as villains, ''Living in Fear'' portrays Tai sympathetically.
Vietnam's film world is changing fast. The government is easing control over content, old taboos are fading, and private money is for the first time entering an industry that was entirely state-run until 2003.
The changes reflect the broader transformation of Vietnamese society, where the economy has been booming over the last decade as the government has eased economic controls and made room for private enterprise.
''I was surprised that the government allowed my film to be shown,'' said director Bui Thac Chuyen, 39. ''The censorship committee didn't cut anything.''
In fact, ''Living in Fear'' may suit the communist government's purpose; Ever since the war between North Vietnam and U.S.-supported South Vietnam ended in 1975, it has made reconciling north and south a top priority and still hangs out banners promoting ''doan ket,'' or unity.
The film, while financed with government grants, has an independent spirit befitting its director, a northerner who admires Quentin Tarantino and Stanley Kubrick. It is based in part on the experiences of a real-life southern soldier who spent 15 years clearing unexploded ordnance from his farm.
Tai is struggling with a complicated personal life -- he has two wives -- and with a daily reality that invites viewers' sympathy.
Each time he picks up a land mine on his 10-acre farm, we wonder whether it's going to blow up in his hands. Each time he goes into the field, we wonder whether he'll return.
''I wanted to show that no matter what side you were on in the war, when it was over, we all started in a land scarred from bombs,'' Chuyen said. ''But we can adapt and overcome.''
Southern soldiers suffered discrimination for years after the war. They were indoctrinated with Marxist dogma in ''re-education camps'' and had trouble finding anything better than menial jobs. Their children were turned away from schools and universities.
Today, the old wounds have mostly healed, although regional differences remain strong. ''Living in Fear'' nudges reconciliation along by portraying both northerners and southerners in shades of gray.
Chuyen's film has been screened at several international festivals and U.S. colleges but hasn't found a U.S. commercial distributor. It was among the last produced under the old government system. Now moviemaking has become a full-blown commercial industry, typified by the crowds that flocked to 2003's ''Dancing Girls,'' which dealt with previously off-limits themes such as drug addiction and prostitution.
''The prospects are bright,'' said Tran Vu Hoai, president of Galaxy Studios in Hanoi. ''People have more money, and they're looking for new entertainment experiences.''
Instead of grungy state-run theaters showing formulaic films, American-style cineplexes are springing up complete with air conditioning, comfy seats, big screens and popcorn.
Galaxy has opened two 1,000-seat, three-screen theaters in Ho Chi Minh City, the former Saigon, and plans to build two more, plus two in Hanoi. The company is also producing its own unabashedly commercial films to packed audiences.
The most successful so far is ''Two In One,'' a slapstick comedy about a man impersonating a woman -- and falling in love with a real woman who doesn't know he's actually a man.
Under the old state-run system, which produced some quality films despite its limitations, most directors were trained in the Soviet Union. A new generation is studying in the United States, some sponsored by the Ford Foundation, which is sending several directors to the University of Southern California's film school.
Michael DiGregorio, who manages Ford's cultural programs in Hanoi, hopes the budding filmmakers will document the rapid social changes in Vietnam by telling compelling human stories.
''The more the Vietnamese free themselves from the sort of stereotypical films they made in the past, the better they will be able to represent the world as it is today,'' DiGregorio said.
Movie Spans Vietnam's North - South Divide
By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
Filed at 11:42 a.m. ET
HANOI, Vietnam (AP) -- A new breed of characters has replaced the old communist heroes on Vietnam's big screens: hustlers and dancing girls, drug dealers and cross-dressers.
But perhaps the most startling character of all is Tai, a soldier from the former South Vietnamese army. In a nation where anti-communist soldiers were traditionally cast as villains, ''Living in Fear'' portrays Tai sympathetically.
Vietnam's film world is changing fast. The government is easing control over content, old taboos are fading, and private money is for the first time entering an industry that was entirely state-run until 2003.
The changes reflect the broader transformation of Vietnamese society, where the economy has been booming over the last decade as the government has eased economic controls and made room for private enterprise.
''I was surprised that the government allowed my film to be shown,'' said director Bui Thac Chuyen, 39. ''The censorship committee didn't cut anything.''
In fact, ''Living in Fear'' may suit the communist government's purpose; Ever since the war between North Vietnam and U.S.-supported South Vietnam ended in 1975, it has made reconciling north and south a top priority and still hangs out banners promoting ''doan ket,'' or unity.
The film, while financed with government grants, has an independent spirit befitting its director, a northerner who admires Quentin Tarantino and Stanley Kubrick. It is based in part on the experiences of a real-life southern soldier who spent 15 years clearing unexploded ordnance from his farm.
Tai is struggling with a complicated personal life -- he has two wives -- and with a daily reality that invites viewers' sympathy.
Each time he picks up a land mine on his 10-acre farm, we wonder whether it's going to blow up in his hands. Each time he goes into the field, we wonder whether he'll return.
''I wanted to show that no matter what side you were on in the war, when it was over, we all started in a land scarred from bombs,'' Chuyen said. ''But we can adapt and overcome.''
Southern soldiers suffered discrimination for years after the war. They were indoctrinated with Marxist dogma in ''re-education camps'' and had trouble finding anything better than menial jobs. Their children were turned away from schools and universities.
Today, the old wounds have mostly healed, although regional differences remain strong. ''Living in Fear'' nudges reconciliation along by portraying both northerners and southerners in shades of gray.
Chuyen's film has been screened at several international festivals and U.S. colleges but hasn't found a U.S. commercial distributor. It was among the last produced under the old government system. Now moviemaking has become a full-blown commercial industry, typified by the crowds that flocked to 2003's ''Dancing Girls,'' which dealt with previously off-limits themes such as drug addiction and prostitution.
''The prospects are bright,'' said Tran Vu Hoai, president of Galaxy Studios in Hanoi. ''People have more money, and they're looking for new entertainment experiences.''
Instead of grungy state-run theaters showing formulaic films, American-style cineplexes are springing up complete with air conditioning, comfy seats, big screens and popcorn.
Galaxy has opened two 1,000-seat, three-screen theaters in Ho Chi Minh City, the former Saigon, and plans to build two more, plus two in Hanoi. The company is also producing its own unabashedly commercial films to packed audiences.
The most successful so far is ''Two In One,'' a slapstick comedy about a man impersonating a woman -- and falling in love with a real woman who doesn't know he's actually a man.
Under the old state-run system, which produced some quality films despite its limitations, most directors were trained in the Soviet Union. A new generation is studying in the United States, some sponsored by the Ford Foundation, which is sending several directors to the University of Southern California's film school.
Michael DiGregorio, who manages Ford's cultural programs in Hanoi, hopes the budding filmmakers will document the rapid social changes in Vietnam by telling compelling human stories.
''The more the Vietnamese free themselves from the sort of stereotypical films they made in the past, the better they will be able to represent the world as it is today,'' DiGregorio said.
Friday, August 17, 2007
NYTimes.com: Good Morning, Vietnam ... er, Oklahoma
Good Morning, Vietnam ... er, Oklahoma
July 4, 2007
FRUGAL TRAVELER AMERICAN ROAD TRIP; Good Morning, Vietnam ... er, Oklahoma
By MATT GROSS
AMERICANS do not like vegetables. At least, it seems that way after almost two months on the road, during which I've eaten at countless country cafes and rarely ever encountered anything fresh and green. When I have, it's been iceberg salads with toupees of flavorless yellow cheese, battered and deep-fried string beans and, inevitably, cole slaw.
Not that the food hasn't been delicious -- like the pulled pork at Blue Mist in Asheboro, N.C., or the patty melt at Spice Water Cafe in Lime Springs, Iowa. But a diet of meat, starch and fat is not what you want when you spend hours a day sitting in a car. Often, as I digested the latest gut bomb, I would wonder if my budget was keeping me away from greener, healthier restaurants. But, no. I rarely glimpsed such places outside big cities and a few hip towns.
And so, with Oklahoma City in my sights, I headed south as fast as I could. I had one thing on my mind: Vietnamese food.
It may come as a surprise that Oklahoma's capital has a significant Vietnamese population -- around 20,000, according to the Vietnamese American Community organization -- but such ethnic enclaves are a new American reality. Hmong live in large numbers in Minnesota, for example, while Columbus, Ohio, is home to some 30,000 Somalis. And in each case, the immigrants bring their own cuisines, which often are tasty, full of veggies and inexpensive.
Oklahoma City, however, lay a long way from Nebraska, where I'd just visited Carhenge (www.carhenge.com). From there, I drove through Kansas, stopping at Greensburg to witness the aftermath of the May 4 tornado. Then I had to drop the car off in Wichita, at Gorges & Company Volvo (3211 North Webb Road, 316-630-0689, www.volvobygorges.com), for much-needed repairs; 6,000 miles' worth of leaks and electrical problems cost a disheartening $855.
It was late on Saturday evening when I finally drove into Oklahoma City and checked into the first place that looked clean, had Wi-Fi and was cheap. The Hospitality Inn (3709 NW 39th Street, 405-942-7730) is a simple motel -- two stories arranged around a swimming pool -- but it is on the fabled Route 66 and less sketchy than some of the older motels, and the proprietor knocked the price down from $62 a night to $51.25 when I said I'd be staying three days.
There was a lot to see, but the real plan was to eat as much Vietnamese food as possible. I knew this would take discipline, so as soon as I woke up Sunday morning, I went jogging. The motel is on a highway, but a few blocks south is Will Rogers Park, several acres of grass, trees and ponds. Ducks and geese and hares had to scurry as I bounded over bridges, through the rose garden and around the arboretum for about 30 minutes. On my way back, I took note of the park's tennis center and wondered if I could find a partner there later in the day.
Now, however, it was time for breakfast, so I drove through the city, past numerous barbecue joints and root beer stands for the more balanced delights awaiting me in the city's Asian District, a modest neighborhood of strip malls and slightly run-down houses lining North Classen Boulevard.
I knew exactly what I'd be eating: pho, the beef noodle soup that is considered the national dish of Vietnam. It may seem a strange breakfast, but all over Southeast Asia, it's common to begin the day with noodle soup.
And that's how I began at Pho Hoa (901 NW 23rd Street, 405-521-8087), recommended by an Oklahoma-born friend. In the brightly lit room, surrounded by Vietnamese families, I ordered a small bowl. The first bite was heaven, as if my taste buds had been in suspended animation all these weeks. The noodles were thin but firm, the broth redolent of star anise, topped with thin slices of rare flank steak and well-cooked brisket. I garnished it with bean sprouts, basil and ngo gai, a long, lemony leaf known as sawtooth or culantro, then squeezed in some lime juice and mixed it all together. The bean sprouts crunched, and the herbs provided a fresh counterpoint to the hot soup.
When I dipped a slice of flank steak in a little dish of Sriracha chili sauce, I could tell it had been a long time since I'd eaten like this -- my tongue, usually able to withstand any assault, from habaneros to bird's eyes, was on fire. I cooled down with a salted-lime soda, then walked out the door with an iced coffee enriched with condensed milk, having paid only $11.53 for a taste not just of Vietnam but of home. (I lived in Ho Chi Minh City, the former Saigon, in 1996 and 1997.)
My stomach temporarily full, I drove downtown to the Oklahoma City National Memorial, a park dedicated to the victims of Timothy McVeigh's 1995 terrorist attack on the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. Two stone arches bracket a reflecting pool, bearing the times ''9:01'' (before the bombing) and ''9:03'' (after), and 168 chairs sit in a field of grass to represent those who died.
As I walked in, I heard a teenager ask his mother why McVeigh did it.
''Well, he had something against the government, I guess,'' she answered, and they walked out.
If they'd stuck around, they could've learned more from Rick Thomas, the National Park Service employee who gave a free orientation under the Survivor Tree, a century-old elm. In the span of 15 minutes, he covered everything from the details of the attack to the ways the memorial tries to address the emotions of everyone affected by the bombing. I left hoping my own city's 9/11 memorial winds up being, as Doug Kamholz, a reader, wrote of this one, ''a worthy balm to the heart.''
After a brief stroll through the area, I returned to the Asian District around 11:30 a.m. in search of banh mi, or Vietnamese sandwiches. And in Oklahoma City, the signal for banh mi is an enormous milk bottle sitting atop a tiny shack on Classen Boulevard. Once, this place sold Braum's ice cream; now it's Banh Mi Ba Le (2426 North Classen Boulevard, 405-524-2660), famous as much for its outsize sign as for its warm mini-baguettes stuffed with roast pork, pâté, cha lua (a Vietnamese mortadella), lightly pickled daikon and carrot, cilantro and green chilies. I love them -- especially when they cost $1.85. It's ridiculous how much you get for so little.
It was sort of the opposite at the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum (1700 NE 63rd Street, 405-478-2250, www.nationalcowboymuseum.org; entry, $8.50), which readers suggested I visit. It was quite large, with rooms full of saddles, guns, clothing and cowboy art, but it seemed geared toward 10-year-old boys, more interested in perpetuating the romantic myth of the cowboy than in understanding how that myth came to be and what it means for American culture. It was almost as if ''Deadwood'' and ''Unforgiven'' never existed.
As I drove away from the museum, I passed yet another barbecue joint, right next door, and wondered if I was missing something in my single-minded devotion to Vietnamese cuisine.
Then I arrived at Banh Cuon Tay Ho (Little Saigon Shopping Center, 2524 North Military Avenue, 405-528-7700) for a midafternoon snack and forgot all about hickory-smoked slabs of meat. The signature dish, banh cuon, is a kind of northern Vietnamese ravioli -- warm, thick, soft rice noodles filled with ground pork and mushrooms, and topped with bean sprouts, sliced cucumbers, cha lua and shredded mint. Here it was served with a fried cake of sweet potato and shrimp that was simultaneously salty and sweet, crunchy and creamy. In fact, I think the whole plate contained every known texture and flavor -- and for a mere $6.
By now, I needed to work off three meals, so I returned to the park, hoping to find a pick-up tennis partner. I didn't. (Who but the Frugal Traveler goes to a tennis court alone?) Instead, I swam laps in the Hospitality Inn pool, napped briefly and emerged from the motel -- ready to eat again.
Golden Phoenix (2728 North Classen Boulevard, 405-524-3988), recommended by the proprietor of Banh Mi Ba Le, was bustling with families and college students, and with the help of my waitress, who giggled at my poor Vietnamese, I put together a standard southern Vietnamese dinner -- the kind of meal I ate every day a decade ago. First, a deep-fried soft-shell crab that dribbled its bubbling green juices into my rice bowl with every bite. Then water spinach stir-fried with garlic, fresh from the wok, the tubular stems crunchy, the leafy bits lush and juicy. A clay pot showed up full of caramelized braised fish, and finally goi ngo sen, a salad of cucumber and young lotus shoots threaded through with rau ram, a diamond-shaped leaf that tastes like cilantro but is spicier and soapier.
I ate -- and ate and ate. Soon, I knew, I'd be off to Texas and day after day of beautiful barbecue (mm, burnt ends!), but for now I was crunching through fresh veggies, searing my mouth with chilies and drowning myself in fish sauce -- deliriously happy in the heartland of America.
By the time I finished, I'd spent $48 (including a beer, dessert and tip) and barely touched the lotus-shoot salad -- it was just too much food. Instead, I had it boxed up to take back to the motel. It wasn't quite pho, but it would do for breakfast.
Next stop: Texas.
July 4, 2007
FRUGAL TRAVELER AMERICAN ROAD TRIP; Good Morning, Vietnam ... er, Oklahoma
By MATT GROSS
AMERICANS do not like vegetables. At least, it seems that way after almost two months on the road, during which I've eaten at countless country cafes and rarely ever encountered anything fresh and green. When I have, it's been iceberg salads with toupees of flavorless yellow cheese, battered and deep-fried string beans and, inevitably, cole slaw.
Not that the food hasn't been delicious -- like the pulled pork at Blue Mist in Asheboro, N.C., or the patty melt at Spice Water Cafe in Lime Springs, Iowa. But a diet of meat, starch and fat is not what you want when you spend hours a day sitting in a car. Often, as I digested the latest gut bomb, I would wonder if my budget was keeping me away from greener, healthier restaurants. But, no. I rarely glimpsed such places outside big cities and a few hip towns.
And so, with Oklahoma City in my sights, I headed south as fast as I could. I had one thing on my mind: Vietnamese food.
It may come as a surprise that Oklahoma's capital has a significant Vietnamese population -- around 20,000, according to the Vietnamese American Community organization -- but such ethnic enclaves are a new American reality. Hmong live in large numbers in Minnesota, for example, while Columbus, Ohio, is home to some 30,000 Somalis. And in each case, the immigrants bring their own cuisines, which often are tasty, full of veggies and inexpensive.
Oklahoma City, however, lay a long way from Nebraska, where I'd just visited Carhenge (www.carhenge.com). From there, I drove through Kansas, stopping at Greensburg to witness the aftermath of the May 4 tornado. Then I had to drop the car off in Wichita, at Gorges & Company Volvo (3211 North Webb Road, 316-630-0689, www.volvobygorges.com), for much-needed repairs; 6,000 miles' worth of leaks and electrical problems cost a disheartening $855.
It was late on Saturday evening when I finally drove into Oklahoma City and checked into the first place that looked clean, had Wi-Fi and was cheap. The Hospitality Inn (3709 NW 39th Street, 405-942-7730) is a simple motel -- two stories arranged around a swimming pool -- but it is on the fabled Route 66 and less sketchy than some of the older motels, and the proprietor knocked the price down from $62 a night to $51.25 when I said I'd be staying three days.
There was a lot to see, but the real plan was to eat as much Vietnamese food as possible. I knew this would take discipline, so as soon as I woke up Sunday morning, I went jogging. The motel is on a highway, but a few blocks south is Will Rogers Park, several acres of grass, trees and ponds. Ducks and geese and hares had to scurry as I bounded over bridges, through the rose garden and around the arboretum for about 30 minutes. On my way back, I took note of the park's tennis center and wondered if I could find a partner there later in the day.
Now, however, it was time for breakfast, so I drove through the city, past numerous barbecue joints and root beer stands for the more balanced delights awaiting me in the city's Asian District, a modest neighborhood of strip malls and slightly run-down houses lining North Classen Boulevard.
I knew exactly what I'd be eating: pho, the beef noodle soup that is considered the national dish of Vietnam. It may seem a strange breakfast, but all over Southeast Asia, it's common to begin the day with noodle soup.
And that's how I began at Pho Hoa (901 NW 23rd Street, 405-521-8087), recommended by an Oklahoma-born friend. In the brightly lit room, surrounded by Vietnamese families, I ordered a small bowl. The first bite was heaven, as if my taste buds had been in suspended animation all these weeks. The noodles were thin but firm, the broth redolent of star anise, topped with thin slices of rare flank steak and well-cooked brisket. I garnished it with bean sprouts, basil and ngo gai, a long, lemony leaf known as sawtooth or culantro, then squeezed in some lime juice and mixed it all together. The bean sprouts crunched, and the herbs provided a fresh counterpoint to the hot soup.
When I dipped a slice of flank steak in a little dish of Sriracha chili sauce, I could tell it had been a long time since I'd eaten like this -- my tongue, usually able to withstand any assault, from habaneros to bird's eyes, was on fire. I cooled down with a salted-lime soda, then walked out the door with an iced coffee enriched with condensed milk, having paid only $11.53 for a taste not just of Vietnam but of home. (I lived in Ho Chi Minh City, the former Saigon, in 1996 and 1997.)
My stomach temporarily full, I drove downtown to the Oklahoma City National Memorial, a park dedicated to the victims of Timothy McVeigh's 1995 terrorist attack on the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. Two stone arches bracket a reflecting pool, bearing the times ''9:01'' (before the bombing) and ''9:03'' (after), and 168 chairs sit in a field of grass to represent those who died.
As I walked in, I heard a teenager ask his mother why McVeigh did it.
''Well, he had something against the government, I guess,'' she answered, and they walked out.
If they'd stuck around, they could've learned more from Rick Thomas, the National Park Service employee who gave a free orientation under the Survivor Tree, a century-old elm. In the span of 15 minutes, he covered everything from the details of the attack to the ways the memorial tries to address the emotions of everyone affected by the bombing. I left hoping my own city's 9/11 memorial winds up being, as Doug Kamholz, a reader, wrote of this one, ''a worthy balm to the heart.''
After a brief stroll through the area, I returned to the Asian District around 11:30 a.m. in search of banh mi, or Vietnamese sandwiches. And in Oklahoma City, the signal for banh mi is an enormous milk bottle sitting atop a tiny shack on Classen Boulevard. Once, this place sold Braum's ice cream; now it's Banh Mi Ba Le (2426 North Classen Boulevard, 405-524-2660), famous as much for its outsize sign as for its warm mini-baguettes stuffed with roast pork, pâté, cha lua (a Vietnamese mortadella), lightly pickled daikon and carrot, cilantro and green chilies. I love them -- especially when they cost $1.85. It's ridiculous how much you get for so little.
It was sort of the opposite at the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum (1700 NE 63rd Street, 405-478-2250, www.nationalcowboymuseum.org; entry, $8.50), which readers suggested I visit. It was quite large, with rooms full of saddles, guns, clothing and cowboy art, but it seemed geared toward 10-year-old boys, more interested in perpetuating the romantic myth of the cowboy than in understanding how that myth came to be and what it means for American culture. It was almost as if ''Deadwood'' and ''Unforgiven'' never existed.
As I drove away from the museum, I passed yet another barbecue joint, right next door, and wondered if I was missing something in my single-minded devotion to Vietnamese cuisine.
Then I arrived at Banh Cuon Tay Ho (Little Saigon Shopping Center, 2524 North Military Avenue, 405-528-7700) for a midafternoon snack and forgot all about hickory-smoked slabs of meat. The signature dish, banh cuon, is a kind of northern Vietnamese ravioli -- warm, thick, soft rice noodles filled with ground pork and mushrooms, and topped with bean sprouts, sliced cucumbers, cha lua and shredded mint. Here it was served with a fried cake of sweet potato and shrimp that was simultaneously salty and sweet, crunchy and creamy. In fact, I think the whole plate contained every known texture and flavor -- and for a mere $6.
By now, I needed to work off three meals, so I returned to the park, hoping to find a pick-up tennis partner. I didn't. (Who but the Frugal Traveler goes to a tennis court alone?) Instead, I swam laps in the Hospitality Inn pool, napped briefly and emerged from the motel -- ready to eat again.
Golden Phoenix (2728 North Classen Boulevard, 405-524-3988), recommended by the proprietor of Banh Mi Ba Le, was bustling with families and college students, and with the help of my waitress, who giggled at my poor Vietnamese, I put together a standard southern Vietnamese dinner -- the kind of meal I ate every day a decade ago. First, a deep-fried soft-shell crab that dribbled its bubbling green juices into my rice bowl with every bite. Then water spinach stir-fried with garlic, fresh from the wok, the tubular stems crunchy, the leafy bits lush and juicy. A clay pot showed up full of caramelized braised fish, and finally goi ngo sen, a salad of cucumber and young lotus shoots threaded through with rau ram, a diamond-shaped leaf that tastes like cilantro but is spicier and soapier.
I ate -- and ate and ate. Soon, I knew, I'd be off to Texas and day after day of beautiful barbecue (mm, burnt ends!), but for now I was crunching through fresh veggies, searing my mouth with chilies and drowning myself in fish sauce -- deliriously happy in the heartland of America.
By the time I finished, I'd spent $48 (including a beer, dessert and tip) and barely touched the lotus-shoot salad -- it was just too much food. Instead, I had it boxed up to take back to the motel. It wasn't quite pho, but it would do for breakfast.
Next stop: Texas.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
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