Vietnamese Soup-and-a-Sandwich; Lower East Side Asian Like My Mother Wouldn't Eat

While waiting for the M103 bus on the Bowery last week, I heard my mother's voice in my head whispering, "If you don't do your homework, you're gonna end up on the BOWERY!" I never did learn to hand in my homework on time. She was right: I ended up down on the Bowery, a modern-day Bowery bum, bottom-feeding on mystery meats and four-dollar lunch specials. And I have to say that, despite the air pollution combo of truck exhaust, rotten exotic vegetables and discarded fish carcasses, and compounded lately by "the stink" from the World Trade Center area, I can think of no better place to spend my lunch hour.

Lately I've been hooked on the Vietnamese sandwich, or banh mi. Emerging from the confluence of French and colonial-era Vietnamese cultures, this is the original fusion sandwich. A large crusty French roll smeared with mayonnaise and paté is filled with an assortment of cold cuts and, sometimes, bits of roast pork. It is then returned to the toaster, briefly, and topped off with cold pickled carrots and radishes, cucumber, cilantro and jalapenos. You hand over your three dollars to the cashier, and receive your change and your Asian McDLT cut in half and wrapped in paper. I can assure you that there is no tastier, cheaper lunch anywhere in the five boroughs.

They are hard to find, though. The trick is to look for the words "banh mi" buried in a store's exterior signage. Example: "Trung Tam Van Hoa Vietnam Nha Sach Khai Tri Banh Mi," near the Buddhist temple at the Manhattan Bridge entrance gates (officially 145 Canal St., between Bowery & Chrystie St., 343-2657). Their banh mi is only $2.25, though you get what you pay for?my sandwich wasn't properly heated, and the cold cuts were hard, stringy and fatty.

They do, however, have an extensive selection of Vietnamese desserts and beverages. I picked the steamed coconut in a banana leaf and headed for a bench in "Old Man Park," the section of Sara Delano Roosevelt Park nearest to the Manhattan Bridge, which seems more like an outdoor OTB parlor than a peaceful respite. There I unwrapped my dessert and got slimed. Some foods can be described as "slimy," but I know of very few that would qualify as 100 percent pure slug slime. It must be a popular treat in Vietnam, though. While struggling to keep it from creeping down my legs, a shriveled old woman pointed at me and exclaimed, "Oh! You Like! You Like! Oooohhh."

No, I don't like. Not at all. But I certainly don't mind having shelled out a dollar for the chance to stumble upon something spectacular and delicious. That's part of the fun down in Chinatown?it's the race track of foods. You go into a restaurant and place your bets. Sometimes you win, sometimes you go home hungry, or merely disappointed.

A better banh mi can be found on the other side of the bridge approach, on Forsyth St. (between E. Broadway & Division, 941-1541), at Banh Mi Saigon. Here they only sell sandwiches and drinks. For $2.75, you trade up to a warm, toasty sandwich made with sweet, jerky-like pieces of roast pork. I generally enjoyed this sandwich, but there was a certain lack of spice here, and I felt the carrots and cucumbers were cut too thick. But these are mild offenses, and this place is too cute to dislike. It's literally a hole in the wall, a notch in the side of the bridge. I spent 20 minutes on my bicycle searching for the place, which a friend had told me was "on that street next the Manhattan Bridge."

The King of the banh mi resides in Little Italy, at 369 Broome St. at Mott (219-8341). The pork chunks at Saigon Banh Mi So 1 are superb, the sandwich well-constructed. There is a spicy heat that emanates from an unknown source; I suspect the carrot/radish/cucumber salad is laced with cayenne pepper. I haven't yet ended my quest for the perfect banh mi, though. Here the bread is too crusty and shatters into your lap at every bite.

My ideal Vietnamese lunch would consist of half a banh mi and a small bowl of pho, the ubiquitous Vietnamese beef soup. I haven't seen this combo on any menu, though, and most places specializing in the soup can't make a decent sandwich. So if you're so inclined, grab a banh mi, eat half of it on a park bench and then head to the nearest sit-down restaurant for your bowl of soup.

Pho is Asian soul food. In Vietnam, when feeling down, you would either consume a bowl of the stuff, or maybe read a chapter of Pho for the Vietnamese Soul. It's a rich brew studded with flavors you wouldn't typically expect to find in a soup, like star anise, cinnamon and nutmeg. Lying on top of a mound of delicate rice noodles are a few slices of onion, some fresh cilantro, scallions, bean sprouts and up to six different varieties of beef?it's up to you to decide which to include. If you're feeling adventurous, get the big combination bowl with the rare roast beef (usually called "eye of round"), well-done brisket, tendon and navel (tripe).

Pho Cong Ly, on Hester St. between Chrystie and the Bowery (343-1111), usually has the best broth out of the many I've tried. I say usually because it is very difficult to be consistent when cooking a soup. One thing you can count on here, though, is that the "fresh eye of round" is never rare enough. Over on 245 Grand St., though, Pho Tuong Lai (431-3481) uses higher-quality beef, especially flavorful rice noodles and a broth nearly up to the level of Pho Cong Ly. All things considered, this is my favorite spot for pho in New York right now. Just don't expect good service. Expect carts filled with dirty dishes to rumble past your table, and unnecessary frowning on the part of the staff. There isn't a smile to be found on the face of anyone who works there, unless they're laughing at you fumbling with the chopsticks.

With the change left over from your cheap lunch, you can spring for a Vietnamese iced coffee, another marvelous French/Asian culture clash. It may look like Thai iced coffee, but they're really not in the same league. The Vietnamese brew a shot of extremely strong French-roast coffee and pour it over a tall glass of ice. Lurking on the bottom of the glass is a tablespoon of thick, sweetened condensed milk. While it's hard to achieve the perfect bowl of pho or the world's finest banh mi, almost every iced coffee I've had in Vietnamese restaurants approaches perfection, making me the giddiest bum on the Bowery.

Mouse Tails

I am a product of frozen peas and plain old baked chicken. Growing up in my childhood home, a frozen burrito was considered exotic. The most adventurous my family would ever get was our yearly meal down on Mott St. in Chinatown. We'd pile into the family Caprice Classic station wagon, drive for what seemed like five hours on the Long Island Expressway and fight our way through big-city traffic downtown. The destination was always the Peking Duck House, recommended by the honorable ex-Mayor Ed Koch. It still says so in the window. Our waiter would come over, and we would request numbers 41, 46 and 52. He'd reply, "Number 41?you no like. Number 46?you no like. Number 52?you no like. Try Number 32?chicken chow mein. Also, you have number 25, beef with broccoli." We would actually drive for what seemed like five hours so that we could eat the same trough slop found back home at Lotus East. I guess the allure, for them, was the presence of actual Chinese people eating strange, spicy foods that we no like.

I'm a big boy now and have developed into a fearless eater. Not only will I insist on numbers 41, 46 and 52, but I'll also order dishes with names like "5 ingredient special soup" or "casserole with miscellaneous parts and parcels." This style of ordering can be risky, mind you?a month ago, a house special congee in Flushing, Queens, contained only heaping portions of duck tongues and sliced pig stomach.

Sometimes I luck out, though. One of my favorite meals these days is the "curry stuff noodle soup" at IPOH, a Malaysian/ Cantonese on Canal and Essex, by the E. Broadway train station (388-0264). I was pleasantly relieved the first time it arrived at my table, steaming, fragrant and harboring several types of their homemade beancurd specialties. Curry stuff noodle soup, with the homemade "mouse tail" noodle, is very spicy, if you crave that sort of thing, but also warm and rich. The noodles themselves are a marvel?thick, chewy and somewhat stubby.

IPOH is a great resource for cheap Malaysian food. For under five dollars you can get a plate of excellent curried chicken and potatoes with rice, or a heaping plate of exotic noodles (try the fried kueh teow or the "mouse tail" noodle in casserole), or delicately stir-fried Sambal shrimp over rice.

If you're in the mood for something more familiar, East Corner Wonton, on Market and E. Broadway (343-9896), is my absolute favorite setting for Chinatown-style noodle soup. Theirs is a huge bowl of distinctly Cantonese-tasting broth, the freshest egg noodles, excellent roast meats (especially duck) and mysteriously complex wontons. I love to pull apart one of these pork and shrimp creations and analyze them for content: white pepper, sesame oil, scallions, one or two small bits of lard, the pork and the shrimp cuddling each other like yin and yang, like me and my little black kitty cat. Mix it all up and you've got a five-dollar meal that both heals and inspires.

After a bowl of East Corner's noodle soup, I usually head over to 328 Cafe on Eldridge St., between Division and Canal (219-1318) to commune with the elder Maoists in the hood. I'd smoke, though I don't, and chat about the goings-on back in Beijing, though I only know how to say "roast pork" in Chinese. But I know a good cup of coffee when I see one, and here it is made in the traditional manner of pouring water through a sock filled with coffee grounds. It's light and sweet, of course, as if you had any choice in the matter at Chinese coffeehouses.