This isn't a review. I suck at reviews because my mind wanders a bit. I think it's more of a "thank you note" in my meandering style, making points I never intended to and completely neglecting the ones I wanted to hit.

A new Vietnamese place opened down the road from me over Father’s Day weekend. I saw them building out the space over a couple months and assumed they were already open. They had a cartoon water buffalo in one of those conical hats you see the stereotypes wear in the movies, the true sign of a decent strip mall Pho place, so I resolved to stop by when I remembered to so. Father’s day rolled around and MrsOtherDamnCook let me know I could do whatever he hell I wanted on that “special” Hallmark Holiday. I was just going to watch my murder shows and maybe some classic Doctor Who while “meditating” on the couch when I remembered that cartoon water buffalo, the memory of which urging me to go get some damned noodles as cartoon water buffaloes are often want to do. I couldn’t say no. That would be rude.

I did what I always do and immediately went to the internet to see if they delivered. They didn’t yet. Still don’t. But I could order online. Except the one thing I really wanted that day was not on the loaded onto the online menu yet. Then I remembered I’m 53 and know how to use a phone. Phew. Five minutes later, my order was called in and I was on my way.

Now it’s worth mentioning that my beloved City on the Bayou has a very large Vietnamese population due largely to resettlement after the Vietnam conflict. It was an ugly time as I recall. My Papaw was a shrimper in the Gulf. There were fierce battles between the local fishermen and our latest imports. Perceived special treatment for the newbs. Hurt feelings. Resentment. Acrimony. Violence. The usual when one population of organisms moves into territory already populated by others. Eventually, the locals either aged out of existence or got over it and now we are all cool again. It’s one of the things I love about my town. We’re like the Borg from Star Trek: the Next Generation, except we never go anywhere. We make everyone come to us. All about the conservation of energy. When “they” get here, they contribute their distinctiveness to ours and we become better for it.

Fast forward to now and you can’t swing a dead cat without running into a Vietnamese nail salon, dry cleaner, or Pho place. We have some really stellar Vietnamese food here. We also have some really crappy examples as well. You can generally tell the crappy ones by their novelty pun names. I know this from experience as I’m just the sort of fellow to fall for novelty pun names.

This new place does not have a pun in the name. “Biff’s Banh Mi and Pho”. I assume Biff is the name of the cartoon water buffalo. Apparently, he owns the place and this really nice couple run it for him. Legendary entrepreneurs, cartoon water buffaloes.

On my first visit, I kinda went crazy with the ordering. The wife was still dieting so I ordered whatever I thought would manage the takeout well. Not pho. Yet. I don’t believe in portable pho. Just seems wrong, somehow.

Everything I picked up was really nice and very fresh and while I still have not tried their pho, I have resolved to eat my way through their entire menu, so pho will come in its time. I may wait until the Offspring is around. As I said, everything was good and fresh with no real surprises except the cha gio and the nuoc cham served with them. No surprises are typically good surprises in this instance. I’ll try to explain.

When I’m going out for an ethnic cuisine, I really want an exemplar of that cuisine. That sounds really pompous and that’s not what I’m getting at. I’m not looking to be wowed by the same dish I’ve had from 30 different places. It’s not going to happen. It shouldn’t happen. What I’m looking for is a reliable, consistent version of a specific dish, competently prepared with care.

It’s like when you’re all grown up want a grilled cheese sandwich, the kind you got at home with a plastic wrapped, single of a piece of processed cheese food melted between smashed pieces of greasy Wonder bread. You go out to a restaurant that calls itself “home style”, spot the grilled cheese on the menu and make your order. While waiting for the food, you get excited because it’s been so long since you’ve had such a delicious, unhealthy indulgence. The server heads to your table and places before you three different kinds of cheese, hand grated on the unshaven thighs of virgins, melted raclette style and served between two lightly toasted slabs of artisanal sourdough with wasabi aioli and a splooge of truffle foam wad. It’s still technically a grilled cheese sandwich, but has little connection to the original. You send it back and order the one off the kid’s menu. The hipster chef with all his desperately butch ink and elitism is offended and comes out to address you. “But mine is better!” Maybe so. But not if it’s not what you want.

Context. Context matters and I think that’s what I’m getting at.

It's at this point I venture dangerously onto the precipice of idealism, risking a fatal plunge into the chasm of hypocrisy. Sigh. Oh, well. Here we go.

I judge on criteria other than “Do I like it or not?” which, according to the shit coming off my fingertips and into this keyboard, should be all that matters. I can feel myself falling as I struggle to word this next bit.

Regardless of my ideals, there is this huge part of me that pre-judges that “hipster grilled cheese” as pretentious, as a distraction from the original at best, a denial of it at worst. Hypocrite! There’s a fine line between being original, making your name, differentiating yourself, whatever, and staying true. It’s extremely hard to do and most people can’t. It’s impossible to serve two masters. Now why is this relevant? Nuoc cham.

Nuoc cham is a fish sauce based condiment often serve with Vietnamese dishes like cha gio. It usually consists of actual fish sauce (fermented fish squeezins’ – Yum!), lime juice, sugar, garlic and red chilies. Proportions may vary, but it’s a fairly standard dish and there’s not a lot of room for adaptation. Without a very tempered approach, it can easily turn into something else. And that’s my point. A retail storefront noodle shop needs to be just that. It can still be more, don’t get be wrong. It can be cleaner, fresher, with more expertly prepared items, but it’s not a place to be a star. It’s the place to be a workhorse. Again, no surprises are good surprises. Now, that being said…

I didn’t expect to be impressed by the simplest of mixtures. I used to have a father-in-law who judged all Chinese restaurants by their egg drop soup. “If they can’t manage this simplest of dishes, I’m not expecting much out of them.” Very wise.

The cha gio were spectacular. They aren’t really supposed to be. I guess that’s why I’m so taken aback. I’ve had them like 4 times now and they have been consistently good. The filling, no real surprises there. Clean, homogeneous. But the wrapping. Beyond crispy. Crunchy for the full length of the roll. Almost alien. No soggy middle. Expertly prepared and without a hint of excess grease, the mark of a true Fry Master. If I didn’t know better, I would swear they made these by hand, but that’s extremely labor intensive and really not cost effective for a start-up and as good as they are on their own, there was no comparison once dipped in the nuoc cham.

It's not supposed to be good. It’s just supposed to be there. It’s not a star. It’s no reason to visit or order cha gio. I never think to myself in the heat of Summer, “Shit I need some room temperature fish sauce and really hot fried food.” But I might actually start. Seriously. Isn’t that ridiculous? The nuoc cham has this unexpected, sweet-citrus hint in the background of the humble condiment. Lime, I expect. Sugar I expect. This was more… like a very sweet, very freshly juiced mandarin dropped by for a visit, just sitting there in the background waving hello, very politely. It was so delightful.

Changing gears a bit, I’ve mentioned my taco paraphilia (not quite a fetish) in the past so I don’t need to go into it, other than to state that lately, the Magick is gone from my usual spot. It happens. I can suck a taco place dry. At first, I’m a curiosity. Then there’s comfort to my frequent visits. In the end there’s a palpable sense of “Shit. This guy again?” and I know it’s time to seek my breakfast fortunes elsewhere. I’m really gonna miss the handmade tortillas. But I take great solace in knowing that Biff’s is open at 0700 in the morning and serves their full menu all day.

I can have spring rolls for breakfast. Banh Mi. Pho. Fried rice. Cha Gio. I told them at the time their being open so early was going to be problem for me. It hasn’t so far, I’ve been busy of late, but I can see them showing up on my credit card bill at least once or twice a week for a while. It’ll be worse when they start delivery.

I stopped by this very morning for breakfast, in need of Spring Rolls and Cha Gio. We got to talking a little bit and the lady who runs the place with, I assume, her husband, asked me if “Otherdamncook” is my real last name. I really need to make it look more German since I’m pronouncing it “Oh’terdomkuk”. I explained it’s my bullshit online name and part of my “just some dude you’ve never heard of” shtick to take the piss out of the modern “pop-culture food game”. OK, I didn’t say that much, but it was there in the subtext, I swear.

Anyway, we were talking about food and I mentioned I used to be a chef, so she asked what my specialty was. “Cajun, Creole, with a huge side of French, technique-wise.” Her background is also French and I mentioned that tracks.

One of the things I love about Vietnamese food is the huge French culinary influence. It’s why Cajun and Vietnamese are so compatible and it’s very common to see local Vietnamese restaurants crank out a damn fine etouffee and Cajun places throw down a perfectly passable fried rice. They have a common parent. French mother, Asian father. With Creole it’s that same French mother, with her Spanish/African/Portuguese paramour. God bless her, she did so love sharing the wealth and good on her for owning that shit.

I remember going to a company crawfish boil (it’s a thing down here) and they gave us two options for crawfish: Louisiana style or Houston style. I’d never heard of “Houston Style”, I assumed it means you have to be sweaty and stuck in traffic, but it turns out it’s Vietnamese. (We are Houston of Borg. Come here and let us assimilate you.)

In a gross oversimplification, Vietnamese or Houston or Viet-Cajun style crawfish is basically Louisiana style, with Asian flavorings added, boiled with different sides, and then coated with terrifying yet glorious amounts of butter and garlic when done.

Do I have a favorite? Sure. But that depends on what I’m in the mood for. At the end of the day, I’m not going to kick either one out of bed.

Consider also the mighty Banh Mi. It’s straight up French. The baguette. The butter. The mayonnaise. The pate. All French ingredients wrapped around South East Asian freshness and sensibilities to create something new and wonderful. And as much as I pine over my beloved Cajun and Creole influences, there is a lightness and a coolness to Vietnamese food you just can’t get from those. Vietnamese food helps one gracefully overcome the heat of their swampy homeland, while Creole just sort of makes surrendering to the swamp natural and almost pleasant. I hope that makes sense. It does in my head.

The point is, you have common ingredients, common technique, but wildly different results, both of which, standing on their own, underscoring meaning, and imparting joy via the simple act of sustenance.

At this time, I have yet to be disappointed by Biff’s, nor do I expect to be. As it is brand-spanking-new, I do have some concerns, though.

Their prices are freakishly low, particularly in today’s market. At one point in my life, I taught Food and Beverage Cost Control which, God help me, I just love and I do a lot of “food cost war-gaming” as a mental exercise to prevent me from buying a food truck or opening a place. I just can’t figure out how they are doing it while providing the quality they are. I don’t think the low prices will last last long and nor should they. Naturally, that doesn’t mean I won’t take advantage while I can, but I can assure you, I’ll feel the appropriate level of guilt.

My other concern is their hours of operation and full menu availability. While I am certainly benefiting from it, I don’t know how sustainable it is over the long term. If they could somehow equate Biff’s specifically, not just Vietnamese food, with breakfast, in the minds of the locals, that would be huge. You pay for retail space 24 hours a day, so long operating hours make sense. Still, it might be better to shift those hours and transform it into a late night, after hours destination. Hangover prevention is a public service, after all.

I don’t wear a toque anymore, but if I did, I would take it off to the proprietors Biff’s. To open a Vietnamese place in this town where the competition is brutal, is an act of defiance and a slap in the face of fate. I love scrappy underdog stories. Particularly when the scrappy underdog is a cartoon water buffalo with some serious cooking skills. As we say down here, “Them’s balls the size o’ horse turds.”

OK, some of us say it. But it’s catching on, I swear.