Banh Cuon, the classic Vietnamese breakfast dish, is not, as the above picture shows, a great food to photograph. But as so often in Asian cuisine, it is usually made right in front of one's eyes, and it's the making that is rather more photogenic.

The set-up at this Banh Cuon joint in Son La was particularly rough and ready - the steamed pancakes were made on what looked like old oil drums, and the dipping sauce kept in a saucepan on the floor...

...but though this was my first Banh Cuon in Vietnam, it's gonna take some beating. The balance between pancake and filling was perfect, the fried shallots sweet and moreish, and the dipping sauce a beguiling combination of flavours. What a great way to start the day.

Banh Cuon restaurant, main street, Son La.

(Photo by Karin Bage)

After my somewhat disappointing experience in Sapa (food excepted), I tried not to have too many expectations for the Vietnamese capital, Hanoi. Nonetheless, my hopes were high when I arrived here on Tuesday - and this time, I am happy to say, all those hopes were justified, for Hanoi is utterly fabulous. Though it's wild, chaotic and a teeny bit intimidating at first, it's many charms get to work quickly, and I am already totally in love with the place.

One of those many charms is, of course, the street food, which is just mind-blowing - utterly delicious and absolutely EVERYWHERE. The other day, as my friend Karin and I wandered the streets near where we're staying, we stumbled across an alleyway that led to a market. Though by the time we got there (around 3pm) the market was well past it's best, on the alleyway there were a few street kitchens still going strong, busy with people getting their afternoon sweet kick. We joined one stall that was serving a wide array of snacks, and through an embarrassing mixture of pointing and help from an English-speaking fellow diner, sampled a few wonderful small eats.

Banh troi tau, opening photo, was first on our menu. This instantly aroused my curiosity as it is so similar to the Chinese tangyuan, a specially of Chengdu - and sure enough, our friendly fellow diner translated it's name as a kind of Chinese cake. The method of serving of this version is a world away from the plain Chinese kind though, with fresh shredded coconut, crushed peanuts, black sesame seeds and coconut milk adding a much more tropical flavour. And the dumplings themselves were exemplary - a perfect balance of chewiness and softness, and in two different flavours (green bean and sesame) to boot.

As we were eating the dumplings, a mother and her teenage daughter sat down next to us and ordered drinks. I was so taken with the look of the mother's that I ordered one myself, and was not disappointed.

First, crushed ice is packed into a glass, to which is then added a red bean sauce. Then the glass gets a spoonful of black jelly, another of coconut milk, and then is topped off with some shredded fresh coconut. The resulting drink was an amazing mixture of textures - grainy (from the red beans), slippery (from the jelly), crunchy (from the ice), and all a glorious deep maroon colour. This stall will be enjoying my patronage again soon, no doubt.

Sweet snacks stall on alleyway next to Ngoc Ha Market,
Ba Dinh District, Hanoi.

This is the scene that greeted me from the window of my hotel room in Son La, northwest Vietnam.

Nice, right? But of course, being the incurable foodie that I am, I wasn't at all interested in the mountains - it was what was going on down below that got my attention.

The ladies who were trading at this little roadside market were very amused by my taking photographs of their produce, which included this bizarre looking thing.

What on earth is it?! I showed this photo to a Vietnamese women in a village about 4 hours from where this was taken, and she didn't have a clue. Can anyone help me out with identifying this mystery vegetable? Or, for that matter, this one?

Thanks in advance! But asides from all that was different, there were some familiar foodstuffs too - like the foundations of Southeast Asian cooking, ginger, lemongrass and shallots...

...and these luscious-looking mangos.

And in case you're wondering if being directly above such a busy road kept me awake all night, let me assure you that having lodged next to some super-horny teenagers the night before, I slept like a log.

Corner of To Hieu and the public square,
Son La.

I'll be honest - so far, Sapa has not impressed me one bit. The town has been thoughtlessly developed, visitors are constantly hassled by craft-sellers and motorbike drivers, and it's streets are lined with 'Western' restaurants aimed squarely at unadventurous eaters.

As such, my hopes for eating well here were not exactly high; but happily, magically, these fears were allayed on my very first afternoon in town by the sandwich in the photograph above.

This is banh mi, the Vietnamese take on the French baguette. Though the Laos version (that I sampled this time last year) left me distinctly underwhelmed, Sapa's offering of this classic snack knocked my socks off.

For just 10,000 Dong (about 30p), one procurred a crusty, chewy baguette stuffed with a delectable mixture of shredded carrot, green mango and pork, and seasoned with sesame seeds, fresh corriander leaves and lemongrass. In fact, the photo above is of the second time I ate this snack, when I added some terrine that was being sold a couple of stalls down. The lady selling this terrine seemed mighty reluctant for me to stuff my sandwich with it, but I thought it was delicious. As I ate my banh mi on the roof of my hotel, watching storm clouds gather on the horizon, I looked forward (in typical glutton fashion) to the next one.

Banh Mi vendor, at entrance to market on Cau May,
Sapa.

Here is the fourth installment of my monthly column in Chengdoo Citylife Magazine, 'Your Chuancai Cupboard'. This month: Ya Cai.

Ya cai, is one of Sichuan’s most famous and distinctive food products. Made from the stems of a variety of mustard green, it’s fragrant and distinctive flavor is found in many of the regions dishes. Said to have been invented in the early 19th century, ya cai is just one of the myriad different preserved vegetables used in Sichuan’s cuisine, including zha cai, da tou cai ('big head vegetable')and many other regional varieties.

Ya cai’s primary ingredient is jie mo cai, a type of mustard green native to Southeast Sichuan. Around 4-5 months after being planted, the mustard green plants are harvested in the 9th lunar month. The leaves are then discarded, the stems sliced into even strips, and the strips hung out on poles to dry.

The making of ya cai is unusual among Sichuanese ingredients, in that while doubanjiang (chilli bean paste) and dou chi (fermented black beans) only require one fermentation stage, ya cai demands two. Once sufficiently dry, the mustard green stems are mixed with salt and left to ferment in sealed containers for 3 to 6 months – small ceramic pots called tu tan are traditionally used. This is the first of the two fermentation stages.

Once the first stage is complete, the mustard green stems are boiled with brown sugar for 8 to 9 hours, and are hung up to dry out once more. Now, star anise, Sichuan pepper, and other spices are added, and again, the mustard green stems are left to ferment in sealed containers for another 3 to 6 months.

In Chengdu’s markets you can sometimes find un-cut ya cai – long, straggly strips of green-brown vegetable, bought by weight – but mostly ya cai is bought already chopped up in small, sealed packages. When buying ya cai make sure to buy a brand based in Yibin, the city about 250km southeast of Chengdu which is the most celebrated producer of this ingredient. Once opened, you should store ya cai in a sealed container in a cool, dry place.

Though a few different brands exist, by far the most common is Yibin’s Sui Mi Ya Cai Company, who apparently started the practice of chopping up ya cai, hence the name – sui mi means crushed rice, referring to the appearance of the company’s bitty, pre-cut ya cai.

Ya cai is often mixed with pork for the stuffing of baozi, and is also a vital ingredient in Yibin’s signature dish, ran mian (‘burning noodles’). But it is perhaps most famously used in one of Sichuan’s most popular vegetable dishes, Dry-Fried Green beans. I’ve eaten countless different versions of this dish, but this one is my favorite.

Dry-fried Green Beans

250g green beans
2 tablespoons ya cai
1 tablespoon fermented black beans (dou chi), rinsed and drained
5 dried chillies, halved and seeds discarded
1 teaspoon Sichuan pepper (huajiao)
3 cloves of garlic, thinly sliced, and the same amount of ginger, thinly sliced
3 spring onions, cut into 3cm lengths
50g minced pork (optional)
Cooking oil
Salt to taste

1. Top and tail the green beans, and cut into 5cm lengths.
2. Heat your wok, and add about a tablespoon of cooking oil. Once hot, add the pork and stir-fry for a few minutes until cooked through, and then set aside.
3. Add a tablespoon of oil to the wok, and once hot add the beans, stir-fry for a couple of minutes, and then add another 1-2 tablespoons of oil. Stir-fry for another 3-5 minutes, or until the beans are tender. Remove from the wok and set aside.
4. Add another tablespoon of oil to the wok, and once hot add the garlic and ginger slices. Stir-fry on a moderate heat for about 30 seconds, and then add the chilies and Sichuan pepper. Stir-fry for another 30 seconds, taking care not to burn the spices, and now add the ya cai and dou chi and stir-fry for another 30 seconds.
5. Finally, add the spring onions (and the pork, if using), and return the beans to the wok. Stir-fry for another minute or so, add salt to taste, remove to a serving dish and serve.