[Disclosure: We paid in full at Eat Vietnam. They didn’t know I was going to blog about it]
It’s a Wednesday night and I’m meandering through New Street, takeaway box in hand, unable to wipe the grin off my face.
No, I haven’t just relived a late-night takeaway after a messy night out. I’ve had something infinitely better – my first meal at Eat Vietnam in Stirchley.
It’s a marvel really that I’ve even got the takeaway box in my hand, given the fact the grin-inducing dishes make it very hard to put the chopsticks down. But simultaneously testament to the fact that I plan to demand that Jamie tries it all and gets as excited by it as I am.
I’m aware I’m late to the party. Eat Vietnam is an institution by now, and just one of plenty of good places in Stirchley. It’s a part of Birmingham I never really ventured to when I was younger despite living not too far away (things were different back then). But, like so many areas of Brum, in recent years it’s seen the arrival of plenty of places that receive accolades galore. And not just from loyal locals, but from those food types whose words we all hang off – and quite rightly so in many cases.
Like so many of the best places, Eat Vietnam doesn’t really have any airs and graces. An unassuming frontage on Stirchley High Street. Simple seating inside. An open kitchen at the back where the magic happens.
At first glance the menu offers the same simplicity. There are no prizes for guessing the cuisine on offer, and the main menu lists a tempting array of curries, noodles, small plates and sides. But it doesn’t stop there. Above our heads are blackboards outlining the specials. If deciding what to have was difficult before, it just got impossible thanks to the list of dishes showcasing traditional Vietnamese flavours in ways you just simply don’t see in your average chain restaurant.
I’m with a friend who is an Eat Vietnam expert and is keen for me to try her favourites. And our friendship ends this night all the stronger for it, since I will forever trust her food choices after this.
We order like kids in a sweet shop, mixing her favourites with some of the blackboard specials, talking over each other and debating extra dishes until we’re politely told we’ve ordered plenty and can always see how we go then order more if we can’t manage it – along with the knowing look of someone who’s seen countless tables do the same thing and never manage to order more.
The Marmite and Peanut Butter Cauliflower is the first to arrive, and I’m won over in a mouthful. There’s a chicken wing version but I’ve compromised since my mate is veggie, but one bite in and I can’t help but declare out loud that I may never need chicken wings again if cauliflower can be this good.
To be honest, it’s not about what the sauce is coating – I’m fairly sure that could be a piece of cardboard and I’d still be waxing lyrical. It’s the combination of two of my favourite things – Marmite and peanut butter – along with generous rings of red chilli and god knows what other magical ingredients have been added to create this chilli-laced, umami-heavy sticky delight that’s got me hooked.
Goi Chay – a fresh, crunchy Vietnamese salad piled high with peanuts and herbs – is a great contrast. Fragrant and citrusy, it cuts through the richness of the cauliflower, making the perfect partner. If we’d ordered nothing else, this could have easily been a meal that consisted only of tag teaming a mouthful of each dish – a bit like a seesaw of flavours, each counterbalancing the other.
But we’re not stupid, and we’ve ordered plenty else. From the curry menu we go for turmeric fried fish – the fish lightly fried and perched on top of a hearty bowl of jasmine rice that’s surrounded by a sauce that has a gentle warmth tempered by creamy coconut. More of the fresh herbs and peanuts add crunch, fragrance and texture, and there are house pickles to bring pops of tang.
I could happily have ordered every single dish from the specials blackboard. And who wouldn’t when it includes dishes like barbecued sardines or a whole Dover sole with curry butter and bonito soy yuzu dressing. But we’ve shown restraint. Sort of.
Chilli oil roast potatoes are everything my friend promised – and a reminder that I really should buy a decent bottle of chilli oil and use it on everything. She usually goes for salt and pepper aubergine, but instead we try the bbq courgette with carrot puree.
Our waitress tells us someone recently declared it the best thing they’ve eaten in 20 years. I’m not sure I’d go that far, but they’re pretty bloody good, oozing that telltale flavour of being cooked on fire, along with sweetness from the carrot puree. There’s more chilli oil, along with fresh chilli and spring onion, making for a punchy, colourful dish that reminds us that Asia and India are just so bloody good when it comes to letting vegetables really take centre stage.
That said, while my friend is vegetarian, I’m not. So I have added crispy pork belly with sweet chilli dip to our order and it’s one of my better life choices – especially since I don’t have to share.
The pork is perfect – the fat joyfully crispy and the meat tender. It’s the simplest thing I’ve eaten in a while and the tastiest. It’s that good that I’m sure I spot Hannah eyeing it up from over the table, but I may be hallucinating due to the sheer pleasure the meal has induced.
Obviously we don’t finish it all. That was never going to happen, despite our optimism. We could finish off with ice cream or sorbet, but save our last hurrah for a Vietnamese coffee that Hannah (who has actually been to Vietnam unlike me) assures me is as authentic as it comes.
As we wait for the coffee to drip down into the condensed milk underneath we start planning when we can come back, and she asks if I now understand why she’s wanted to bring me here for so long.
I do. And equally I understand why, by the time we leave at 7.30pm on a Wednesday, Eat Vietnam is packed – a vibrant, buzzy spot full of people diving into its food in the same way we just have.
It may be authentic, traditional, and simple, but Eat Vietnam is exciting. Each dish – meat, fish, or vegetable – is a lesson in how to make the humblest of ingredient sing with bold, punchy flavours and an understanding of balance – whether that’s between sweet and savoury, spice and sour, or anything else.
It’s the kind of place you don’t just leave with a smile on your face. It’s a place that still has that smile on your face when you’re one train journey down, standing at New Street, thinking about what you’ve just eaten. And if that’s not a fairly good sign of a great restaurant, I don’t know what is.
