Lisa Ling on why Asian food in Los Angeles matters.
A black cod goes from the Pacific to Shibumi.
Keeping cool when the kitchen gets hot.
One restaurant’s many pandemic pivots.
Two different takes on Indian food.
Every day’s a hustle at Woon.
From Asian farms to Los Angeles restaurants.
Why in L.A. they’re not boring.
Three restaurants breaking boundaries.
Mastering values at Yang’s Kitchen.
Two chefs go behind the blade.
Omakase and ramen join the neighborhood.
The coronation of soju and makgeolli.
Three women open the bar they want to walk into.
Indonesian community through cuisine.
On working with Mom and Dad at Anajak Thai.
Los Angeles before sushi.
Inside the staff ritual of eating together.
Three Vietnamese restaurants expand the city’s palate.
One chef has some thoughts.
Waking up Los Angeles to Burmese cuisine.
The couple behind Shiku goes with the flow.
An ode to those who keep them going.
Michelle Bernstein embraces the competition.
One restaurant’s epic journey from debt to success.
The couple behind Boia De and Walrus Rodeo play by their own rules.
Vermouth gets a bar of its own.
On the business of BBQ in Miami.
Recipes for navigating an uncertain economy.
The secret to never getting old in a town obsessed with what’s new.
How two pioneers of omakase introduced Miami to a new way of dining out.
Chasing a childhood memory one arepa at a time.
Why Miami’s mainstays of Middle Eastern food aren’t phased by the influx of glossy newcomers.
David Foulquier on his shapeshifting ambitions.
The Black chefs behind a vegan movement in Miami.
Two Cuban sandwich masters talk shop.
A new generation’s take on the classic Jewish deli.
Miami’s mavericks of sustainable growing and dining.
An intimate glimpse inside restaurants after the last customer leaves.
Creating a culture where employees stick around.
A new kind of bottle service takes root in Miami.
The art of staying put in a changing city.
The city’s ventanitas created a culture all their own.
Philadelphia Magazine’s food critic on the irrepressible attitude that is the key ingredient of the city’s restaurants.
How one restaurant gave birth to many.
The cheesesteak may be the global mascot of Philly. But a contingent of pioneering chefs and restaurateurs have made the city a hub of vegetarian innovation.
The city’s Eritrean-Ethiopian restaurants serve up more—way more—than delicious food.
How Juan Carlos Aparicio baked his way to running a restaurant (that isn’t a bakery).
How Alex Tewfik went from being a food editor in Philly to owning one of the best restaurants in town.
Two restaurants that share a belief in how cooking can be force for change.
How Chutatip Suntaranon channeled her upbringing in Thailand—and life spent flying around the world—into one of Philly’s most singular restaurants.
Stopping by the warehouses in Kensington where artisan upstarts are breathing new life into the city’s food scene.
The Ongoing Evolution of Philly’s Classic Sandwiches.
Chloé Grigri, Amanda Shulman, and Ellen Yin on upending the rules of the game.
Mike Solomonov takes stock of his journey.
When a customer becomes a friend.
Ange Branca was forced to close her beloved restaurant in 2020. That was just the beginning.
How do you build a restaurant in a space that was never meant for a restaurant? In Philly, a city of Revolutionary Warera buildings and colonial row houses and ancient warehouses, it can be a bit like playing Tetris with Benjamin Franklin.
Three Philly couples get frank and intimate in sharing their recipes for romance.
Inside the world of homespun pop-ups and unexpected collaborations that have made Philly’s dining scene like nowhere else.
The classics are easy enough to master by anyone with fine liquor and a recipe.
The city has long been a vibrant hub of Vietnamese food. Today, a new generation is striking a balance all their own—between creativity and tradition, innovation and memory.
An ode to the unsung heroes of restaurant kitchens from a comedy writer who couldn’t take the heat.
A cell phone has been invented that allows you to send one text message to your younger self. What do you write?
How three Los Angeles restaurants are taking different approaches to make sure the city knows there’s more—a lot more—to Vietnamese food than pho and banh mi.
Throw a stone almost anywhere in Los Angeles and you’re likely to hit a restaurant serving pho, the classic Vietnamese noodle soup, while variations of the banh mi sandwich have long been making cameos on menus beyond Vietnamese restaurants. Yet the breadth and diversity of Vietnamese cuisine remains relatively overlooked outside the city’s Vietnamese American community. The early influx of Vietnamese immigrants to the U.S. came from South Vietnam after the fall of Saigon, so it’s no surprise that the most prevalent pho served is the Southern Vietnamese version, with its complex broth and abundance of herbs for garnish, while banh mi as we know it is the style developed in Saigon. In the past two decades, however, some enterprising L.A. restaurants have been paving a path for a wider embrace of other Vietnamese mainstays and delicacies.
Michael Trang opened Sáu Can Tho, in 2018, with a mission: to continue his family’s legacy. His father, Minh Trang, ran Phong Dinh, a San Gabriel Valley staple, now closed, that gained a following in the city for its whole baked catfish. Marinated in a proprietary sweet and savory sauce, the dish isn’t all that common even in Vietnam except in the Mekong Delta region, in the country’s south.
Michael brought back the famed catfish at Sáu Can Tho, also in the San Gabriel Valley, serving it as his father did: with rice paper and a platter of fresh herbs, meant to be broken down by a family and eaten as spring rolls. Its popularity has spurred other Vietnamese restaurants to serve a similar dish, prompting Minh Trang to keep pushing for a wider acceptance of other regional fare, like their South Vietnamese bun mam, a noodle soup made with slow cooked, fermented fish.
Michael still serves pho, however, believing it to be the gateway for Angelenos to explore a wider spectrum of Vietnamese cuisine. He steers customers towards his more unique offerings, especially those coming on return visits. “Surprisingly, there has been a lot of attention from non-Vietnamese customers,” he says. “But you have to hit them with the pho first, and the pho has to be good. If you can’t do pho right, people don’t come back.”
The Nguyen family opened Kim Hoa Hue as a takeout-only spot in a small storefront in 2002. Led by the matriarch, Hoa Nguyen, the family handmade every dish to order and gradually built up their business. Three years later, they moved to the current location, in El Monte, bringing the cuisine of Hue, a city in Central Vietnam, to the greater Los Angeles area for the first time.
Hue was the imperial city of Vietnam during the Nguyen dynasty in the 1800s, and the food prepared for the emperors, today popular street snacks in Vietnam, consisted of numerous small plates that are now part of the combo offered at Kim Hoa Hue: banh beo (steamed rice cakes served on small saucers); banh nam (rice dumpling filled with pork and shrimp and wrapped in banana leaves); and banh bot loc (translucent tapioca dumplings).
In the beginning, Kim Hoa Hue’s customers were older Vietnamese immigrants nostalgic for the food they grew up eating. But that’s changed. Other Asians in the San Gabriel Valley became early converts, finding familiarity in the menu. The fermented pork sausage nem chua, for example, is similar to the Isaan sausage in Thailand, while Chinese customers are acquainted with the steamed rice rolls and tapioca dumplings. Bun bo Hue, a noodle soup made with beef, pork, shrimp paste, and occasionally pork blood—and considered the richer, spicier cousin to pho—has found a dedicated audience among Kim Hoa Hue’s Hispanic customers. Chau Nguyen, Hoa’s younger daughter, smiles proudly whenever she talks about the widening customer base.
Originally opened as a humble, family-owned restaurant in 1986, in Santa Ana, Tay Ho has built a name by specializing in a Northern Vietnamese dish called banh cuon: a fermented rice sheet filled with ground pork and mushrooms. Today, Tay Ho operates out of seven locations throughout California, and the family’s younger generation has even more ambitious plans: to bring their take on Vietnamese food into the mainstream American food scene.
Twenty-year-old Vivian Yenson, the granddaughter of Tay Ho’s original matriarch, Linda Tuyet Nguyen, recently started working alongside her father, Tay Ho Restaurants’ CEO Jayce Yenson, to modernize and expand by opening takeout and delivery-only locations across Southern California. With colorful store-fronts and sleek packaging, Tay Ho is targeting a younger, on-the-go demographic. Instead of the less takeout-friendly pho, Tay Ho’s concept offers garlic noodles and fried rice to lure in customers who are not familiar with banh cuon. “My generation of Vietnamese Americans barely know what banh cuon is,” says Vivian. “It’s time for that to change.”
So far, Tay Ho has only opened restaurants in areas with a significant Vietnamese population, but Yenson, the CEO, believes it’s only a matter of time before Vietnamese food becomes as mainstream as Chinese or Mexican cuisine. He has seen a shift in the customer base of the legacy Tay Ho restaurants, with second-generation Vietnamese Americans bringing their non-Vietnamese friends to the restaurant, and is confident in the potential of their signature dish to become a takeout mainstay like banh mi, particularly because it’s meant to be eaten at room temperature. Says Yenson, “Banh cuon is a perfect quick meal to eat any time of the day.”
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