Blog

High-Quality Image of a Traditional Vietnamese Family Meal with Rustic Dishes "mâm cơm việt nam"

🌾 Under the Palm Roof – Meals in the Shade of a Vietnamese Countryside Home There’s something about a palm-thatched roof that makes everything quieter.The light filters in softer. The breeze smells of earth and coconut husk. And the meals — oh, the meals — taste less like recipes and more like love.&nbsp; 🏠 Returning to Where We Began My husband and I were both born in the Mekong Delta, in homes where walls breathed through bamboo, and the roof was stitched from palm leaves. Now we live in Saigon — where the ceiling is concrete and dinner comes in boxes.But every once in a while, we go back. Back to where the rice still grows outside the window, and food isn’t delivered — it’s gathered, cooked, and shared under the shade of old trees.&nbsp; 🍲 A Meal That Starts Before the Fire Back home, a meal begins long before the first pot is lit.It starts when someone in the family says:“Chiều nay về ăn cơm nha.” (“Come home for dinner tonight.”) And suddenly, things are moving:Someone picks rau muống from the edge of the pond Someone else climbs the coconut tree for a fruit to make nước dừa tươi The kitchen smells of lemongrass and charred garlic Chickens cluck nervously — one of them will become gà kho gừng by sundown No rush. No noise. Only the sound of sandals on soil, and the rhythm of home being built from ingredients.&nbsp; 🍚 The Mâm Cơm Under the Palm Roof We always eat together — sitting low, knees close, chopsticks ready.A pot of cá rô kho tiêu, rich and peppery A bowl of canh rau má nấu tôm, light but healing A plate of trứng chiên mỡ hành, nothing fancy, but golden and comforting And always, a dĩa trái cây chấm muối ớt — green guava, sour starfruit, mango too young to sweeten We eat while the afternoon light shifts through the palm leaves above. Sometimes it rains. We move the table closer to the center of the house, where the roof doesn’t leak.And in that small circle, with the people who raised us,Everything feels enough. &nbsp; 🧒 What the Palm Roof Holds That roof — old, patched with plastic in places — holds more than shade.It holds:The smell of wood smoke in our clothes The sound of our mothers asking if we’ve eaten enough The sight of our fathers picking at fish bones and telling the same stories again The quiet joy of not having to speak — because everyone already knows We don’t take pictures of these meals. We don’t need to. They live in us.&nbsp; 🌙 A Roof, a Meal, a Memory Now that we’re older, living in the city, it’s easy to miss those meals. It’s easy to think that home is a place we left behind.But the truth is, every time we sit down together, every time we cook something simple and eat slowly, we are under that palm roof again.Home isn’t a place. It’s a table. A roof that lets the light in. And the quiet sound of someone saying, “Ăn thêm chút nữa đi con.” &nbsp; Next up: <a title="📖 The Unexpected Feast – Vietnamese Food That Found Us When We Didn’t Plan to Eat" href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam">📖 The Unexpected Feast – Vietnamese Food That Found Us When We Didn’t Plan to Eat</a>

🌾 Under the Palm Roof – Meals in the Shade of a Vietnamese Countryside Home

🐟 In the Land of Fish Sauce – How Vietnam Turns Fermentation into Magic Some smells you never forget.For me, it’s the sharp, salty, unmistakable scent of nước mắm — fish sauce.It clings to childhood kitchens, market corners, beach towns, and rice bowls. To many foreigners, it’s strange. To us, it’s home.&nbsp; 🧂 It Begins with Fish, Salt, and Time Nước mắm starts simply: fresh anchovies, sea salt, and a wooden barrel. No heat. No shortcuts. Just sun, patience, and the art of waiting.We once visited Phú Quốc, where the air smells faintly of fermentation and the waves speak in lullabies. At a small family-run factory, the owner—a sun-tanned uncle with hands smelling of salt—showed us a barrel that had been aging for nearly a year.“It’s not just making sauce,” he said. “It’s raising it.”In that moment, I realized: Fish sauce is not made. It’s grown. &nbsp; 🐚 The Scent of Home, the Flavor of Memory Growing up in the Mekong Delta, we didn’t ask what brand the fish sauce was. We just knew the taste — rich, golden, a little pungent, always poured with care.Every meal started with it.Cơm chiên trứng (fried rice with egg) — only complete with a splash of nước mắm chanh ớt Rau luộc (boiled vegetables) — dipped gently in fish sauce with crushed garlic Even green mango slices — dunked into thick, caramel-colored nước mắm kẹo, spicy and sweet I remember my grandmother holding a spoon over a bowl and saying,“Không cần gì sang trọng. Có nước mắm ngon là đủ rồi.” (“No need for anything fancy. Good fish sauce is enough.”) &nbsp; 👃 To Some, It’s Strong. To Us, It’s Sacred. When I first brought my husband — who was born and raised in the same region as me — to a resort buffet far from home, we smiled the same smile:The spread had soy sauce, sriracha, even fancy Himalayan salt — but no fish sauce.We asked the staff. They hesitated, then brought out a tiny bowl from the kitchen, almost like a secret.We looked at each other and laughed. Because for us, no matter how luxurious the setting, a meal without nước mắm feels… unfinished.&nbsp; 🥣 A Sauce That Tells Stories In every region of Vietnam, fish sauce takes on a different note.In Huế, it’s mixed with minced garlic and chili, delicate and sharp In Sài Gòn, it’s sweeter, smoother, often mellowed with sugar In the Mekong, it’s deep, almost earthy, sometimes sticky like syrup And somehow, each variation tells a different story: of the rivers that feed it, the women who sell it, the dishes it touches.Fish sauce isn’t a condiment. It’s a dialect. And every Vietnamese person speaks it in their own way.&nbsp; 🌊 What Fish Sauce Teaches Us About Love Fermentation is a kind of trust. You leave something vulnerable — and believe it will become something better.That’s what fish sauce is. It’s time, care, sun, salt, and belief — all bottled into amber.And when I think about what makes Vietnamese food Vietnamese, it’s not just the herbs, or the rice, or the skill.It’s the invisible presence of nước mắm — quiet, bold, never trying to impress, just always there.Like a mother’s love. Strong, deep, unmistakable. Sometimes overwhelming, always essential. &nbsp; Next up: <a title="📖 Under the Palm Roof – Meals in the Shade of a Vietnamese Countryside Home 🌾🏠 &nbsp;" href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam">📖 Under the Palm Roof – Meals in the Shade of a Vietnamese Countryside Home 🌾🏠 &nbsp;</a>

🐟 In the Land of Fish Sauce – How Vietnam Turns Fermentation into Magic

Bun rieu, a kind of vietnamese noodle soup

☔ The Things We Eat When It Rains – Vietnamese Comfort Food for Stormy Days When the rain comes, Vietnam slows down.Shutters close. Children press their cheeks against the glass. Mothers light a fire, or at least, start warming something up. And kitchens fill with the scent of what we always cook when the skies turn grey.&nbsp; 🌧️ A Childhood Soaked in Rain and Broth I grew up in the Mekong Delta, where rain wasn’t just water — it was a season, a mood, and a rhythm. And whenever it rained hard, we knew two things for sure:We couldn’t go out We’d be fed something warm and familiar My earliest memories of rainy season are tied to the gentle bitterness of canh khổ qua — stuffed bitter melon soup, bubbling in a clay pot on the stove. My mother would slice the melons and fill them with pork, glass noodles, and a bit of black mushroom, her hands working fast while the thunder rolled outside.I hated it as a child. I didn’t understand why we had to eat something that tasted sad.Now, as an adult, I cook it on rainy nights — and it tastes like home.&nbsp; 🔥 What the Rain Taught Me About Warmth My husband, who also grew up in the Mekong Delta, shares his own rainy day memory: a bowl of cháo cá lóc (snakehead fish rice porridge), eaten on the floor of a wooden house, his clothes still wet from riding home.He remembers the steam, the scent of fried shallots, and his mother handing him the bowl with a dry shirt in the same gesture.It wasn’t just food. It was comfort, wrapped in warmth and silence. Sometimes, when we travel and get caught in the rain — in Đà Lạt, Huế, or Hội An — we don’t run for cover. We walk slower. And we look for cháo.Not because we’re cold, but because we miss that kind of care.&nbsp; 🥢 Rainy Day Staples – Not Recipes, but Rituals Here’s what we eat when the sky cries:Bánh đúc nóng – soft rice flour cake in a savory broth, topped with minced pork and fried onions Bún riêu – crab and tomato noodle soup, steaming red-orange, lifted with lime Bắp xào mỡ hành – stir-fried corn with scallion oil and dried shrimp, sold on street corners under umbrellas Khoai lang nướng – roasted sweet potatoes, sold from smoky carts near bus stops Chuối hấp nước cốt dừa – steamed banana soaked in warm coconut milk, often made from whatever’s in the kitchen And always — always — trà gừng nóng (hot ginger tea), served in chipped cups, warming the belly and the heart.&nbsp; 👫 One Rainy Trip, One Shared Bowl Last autumn, we were caught in a storm in Huế. Everything was closed. We found shelter under a tarpaulin where a lady was selling bánh canh cá lóc.She didn’t smile much. She just handed us two bowls and pointed to the bench.We ate in silence, rain tapping metal roofs above, no words between us except for the quiet joy of broth and steam.When we got up to leave, she simply said: “Trời mưa mà ăn nóng mới ấm bụng.”In English: “It’s raining — a hot meal warms the stomach.” But really, it warms the soul. &nbsp; 🌙 When It Rains, We Remember Rain in Vietnam doesn’t ask us to stay inside. It invites us inward — to our memories, our kitchens, our comfort.The food we eat when it rains is never fancy. It’s humble, hot, and always made with care.And years from now, when we’re in another city, another country, and the sky opens up — we won’t remember the storm.We’ll remember the bowl.&nbsp; Next up: <a title="📖 In the Land of Fish Sauce – How Vietnam Turns Fermentation into Magic" href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam">📖 In the Land of Fish Sauce – How Vietnam Turns Fermentation into Magic</a>

☔ The Things We Eat When It Rains – Vietnamese Comfort Food for Stormy Days

Cai Rang Floating Market, one of the typical market types of the Mekong Delta, Can Tho city

🌊 From Boat to Bowl – The River Dishes of Vietnam In the Mekong Delta, food doesn’t always come from a kitchen. Sometimes, it floats.It drifts in with the morning mist, arrives with the rhythm of paddles, and is cooked on stoves that rock gently with the river.&nbsp; 🚤 Where Markets Float and Breakfast Wakes With the Tide Our people don’t start the day with alarms. We start with the engine hum of a boat selling hủ tiếu nước lèo, the vendor calling out softly as she steers through narrow canals.On our last visit to Cái Răng floating market, my husband and I boarded a small boat at sunrise. Mist curled like silk around us. Pineapples stacked high on boats. Women balancing baskets of noodles with one hand and steering with the other.We stopped at a noodle boat — a tiny kitchen on water. She poured broth, added pork, sprinkled scallions, and handed us two steaming bowls on bamboo trays.We sat on the edge of our boat, legs swaying above the river, the steam mixing with the rising sun.And in that moment, I realized: This isn’t a meal. This is a way of life. &nbsp; 🐟 Fish Caught, Cooked, and Served in One Flow In the Mekong, we don’t just cook by the river — we cook with it.The fish is still flipping when it’s brought back. A small fire is started on the boat, a clay pot nestled inside. Some lemongrass, tamarind, and a few homegrown herbs. That’s all it takes for a dish like cá lóc kho tộ to come alive.One time in Đồng Tháp, an old uncle invited us to eat with his family. He had caught the fish that morning. His wife cooked it on a firepit just behind the boat. We sat on low stools under a tree, dipping rice into the thick, savory sauce, talking about nothing important — which, in Vietnam, is how you know it’s real.The taste of the fish wasn’t just fresh. It was alive — with the river, with the moment, with the people. &nbsp; 🥥 Coconut Ash, Smoked Fish, and Rainy Season Flavors The river doesn’t give gourmet. It gives true.Cá lóc nướng trui – grilled snakehead fish, burnt over straw, eaten with salt and tamarind Cá kèo kho tộ – tiny goby fish simmered until tender, best with pickled mustard greens Canh chua bông điên điển – sour soup with yellow river flowers, cooked only during flood season Bánh xèo miền Tây – crispy pancakes filled with shrimp caught earlier that morning On one trip, it rained all afternoon. We were stuck under a thatched roof with a group of strangers, and someone brought out chuối nướng nước cốt dừa — grilled banana soaked in coconut milk.We didn’t know each other’s names. But we shared the bowl, the warmth, and the silence.Sometimes, a river dish doesn’t need words. It just needs someone to pass you the spoon. &nbsp; 👫 Why These Dishes Matter More Than Ever As Vietnam changes, river kitchens grow fewer. Concrete replaces mud. Engines replace paddles.But every time my husband and I come back, we seek them out. Because in these dishes — cooked without pretense, served on boats or beside the water — we find something we never want to lose:The connection between food and place The way meals are shared, not sold The gentle rhythm of a life that feeds you without rush &nbsp; 🌙 From Boat to Bowl, From Heart to Heart The Mekong doesn’t serve meals. It offers them.And if you sit quietly enough, somewhere between the hum of the motor and the smell of fish sauce, you’ll realize:The river is not just a setting. It’s the cook, the table, the soul of the dish. And when you eat here — knees bent on a boat, rice bowl in hand — you’re not just eating.You’re becoming part of the current.&nbsp; Next up: <a title="📖 The Things We Eat When It Rains – Vietnamese Comfort Food for Stormy Days" href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam">📖 The Things We Eat When It Rains – Vietnamese Comfort Food for Stormy Days</a>

🌊 From Boat to Bowl – The River Dishes of Vietnam

🥢 The Kindness of a Meal – Stories of Being Fed by Strangers in Vietnam Sometimes, the meals that stay with us the longest aren’t the ones we planned.They’re the ones offered unexpectedly, by people we didn’t know, in places we had never been.And somehow — they taste warmer.🌾 It Began with a Bowl of Chè We were riding through a back road in An Giang one hot afternoon, my husband at the handlebars, me holding onto his shirt, dusty and thirsty and a little lost.We stopped in front of a small house to ask for directions. Before we could finish the sentence, the elderly woman at the gate waved us in.“Trời nóng dữ… Vô nhà uống nước rồi hỏi tiếp.”She gave us iced water. Then, without asking, brought out two bowls of chè đậu xanh — sweet mung bean soup, topped with crushed ice and a touch of coconut cream.It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t perfect.But I remember thinking, as I looked at my husband slurping quietly beside me:This isn’t just food. This is trust. &nbsp; 🚤 The Lunch That Waited In the Mekong Delta, being “fed” is a love language.Years ago, we arrived late to a riverside guesthouse in Trà Vinh — no booking, no phone call, just two tired people and a bag of clothes. The owner, a petite auntie in her sixties, welcomed us anyway.“We were just about to eat,” she said. “You’ll join us.”No menu. No charge. Just three bowls, a pot of canh chua, a plate of cá kho, and jasmine rice that had been steaming since morning.I was hesitant. But she waved me over with a gentle smile.“Cơm nhà nghèo, chớ khách sáo đừng ngại.” (“It’s a poor home’s meal, but don’t feel shy.”) And somehow, that bowl of soup, shared in a stranger’s kitchen, tasted more comforting than any five-star dinner.&nbsp; 🚶‍♀️ A Bánh Mì, A Bus Stop, A Blessing Sometimes, the smallest gestures are the ones we carry longest.I once stood waiting for a delayed bus in Pleiku, stomach growling, unsure when I’d get to eat. A woman selling bánh mì nearby caught my glance and smiled.“I’ve got one left,” she said. “You want it?”I reached for my wallet. She shook her head.“Thôi, tặng cô đi đường xa.”That half-sized bánh mì — warm, spicy, filled with laughter and liver pâté — reminded me that kindness doesn’t need to be planned. &nbsp; 👫 When a Meal Is More Than Food These meals — these moments — changed something in me.They reminded me that Vietnam, at its core, is not about luxury resorts or famous dishes. It’s about people. People who open their homes, their stoves, their hearts.My husband often jokes that I never remember restaurant names, but I always remember strangers who fed us. He’s right.Because those meals carry more than flavor. They carry a generosity that asks for nothing in return.And when I think of this country I call home, that’s what I remember first:The kindness of being fed — not for money, but for love. &nbsp; 🌙 Final Thought – What We Carry When We’re Fed by Strangers Maybe the true taste of Vietnam isn’t in the street food or the recipes passed down.Maybe it’s in the silence of a stranger scooping rice into your bowl. In the way a plastic chair is pulled out just for you. In the soft laugh of someone saying, “Ăn đi, đừng ngại.”And maybe that’s what travel is really about — being reminded that the world is softer than we think, and people are kinder than we expect.&nbsp; Next up: <a title="📖 From Boat to Bowl – The River Dishes of Vietnam" href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam">📖 From Boat to Bowl – The River Dishes of Vietnam</a> &nbsp;

🥢 The Kindness of a Meal – Stories of Being Fed by Strangers in Vietnam

🍭 A Taste of Childhood – Vietnamese Snacks That Grew Up With Us Some flavors don’t just remind us of childhood — they are our childhood.In Vietnam, before we ever learned to pronounce the word "snack," we already knew what joy tasted like.It tasted like sticky fingers from kẹo kéo, the chew of kẹo dừa tucked in school uniform pockets, and the crunch of bánh phồng tôm fried until golden, crackling under sunlight.🧺 Snacks That Found Us, Not the Other Way Around I never asked for snacks as a child. I didn’t need to.They found me — at the school gate, at the front yard after rain, at the market where my mother haggled over vegetables while I stood hypnotized by a tin of colorful kẹo mè xửng.When my husband and I talk about childhood, it's funny — we grew up just a few provinces apart in the Mekong Delta, but our snacks overlapped like old rivers.The same bánh in different dialects. The same taste, but shaped by different hands.We didn’t grow up with brands. We grew up with textures, sounds, and smells — And every snack had a story. &nbsp; 🥥 Sweet, Sticky, and Shared I remember saving coins for kẹo chuối – banana candy pressed with sesame, sun-dried until sticky. It would cling to the paper wrap and to your teeth, and somehow, that made it taste even better.There were kẹo dừa Bến Tre – rich, fragrant, with a slow chew that quieted even the loudest kids. I used to break each piece in half, pretending I’d save the rest. I never did.And the bright green bánh cốm, soft and fragrant with mung bean, wrapped in banana leaves, often saved for special holidays but sometimes found in my school bag — placed there quietly by my grandmother.Childhood wasn’t loud. It was full of small gifts like this — wrapped in leaves, tied with care, and eaten slowly. &nbsp; 🌽 The Crispy, the Crackling, and the Quick Then came the salty ones.Bánh phồng tôm: prawn crackers puffed in hot oil, the thrill of watching them grow Bắp rang bơ: popcorn sold in little paper cones on market days Bánh tráng nướng: grilled rice paper with scallions and quail egg — our version of pizza, long before we knew what pizza was At some point, I learned to sneak bim bim (crispy chips) into class and trade them for marbles or friendship. We weren’t supposed to, but the thrill was part of the flavor.Now, years later, when I pass a stall selling these things, I don’t buy much — but I always stop. And I always smile.&nbsp; 👫 Rediscovering Childhood Together On a recent trip through the outskirts of Vĩnh Long, my husband and I stopped at a tiny roadside stand.There, an old woman was selling kẹo gừng — spicy ginger candy with a powdery coating, warm on the tongue, fiery on cold days. She offered us a piece each.He bit into his and winced at the spice. I laughed. “You never liked this, even as a kid.”But I did. Because it reminded me of my grandmother’s stories. Of rainy season afternoons. Of growing up in a time when treats were rare, but never felt lacking.Some snacks you outgrow. Some grow with you. &nbsp; 🌙 When Flavors Become Memory Vietnamese childhood snacks aren’t about indulgence. They’re about moments:A small joy between chores A shared bite that said “you’re my friend” A folded leaf that held more than candy — it held care And even now, when we taste those things again — no matter how old we are — we remember.We remember that we were once small, once free, once full of wonder. And we still carry that part of us — in every bite.&nbsp; Next up: <a title="📖 The Kindness of a Meal – Stories of Being Fed by Strangers in Vietnam" href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://thekimngan.com/vietnam">📖 The Kindness of a Meal – Stories of Being Fed by Strangers in Vietnam</a> &nbsp;

🍭 A Taste of Childhood – Vietnamese Snacks That Grew Up With Us

KimNgan

I’m a travel blogger sharing personal travel stories, itineraries, tips, and cultural insights for destinations in Vietnam, Thailand, China, Europe, Singapore, Malaysia, Japan, Korea, United State, Canada, Australia.. and around the world.
The website showcases my original blog posts with a warm, gentle, and personal tone – featuring travel guides, food recommendations, and practical tips for self-guided travelers.
My brand focuses on authenticity, solo travel, and inspiring others to explore the world with confidence.
Please create a simple, beautiful website homepage with sections for:

"Featured Destinations

Latest Travel Stories (Blog)

About Me

Contact / Follow Me"

Language English
I want the style to be soft, elegant, and minimalistic – with pastel tones and space for beautiful travel photos.

Kim Ngân Blog

🌾 Under the Palm Roof – Meals in the Shade of a Vietname...

🐟 In the Land of Fish Sauce – How Vietnam Turns Fermenta...

☔ The Things We Eat When It Rains – Vietnamese Comfort Fo...

🌊 From Boat to Bowl – The River Dishes of Vietnam

🥢 The Kindness of a Meal – Stories of Being Fed by Stran...

🍭 A Taste of Childhood – Vietnamese Snacks That Grew Up ...