Tepid tribute to Vietnamese cuisine

Food promotions rarely extend beyond minimal flaunting of cultural superstratum, and it is just as well. Props and setting hardly matter in affairs of the stomach. We are not in for anthropological details. We are in search of authentic food, which in its own way integrally reflects the culture that inspires it.

But Epicurus hardly needs elucidation when it comes to all matters Vietnam. It is, quite simply, my favorite country in the world.

It is a country in which the hunger for change and progress is almost palpable. Like an indefatigable courtesan, it embraces every possible way to denunciate its socialist roots: heedless materialism, conspicuous consumption, bric-a-brac foreignism. The streets of Ho Chi Minh City are bustling with Tex-Mex joints, glossy cafes, imported gimmicks and Hollywood-inspired fads.

Yet it is also a country of pendulous motion, lyric pleasures, virginal serenity, watercolor landscapes, quilted rice terraces, simple but dexterous people. As if suspended in a time warp, it is a living museum so graceful, regal and proud in its eternal celebration of an even more remarkable past.

And behind this quasi-ethereal facade -- where mornings are bathed in golden rays of sunshine, and nights are scented with frangipani and gardenias -- lurks bountiful pockets of good food. First-timers in Vietnam may balk at the general standard of hygiene, but the food is hard to trump. Food that is simple, wholesome, refreshing, fragrant and au naturel. Food that Epicurus loves with a passion.

The Shangrila's Coffee Garden is currently paying tribute to this culinary tradition in a dizzying array of buffet selections. As usual, the coffee shop retains its signature dishes of sushi, sashimi, dim sum, and salads -- presumably to appease those with a more conservative palate.

As I waited for the splendidly bedecked chef to brew my order of seafood lau, I saw pieces of snapper, squids, scallops and prawns plunge into the steaming broth, followed by cabbage, leek and tomatoes. After garnishing it with parsley and spring onions, I merrily returned to my table. It was a strategic table, no less -- tucked in a corner, out of sight, the incognito food critic's heaven.

Alas, the initial mirth took a severe beating when the no- compromise Epicurus winced and raised an eyebrow at the broth's failure to satisfy. It wasn't a total disaster, but it wasn't a standard-bearer either. And I was not even comparing it to Thailand's tom yam goong, which is denser and spicier by a far.

The problem lay in proportion, as is too often the case. Vietnamese seafood soup is always lighter, subtler and more lemony than its Thai counterpart. The emphasis is more on fragrant herbs, vine leaves, aromatic grasses and spices such as coriander, tamarind, giap cha, lemon grass, mint, pepper and basil leaves.

The dish on scrutiny mildly succeeded on that count, but it still came off as wishy-washy, as if water, oil, seafood stock and aromatics refused to blend. Sure, subtlety is ok, but please give it some character.

In a triumph of timing, my next choice automatically redeemed the slightly depressing introduction. The nem Saigon, deep-fried spring rolls filled with crab, eggs, onions, vermicelli and chopped vegetables, fully lived up to its reputation. Pity there wasn't an assortment of herbs, sliced vegetables and lettuce leaves with which to wrap them in.

The steamed, cellophane version, which I believe is called Banh cuon, was even tastier, especially when smothered in that wonderfully piquant sauce made from peppers, cloves, garlic, salt, vinegar and sweeteners.

The grilled prawn meat on sugarcane skewers (cha tom) was an immediate letdown. It was slightly on the dry side, and nowhere as sweet and succulent as it should be.

In fact, none of the bountiful main courses -- save for the roast chicken with traditional salt and raw chili seasoning, a real triumph of simplicity -- could measure up to those fabulous spring rolls. The selection included fried rice noodles with seafood vegetables, sauteed vegetables, grilled chicken with lemon grass, deep fried fish with sweet sour sauce, grilled fish "cha cha" style (whatever that means) and several beef and frog's leg dishes. Again, the parallel with Thai cuisine is apparent.

A brief chat with one of the waiters shed some light. "According to Chef Tranh Van and her team, food from the North is more starchy, more like Chinese food. As you travel down south, dishes become progressively spicier and more complex." It makes sense, I guess, since southern Vietnam boasts more varieties of herbs, and, naturally, more seafood and hot chili peppers.

Varieties aside, there is a certain finesse to Vietnamese cooking that I simply didn't find with Coffee Garden's particular spread. Granted, the presence of nuoc mam, the famous Vietnamese fish sauce, was a great help. Like Thai cuisine's nam prik, it can transform culinary dross into culinary art. But drowning everything in nuoc mam is hardly what you can call proper dining. And, last but not least, I couldn't help but lament the conspicuous absence of Pho, which is rice noodles soup with shredded beef, and is easily the most popular dish in Hanoi.

The assorted mung bean and tapioca-based desserts also endorsed my summation: ordinary, if not slightly disappointing. One or two stood out, but, again, nothing to rave about: a bubble-gummy sticky rice cake, and longans with lotus consomme. Fruit-wise, I happen to be a purist, although the lotus is actually very tasty eaten on its own.

It doesn't come cheap either. For Rp 49,000 per person, plus beverages, taxes and an extra small bottle of Aqua, the whole affair came to a staggering Rp 167,585. The promotion is on until Sept. 14.

-- Epicurus