13 FEBRUARY 20-26, 2025 westword.com WESTWORD | CONTENTS | LETTERS | NEWS | NIGHT+DAY | CULTURE | CAFE | MUSIC | All Eyes Bánh Mì! WATCH AS DENVER’S VIETNAMESE SANDWICH SCENE SPREADS. BY HELEN XU Recently, over the span of one week, I ate four combination bánh mì; a surprisingly satisfying spicy tomato-sardine bánh mì; lemongrass beef, pork and tofu (in separate sandwiches) bánh mì; a fried egg bánh mì that, at $7, felt like theft considering the current cost of eggs; and last — and certainly least — a turkey club bánh mì. The experience left me feeling apprecia- tive and utterly exhausted by Denver’s bánh mì scene. What is bánh mì? During the colonization of Vietnam from 1887 to 1954, the French used food to rein- force the colonial divide: “Bread and meat make us strong, rice and fi sh keep them weak.” Bánh mì as we know it today came about after the French’s decisive defeat at the Battle of Dien Bien Phu. The Vietnamese took the classic French ham-and-butter baguette sandwich and added rice fl our to compensate for the humidity, replaced butter with cheaper mayo, kept the cold cuts and pâté; and added pickled vegetables. In Vietnam, bánh mì became a ubiquitous, quick and cheap street food. So when Denver resettled roughly 10,000 Vietnamese refugees after the fall of Saigon in 1975, some of the fi rst Vietnamese businesses that sprang up in what became Little Saigon along Federal Boulevard were bánh mì shops. Denver’s bánh mì scene stalwarts Denver’s oldest still-operating bánh mì shops include Ba Le, Vinh Xuong, Baker’s Palace and New Saigon Bakery. All four were started by fi rst-generation Vietnamese families with a focus on tradition — Vinh Xuong even uses the same recipes the family followed at their shop in Vietnam. “We make our pickled car- rots, mayo, pâté and all the cold cuts ourselves. Even the chile oil and pickled jalapenos you can add at the condiment bar are made in- house,” explains Duc Huynh, whose parents opened the original Vinh Xuong in the ‘90s. It is now located in the Far East Center, while Duc operates the outpost on West Alameda Avenue that he opened in 2011. Those fi rst shops were founded by Viet- namese, for Vietnamese. “When we started, customers were barely trickling in and were mostly Vietnamese customers,” recalls Ceci- lia Ly, whose parents opened Baker’s Palace. Thoa Nguyen ran New Saigon Bakery with her parents and now owns Bánh & Butter in Au- rora. “There was the opportunity for my mom to just really push Vietnamese bánh mì with pork innards — intestines, the tongue, the ear, all of that,” she recalls. “The fl avor was just so good with a hoisin base and Vietnamese people were like, ‘Oh, you can’t fi nd this anywhere.” But soon, “Vietnamese people would take bánh mì to work, especially at the post offi ce because a lot of Vietnamese work at the post offi ce, and share it among their American colleagues,” she continues. “And then people are just like, ‘What is this sandwich? It’s amazing!’ Then they hear about the price they’re just like, ‘Okay, what a steal!’” Bánh mì is the perfect gateway for curious American eaters — familiar as a sandwich, yet different enough in texture and fi llings to keep it exciting. Soon, non-Asian Denveri- tes were queuing up at Ba Le, Vinh Xuong, Baker’s Palace and New Saigon Bakery, fu- eling the sandwich’s popularity — and with that came new interpretations and iterations. Bánh, bánh mì or bun me? The traditionalists will tell you that bánh mì is about the bread. It “should be crispy on the outside but soft on the inside, so it doesn’t hurt your mouth when you bite into it,” explains Thuc-Nhu Hoang, owner of CôNu’s Corner. Adds Duc from Vinh Xuong: “Our bread [is] the cornerstone of our sandwiches, it’s baked fresh daily — around 1,000 loaves of French bread on a typical day.” Notice that Duc doesn’t say French ba- guette; the traditional bánh mì bread is oval- shaped and uses rice fl our to give it that crusty exterior and soft, light crumb. But some newer shops swap in French baguettes. “I have a lot of people who get really mad at my sandwiches. They’re like, ‘This is not traditional Vietnamese bread!’” says Bánh & Butter’s Thoa. “I’m an Asian fusion bakery for a reason, and it’s because I like a chewy French baguette-like sandwich. It’s not light and fl aky like my parents’. Otherwise, I’d just opened up another New Saigon Bakery and Deli.” “So the bread’s important, sure, but in the Vietnamese community, you need to have [mayo] and pâté for a good bánh mì,” explains Tuan Huynh, co-founder of Ca Phe, a new Vietnamese coffee and banh mi shop in Thorn- ton that he opened with his wife and brother. “Pâté is made of pork meat or pork liver and it’s just very rich and a little bit gamey. But if you use the canned version, it’s just stinky, it’s not rich. You need to make it fresh.” When asked about the plethora of bánh mì options that have removed pâté due to American’s distaste for animal organs, Tuan laughs. “I mean it’s kind of funny,” he says. “They’re not eating a bánh mì.” But Thoa makes a different argument: A bánh mì is defi ned by its taste profi le. “Whatever’s on the outside or inside, are you sticking true to the heat, the acidity and the marination of the meat?” she asks. For some, anything goes. At Lee’s Sand- wiches, the bánh mì menu is split in half — on the right are “Asian Sandwiches” made on French baguettes; on the left are “European Sandwiches” with options such as BLT, roast beef and cheese, and veggie avocado. Even the prep station is neatly divided in half: The traditional Vietnamese cold cuts are in the bins on the right, American deli meats on the left. There are pickled shredded carrots and daikon across from the dill pickles, and yolk-based Vietnamese mayo opposite Miracle Whip. When asked if he would call the Lee’s turkey club sandwich a bánh mì, Vu Nguyen, owner of the Denver franchise store, shrugs. “Yeah, I mean bánh mì is just bread. It just means bread,” he says. “He is completely accurate,” responds Thoa. “I feel confl icted because being a Vietnamese person ... a bánh mì is just a bánh mì. To us, it doesn’t feel as unique. To other people who don’t utilize [Vietnamese language], they’re like, ‘No, it’s called bánh mì because we’re utilizing the inspiration of the pickled daikons and the Asian fl avors and the spice level and the CAFE continued on page 14 FIND MORE FOOD & DRINK COVERAGE AT WESTWORD.COM/RESTAURANTS Thuc-Nhu Hoang owns one of Denver’s newer bánh mì joints, CôNu’s Corner. VALERIA MOONCH
