Falling in Love at Mắm

⚠️ Disclaimer: The topic of this blog post will be a deviation from the regularly scheduled programming of tech news and hot takes. Instead, I would like to take a few moments of your time to tell you a story about food. Specifically, Mắm.

My manager is one of those types that airline attendants and gate agents speak about in hushed tones. Almost every other week, he’ll be on another solo eighteen-hour long haul flight to a new international destination. During the summer alone, he traveled much of Egypt, Greece, and Japan. Show him an aerial picture of a vacation spot and within three guesses, he’ll pin down the location down to the city with stories and restaurant reviews in tow.

“Nathaniel, you’ve got to try this Vietnamese spot on the Lower East Side in Chinatown.” He goes on to explain that this place serves up street food he last had in Hanoi, more vibrant than the typically available Vietnamese fare of phở, bún bò huế, and bánh mì.

It’s Friday and his recommendation is essentially an order to take an extra long lunch. I waste no time asking for confirmation since this is a rare deviation from fifteen minute lunches at a desk staring at compiling code.

As I pass through the affectionately named “Link” floor that all employees must walk through to enter and exit, I catch a glimpse of that week’s commissary kitchen snack. Large companies will often incentivize engineers to stick around by feeding them in a style best described as “luxury college dining hall” and my employer is no exception.

The end-of-week snack is a croissant donut stuffed to the gills with stabilized whipped cream, strawberries, and dusted with purple glitter. It looks perfect. It looks manufactured. I tell myself I’ll be back for it after I finish my quest.

To get to this place, I have to take the 6 Train down to Broadway, then hop on the D line. It’s a twenty five minute ordeal during which I witness multiple subway performances, at least three lost families, and a screaming match between a woman and her phone. This is just typical New York friction, a raw pulse that you can’t feel from a vaulted office building.

After getting off at Grand Street, the air becomes flooded with a mixture of roast duck from Chinese BBQ shops, a neon glow from boba tea shops, and multilingual chatter from a variety of dim sum parlours. We’re just a couple blocks away from Manhattan’s chaotic Chinatown. Skip the gawking at the overpriced fake Rolexes, everyone knows the real deals can only be found blindfolded in a white van. Instead, follow the scent of shrimp toward an unassuming alleyway where Mắm sits, looking like it was teleported directly from a busy Hanoi street.

To its left is a shuttered beauty salon and to its right is an E-Bike store where all visible signs are in Chinese. On hot summer afternoons like this one, the sea of low aluminum camping tables and plastic stools spills out onto the street where patrons chat over steaming bowls and powerful sauces. Inside, the space is narrow and often filled to the brim with hungry diners. It’s a testament to the street food culture of the large cities in Vietnam, where the quality of the meal is inversely proportional to the height of the chair. We’re here to order what everyone comes for - bún đậu mắm tôm and đá me.

Looking around while waiting for food, everyone is squatting on plastic stools and thin benches. It’s an equalizing experience. All types from Vietnamese uncles and aunties to corporate suits in their fancy watches are connected to the ground and intensely focused on the food. There is no thousand dollar ergonomic Herman Miller chair to soften the concrete ground or skyscrapers to look down from in comfort. Here, everyone is united by the primal anticipation of the smell of grilled meat and spices just out of reach.

A thin Vietnamese woman materializes out of the back kitchen carrying my bún đậu mắm tôm and đá me. Before she even gets to my table, I can smell the funk and fermentation carried by the mắm tôm - fermented shrimp paste. As she sets the plate and glass down, everyone surrounding me takes a deep whiff of confusion and I’m immensely grateful the paste, which smells what I imagine living at sea for a month is like, is cut with acidic lemon juice and herbaceous lemongrass.

Over vibrant banana leaves, a row of perfectly portioned boiled pork belly, steamed blood sausage, and fried pork offal form a hearty base. Beside them, relaxed hills of pillowy rice vermicelli rest next to golden mounds of crispy tofu standing at attention. A garden of cucumber, mint, Thai basil, perilla, and lettuce stand ready to envelop the other savory ingredients. The refreshing đá me contrasted iced tamarind with roasted peanuts and was so tempting that a quick sip was mandatory before my camera could even capture the plate.

At its core, bún đậu mắm tôm is the ultimate assembly food, similar to the tactile experience of making your own Mexican taco or Korean ssam. To eat it, you nestle a piece of cool cucumber, al dente vermicelli, and savory meat into a crisp lettuce leaf layer before dunking it into the pungent mắm tôm. As you lift it to your mouth, close your eyes (and your nose) as the “soul of the sea” envelops your sinuses. Quickly alternate with sips of bitterness and caramelized, peanut-y sweetness from the đá me and it’ll all be gone before you know it.

You likely heard of “love at first sight”, but this was love at first bite. Each bite of the paste-smothered wrap felt like opening up a pair of eyes that had been closed for a lifetime, which offers a depth that mirrors the real-life romance of owners Jerald Head and Nhung Dao. The pair famously met at a Saigon street food stall in 2016, falling in love over the very flavors and dishes that define Mắm. That initial spark fueled a series of acclaimed popups that eventually matured into its Lower East Side home today. It's evidence to a couple who fell in love with the food and each other, which shines through despite the profound simplicity of the plates they create.

Just like all good things, my time at Mắm is cut short by impending reality. Back on the trains and back to the office. Passing through the “Link” once more, I spot a lone donut calling out to me from the commissary tray. For some reason, the manicured hedges of whipped cream and dusted glitter don’t have the same attraction they held an hour ago. When Mắm felt like life, the donut felt cold.

Finally back at my desk, my manager strolled over and asked “How was it?”

“I think I’m ready to fall in love again.” I responded.

Mắm, 70 Forsyth St, New York, @mam.nyc on Instagram. Open Mon., Thurs, Fri. for dinner, 5 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. and Sat., Sun. for lunch 12:00 noon to 3:45 P.M. No alcohol. Sit on the plastic stools and dine in. Walking distance from Grand St. station on B & D lines. Lunch or dinner for two, food only, $34. Recommended dish: Bún Đậu Mắm Tôm.