MEAL TICKET. All pho for the best

In 2017, when food delivery website Deliveroo published a list of its top sellers from restaurants in Paris, leading the tally was Le Petit Cambodge’s bo bun (pronounced bo boon). A southern Vietnamese dish that Parisians have adopted as their own, bo bun is a standard at the city’s Asian restaurants, while slightly gussied-up versions can be found at hip places such as Le Petit Cambodge and Paris Hanoi. Rice vermicelli noodles are topped with sliced beef (sometimes pork, tofu or egg), lettuce, cucumber, carrots, mint, coriander, bean sprouts, crushed roasted peanuts and a chopped-up fried pork spring roll. The dish is dressed with nuoc chấm a sweet, sour and salty dipping sauce, and spicy paste, if you ask for it.

In Vietnam, pork with vermicelli noodles is more popular, while the less common beef version is known as bún bò, bún bò xào or bún thịt bò xào. “Bún” means vermicelli, and “bò” signifies beef.

The popularity of Vietnamese cuisine in France is not surprising, given Vietnam’s history of French colonisation. A sizeable number of people of Vietnamese, Cambodian and Laotian origin lives in France, especially in Paris, with its three historically South-east Asian neighbourhoods crammed with no-frills restaurants and cafés. Most other neighbourhoods also boast a few such eateries, and even though fancier Vietnamese restaurants abound, people generally go to what’s familiar, convenient and affordable near them.

Vietnamese cuisine has a light and bright balance, a savoury umami depth and a fresh, herby touch that appeals to people unused to heavy spicing. Bo bun, for instance, is a deceptively light, veggie-filled bowl that’s actually quite substantial. And who doesn’t like a deep-fried spring roll? Pho, Vietnamese noodle broth, is another instance of the Vietnamese balancing act of the five tastes: salt, sweet, spice, sour and umami. Rice noodles in broth are topped with beef, chicken, pork or tofu, with heaps of bean sprouts, herbs, onions, fish sauce and chilli sauce for you to mix at your table. Thankfully, the short-lived Mexican-Vietnamese phorrito (pho ingredients in a burrito) has been chased out of town, along with its terrifying menu of guacamole squid pho and pineapple curry.

No one could accuse the Vietnamese of being hostile to fusion, though. When they booted the French out of their country, they very sensibly kept their bread and used it to make banh mi, one of the few palatable products of colonialism. Half a baguette is spread with porky paté and sometimes mayo, filled with roast chicken or pork, and topped with pickled vegetables (carrots, daikon radish, cucumber), coriander, mint, fish sauce and a spicy sauce. “Banh” means “bread” in Vietnamese; a baguette was called bánh tây, or “Western banh” in the north of the country, and bánh mì, or “wheat banh” in the south. Despite the name, expensive wheat flour was mixed with local rice flour, which made for a fluffier, porous baguette more amenable to fillings. In Paris, though, most sandwich makers understandably just buy regular baguettes from the neighbourhood baker. (Some even get their bread from an industrial wholesale store, but these are generally pasty, limp slabs.)

Banh mi have been around in Paris since the 1950s, and they are a staple for students even now. They are a study in flavours and textures — fatty mayo, fluffy bread, crunchy pickled veggies, meat, sweet, fermented fish sauce, chillies and herbs. I like the ones at Thieng Heng in the 13th arrondissement, which offers beef, pork, tofu and lemongrass chicken versions. Nearby, the lovable Khai Tri bookshop sells both books and sandwiches — a brilliant idea — but its sandwiches, in pork, chicken and pate versions, are decidedly basic, and light on the accoutrements. Trendy Bulma on the Rue des Petites Écuries has the authentically correct half-wheat, half-rice flour bread, with tempeh, coconut-curry salmon, Thai sausage, ginger-caramelised beef, or lemongrass pork. Bistro-cafe The Hood (opened by MasterChef France winner Khanh-Ly Huynh) offers a slew of delicious versions (Assam tamarind chicken, paprika-peanut tofu, Chinese pork loin, fried eggplant) drizzled with homemade sriracha and washed down with craft beers or golden milk (that’s haldi-doodh to you).

As for bo bun, Dong Huong — more famous for its bành cuôn, steamed Vietnamese dumplings stuffed with meat, mushrooms, bean sprouts, spring onions and deep-fried onion — has a really good one, topped with onion strips, spring onion and crushed peanuts. But everyone has their own bo bun spot in their own neighbourhood. Ours is the yellow-painted Colline d’Asie, at the corner of the Sacre-Coeur, a family-run spot that also offers Cambodian curry bowls, pho and mini bottles of (quite awful) wine. I usually stop by for lunch once or twice a week, as hungry office-goers stream in and out. I’m not certain if it’s the best in the city, but I’m not very likely to go hunting for others. It’s familiar and friendly — and they always remember that I like the extra-spicy sauce — so my allegiance to it is now pho better or pho worse.

Naintara Maya Oberoi is a food writer based in New Delhi

Twitter: @naintaramaya