HA & VL
Bun Moc Ha Noi (pork ball soup) at HA & VL
(Motoya Nakamura, The Oregonian)
Past the herbal medicine store, beyond the Chinese barbecue spot and the hotpot parlor, a pair of cottages shod in pale-yellow clapboard share a parking lot with
.
Walk by them and the thought might cross your mind, “I could almost live here.”
Last month, I did the next best thing, visiting HA & VL for a week to savor six days of soup, from the ambrosial to the bizarre.
HA & VL opened on this cul-de-sac parking lot in Southeast Portland half a decade ago, and regulars know the drill: Doors open at 8 a.m. Wednesday through Monday with two soups on the menu each day.
But, as I learned, HA & VL (
503-772-0103, 2738 S.E. 82nd Ave.
) holds many surprises. Just one: Their most popular soup isn’t necessarily the best one. Â
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WEDNESDAY
My dining companion bailed, so today I’m eating for two.
Curry noodle soup comes steaming from the kitchen in a large white bowl with shredded chicken, thick slices of carrot and potato, cilantro, lemongrass, and round white noodles hiding under a turmeric-yellow broth.
Seconds later, another bowl arrives, stacked high with juicy, pepper-spiced pork balls, pork loin and a rubbery pork cake over pho-style vermicelli rice noodles.
Turns out Wednesday is the day to take newcomers to HA & VL. Both soups are delicious and accessible.
HA & VL also offers crusty banh mi sandwiches (the sliced Chinese sausage is fantastic), iced coffee (light or strong) and smoothies (a good chance to try the sweet, ever-so-sulfurous durian fruit).
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THURSDAY
Hear “snail soup,” and you picture little slithering slugs sliding off chopsticks into a slimy broth.
HA & VL’s version is nothing like that. These snails are cooked into a chewy yellow cake (close your eyes and you could be eating a mushroom omelet) and served in a thin, aromatic broth billowing with tomato and basil, tofu, pork and vermicelli noodles. A dipping bowl of ginger sauce arrives late — when it’s poured on top, the soup sings.
Odd as it might seem, the snail soup is HA & VL’s most popular, as evidenced by the full parking lot. Perhaps fans are driven by reviews praising the soup, several of which are preserved under plastic on the restaurant’s tables.
Yet as good as the snail soup is, I preferred the day’s second option, a shredded chicken soup tucked under thin strips of slow-cooked egg and slices of pork cake. Simple, yes, but also soup at its most elemental.
And despite the Thursday crowds (the only day I waited for a seat), there’s a day that boasts two better soups. Â
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FRIDAY
Yeah, I got cocky. After two straight days of arriving at 1 p.m. to find plenty on the menu, I strolled into HA & VL at 12:50 p.m. to a chorus from the friendly staff of “we’ve sold out of everything.” Metal pots were filled with hot water, tables scrubbed. Even the banh mi were gone. I drove away, vowing to return.
One week later, I came back to complete the mission, starting with a bowl of chicken soup — not unlike Thursday’s shredded chicken. But it was Friday’s other option that caught my eye. Riffing on a Cambodian recipe, the seafood-dense Phnom Penh soup holds shrimp, fish balls and squid as well as creamy-yolked quail eggs and crumbles of garlic-tinged ground pork.
But arrowhead-sized slices of bitter, funky pork liver proved too much for my palate. Far more adventurous than Thursday’s snails, the slate-colored liver makes this soup a challenge. Â
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SATURDAY
Staring into the bowl of spicy beef noodle soup in front of me (the other option, peppery pork ball, is a repeat), at first I didn’t notice the man leaning toward me over the six-person table at the heart of HA & VL’s dining room, holding out his cellphone.
On the screen, backlit in beige and blue, was a photo of buildings hugging a curving beach.
My hometown, he said.
The man asked if I like Vietnamese food. Well, yes.
He wanted to tell me more about his country’s cuisine, about the Cambodian and Chinese influences. Where he’s from, not far from the former U.S. military base at Da Nang, the best soup spots open as early as 5 a.m. and often sell out by 8 a.m.
He ordered a baguette, the same warm bread used for HA & VL’s banh mi sandwiches, and handed it to me with instructions to dip it into the broth, past the pepper-spiced meatballs and thin strips of beef.
Not too long, he warned, you want the bread to retain some crunch.
Southern Vietnamese people like more lime than northerners, he said, squeezing a green wedge over the herbs he’d added to his soup.
“What about spice?”
Everybody likes spice.
“Not kids!” his son shouted across the table.
The baguette was filling, so I handed some to the couple on my other side, holding one end as they ripped off a hunk.
I’ve struck up conversations at many Portland restaurants with communal seating, but this was the first time I’d literally broken bread with strangers. Â
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SUNDAY
Here is the pho bac, a northern style of Vietnamese beef noodle soup: an elegant broth, shimmering lightly with oil, slices of red beef that change color as you watch, peppery beef balls and a bundle of white vermicelli noodles.
Who knew? A place known for every soup but pho makes one of the best versions of it in town.
The sidekick soup is a turmeric-laced yellow soup with flat noodles, shrimp, curved slices of creamy pork belly struck through with veins of fat. A crunchy house-made flatbread atop a mildly spicy broth hides roasted peanuts and ground pork.
Arrive early for the matinee — Sunday’s double feature is the best of the week. Â
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MONDAY
Today brings a couplet of seafood-centric soups — shrimp cake and crab flake.
The shrimp cake floating in this clear broth looks like soggy brown bread and tastes like shrimp-infused cornbread. That’s not as bad as it sounds. The soup also holds tofu, pork, tomato and vermicelli rice noodles cooked just past al dente.
The crab flake, with stringy crab meat, shrimp, mushrooms and a small pink quail egg (it’s really cute), ditches vermicelli for thicker, udon-sized noodles, all in a viscous pink broth.
At this point, I’m an old hand, taking a few sips of soup, then adding a spritz of lime, some herbs and lettuce, a little hot sauce and a miniscule grain of the pungent shrimp paste sitting in a little ceramic pot on the table. Pro tip: smell before applying.
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