When the word phá lấu is mentioned, two genres of dishes will appear in the mind of Vietnamese. One is a small bowl of orange broth that sings of coconut milk, another is slices of caramelized offal awash in a translucent shade of brown. Both these forms of preparations speak volumes about the growth of local street food through episodes of history.
For the longest time, phá lấu has been an essential piece in the life of generations of Saigoneers. At Tâm Ký, a Hoa Vietnamese eatery specializing in phá lấu, diners munch on slices of simmered pig’s ear, often enjoyed with bánh mì, pickled bok choy and cucumber. Alumni of Gia Định High School will fondly remember the times when they sat on the sidewalk in front of the school gate to relish the coconut-y decadence of a bowl of mì phá lấu.
Though phá lấu has amassed a cult following, not many are aware of the dish’s rich history, one that stretched across three cultural exchanges.
Going back 2,000 years
The first episode in the timeline of phá lấu was closely interwoven with the migration of Teochew people, người Tiều in Vietnamese, in southern Vietnam. Over centuries, from the original Teochew recipe, phá lấu has undergone a transformation as it integrated elements of Vietnamese culture.
In Teochew, lấu (滷) is used to indicate the red-braise cooking technique, one that features several differences compared to Vietnamese’s kho dishes. To make lấu, chefs incorporate five-spice powder, cooking wine, oil, and soy to preserve the meat. The protein is then cooked after the aromatics are well-marinated. This cooking method is common in Chinese provinces like Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Fujian, Guangdong, Sichuan and Hunan.
Phá lấu in China.
Delving into the ancient texts of Asia, one will come across a mention of this preparation method in ‘The Summons of the Soul,’ a poem in Chu Ci, a Chinese poetry anthology compiled in the 2nd century: “Braised chicken, seethed pork livers, highly-seasoned, but not to spoil the taste.” According to Chinese historian Guo Moruo, this chicken could be interpreted as going through the process of lấu. This could serve to prove that this way of braising has existed from at least before the Qin Dynasty, in 200 BCE.
Lấu also made an appearance in Qimin Yaoshu (Essential Techniques for the Welfare of the People), the most completely preserved agricultural text from ancient China. The book archives the folk knowledge in agriculture and animal husbandry of the Chinese working class living along the Yellow River before the 6th century. The text references a cooking recipe involving square-cut pork, chicken, and duck that’s blanched and braised with spring onion, ginger, orange, coriander, garlic, and vinegar.
In later times, Tang-era writer Han Yu wrote a chapter introducing the culinary delicacies of ancient Teochew communities in China. The text heralds the cooking skills of Chaoshan people as being of high proficiency. Teochew cuisine had developed over thousands of years by this point, producing myriads of popular dishes both in and outside of China.
Nonetheless, lấu dishes were still the cornerstone of Teochew banquets and cooking, showcasing how lấu has always been an intricate cooking technique of the people, and not just merely a name for a simple meat dish.
From nature to culture
French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss first brought up the concept of a “culinary triangle” in the 1960s to describe the dynamics between the natural and cultural sides of food, especially meat, preparation. Each corner of the shape corresponds with “raw,” “cooked,” and rotten. Shifting from raw to cooked, the meat is processed using very “natural” methods like grilling on open fire. On the other hand, boiling meat can be seen as a “cultural” form of cooking as it involves a receptacle to hold the liquid.
According to Lévi-Strauss, treating food by braising and stewing, employing ample liquid is seen as an expression of the development of the culinary arts, epitomizing an “endo-cuisine,” food cooked for domestic use in a closed group, compared to “exo-cuisine,” which is prepared for guests. He also believes that dishes in the endo-cuisine category encompasses elements of femininity. Teochew phá lấu is an example of such.
Cultural exchange right on the sidewalk
Transcending the confines of Teochew cuisine, modern phá lấu is the result of a cultural blend of three major ethnicities in southern Vietnam: Hoa, Kinh, and Khmer.
If Chinese lấu is often prepared with duck and rabbit meat, Vietnamese cooks only use pig and cow intestines. During the early decades of the 20th century, cow innards started gaining popularity as the choice protein for street-side phá lấu because they were much cheaper than that of pigs and ducks.
In Khmer communities, like in Cambodia, there’s also a similar dish to phá lấu, called pak lov (ផាក់ឡូវ), using pig intestines, tongues, and noses. The making of pak lov shares many similarities with how Hoa and Kinh Vietnamese make phá lấu, such as the addition of star anise and cinnamon. Still, the Khmer recipe includes palmyra sugar, an important local species and also Cambodia’s main source of sweetness.
The making of pak lov.
Another question that deserves exploration is why pork became the protein of choice in the preparation of these versions of phá lấu? In consideration with American anthropologist Marvin Harris’s cultural materialism theory, the reason perhaps lies in the region’s economic and environmental landscapes. At the time, ungulates like buffaloes had major roles in the rice-cultivating traditions of Southeast Asian countries, so it was unwise to slaughter them for meat. Meanwhile, the omnivorous pig flourished with the biodiverse food sources of riverine southern Vietnam. This abundance in natural resources meant pigs were as happy as can be, and their thriving translated to an abundance of protein for humans.
Pak lov in Cambodia.
These might be the contributing factors behind the prevalence of pork in phá lấu versions of Vietnamese and Khmer people. Another school of thought believes that the use of pork originated from the Teochew’s practice of offering pork during important occasions. The leftover meat is then braised as phá lấu to preserve it, to be eaten over a span of days.
Just take any sip of phá lấu broth from a bowl sold on Saigon’s pavements, one will immediately register the unmistakable richness of coconut milk. To southern Vietnamese, using coconut milk or coconut water to boost the depth and sweetness of soups is commonplace. Still, coconut is not just a trusted ingredient in Kinh Vietnamese cooking, but also Khmer communities in the south. Perhaps, during the age of exploration, they inevitably met and exchanged cooking tips like the magical touch of coconut milk in food?
Over generations of cooks and eaters, phá lấu has crossed over numerous cultural borders that once limited it to micro-regions in Asia. From an ancient Teochew recipe, during eras of expansive migration and urbanization, “lấu” has turned into a street treat adored by many Vietnamese young and old. And just like that, the staple ingredients and spices of Vietnamese and Khmer people have come together to morph into a distinctive delicacy of Saigon’s street culture.
