Built on juxtapositions, Ho Chi Minh City flourishes on exhausting contradictions only deepening its charm.
Those contrasting elements can be found every 20 meters or so at com tam stands.
Com tam is a simple meal of broken rice, a choice of meat, veggies, tofu, or seafood and a small bowl soup.
One cannot eat at a com tam stand without dancing with danger.
On the one hand, com tam is a relatively safe bet. I see my food choices sitting right in front of me, so I can decide for myself if something does not look quite right. Ordering also requires little language, mostly hand gestures. Therefore, limiting the odds to about a 10 percent likelihood of receiving something I did not want.
However, com tam stands would never pass health codes in the United States. The amount of violations any given stand would receive would make national headlines at home. It would be so atrocious that it would actually be humorous.
But this is Vietnam. And it runs on com tam stands like the US runs on fast food restaurants.
So I eat at them and throw a silent Hail Mary I won’t find myself violently ill the next morning.
Let me be clear: I am grateful that Vietnam does not prioritize sanitation because a HcMc without com tam stands is no HcMc for me.
I can’t say definitively what makes com tam addicting and lovable.
In theory, it should be nothing special: rice, protein, and a bowl of soup that is often times just lukewarm water and some leafy greens.
Yet, it brings such overwhelming satisfaction. I never leave a com tam stand feeling like I cheated myself out of a filling, healthy meal. Or perhaps it is the affordability that makes com tam so irresistible. I pay only $25k ($1.07 USD) for full plate of food.
That makes sense: cheap, healthy, and satisfying. Three logical reasons to love com tam.
But love should be based on more than logic.
When I say I love com tam I mean I love it for more than out of basic necessity; I love the atmosphere of the entire com tam experience.
It’s quick, but not in a way that makes me feel rushed. I can add as much sauce and spice as I want and I’m likely sitting beside people I don’t know either on a busy, city sidewalk or along a gravel road.
Schools break for two or so hours at midday. While I found this absurd initially, I now see the major lesson those two hours can teach me: the art of dialing down my speed.
The locals look at me funny because I like to use chopsticks while I eat despite the spoons right in front of me. Sometimes they even offer guidance, pointing at those spoons. I just smile and shake my head “no.”
Firstly, I think chopsticks are fun and will use them at every opportunity. Secondly, they make me slow down. They force me to take my time and savor each bite. I will not not shovel my food in my mouth like a rushed American, stressing about teaching my next class.
Rather, I want to be here, in this moment.
During lunch at a com tam stand I have the opportunity of forgetting. I can forget about my previous lessons. I can forget I have afternoon classes. I can forget about tomorrow’s workload.
Instead, I remind myself where I am at the very moment: Ho Chi Minh City. Half way across the world and enjoying com tam on the side of the road.
I let everything else go for an hour and inhale this insane and extraordinary experience.
I just be. I acknowledge that tomorrow - or even the following hour - brings whatever it will, but my moment now will not be wasted fretting about that.
My only requirements during this time are to eat the com tam, enjoy the moments and throw a hail Mary that I don’t end up sick. But even if I do, hey, that’s tomorrow’s problem.
