The Dish
The air in Saigon's District 5 carries the ghost of steam—sweet, porky, and faintly of five-spice. I'm thinking of the bánh bao 8 trứng from Thọ Phát, a steamed bun that cradles a universe of eggs: seven quail eggs and one salted duck egg, all nestled in minced pork. The first bite is a revelation—the bun is pillowy, almost cloud-like, giving way to a burst of savory yolk that coats your tongue. This is street food as architecture: humble ingredients stacked into a tower of flavor. The $2 price tag is almost an insult to the craftsmanship.
But this isn't just about one bun. This is a $100 street food challenge that traverses Saigon's chaotic, beautiful grid, from the sticky rice with salted-egg-coated prawns at Đạt Chef to the fermented pork salad at Cô Nguyệt. Each dish is a lesson in balance—sweet, salty, sour, umami—and each tells a story of resourcefulness. Why is this trending? Because in a world of overpriced, under-seasoned restaurant food, these vendors are proving that the best meals are born from constraint: a single burner, a family recipe, and a relentless pursuit of flavor. For content creators, this is a goldmine—a narrative of discovery, technique, and pure, unadulterated deliciousness.
The Technique
Let's start with the bánh bao. The technique that makes this work is the layering of eggs. The quail eggs are whole, their yolks still runny, while the salted duck egg is pre-cooked and crumbled. The pork is seasoned with sugar, fish sauce, and a touch of white pepper—nothing more. The dough is a simple yeast-leavened mix of flour, sugar, and milk, but the magic is in the steam. Steam at a rolling boil for 15 minutes, and the bun puffs up like a pillow, trapping the pork's juices. The eggs stay separate, each offering a different texture: the quail eggs pop, the salted egg crumbles. What most home cooks get wrong is over-kneading the dough—it should be soft, not elastic. A light hand is key.
Now, the sticky rice with salted-egg prawn. This is a masterclass in coating. The prawns are deveined but left shell-on, then tossed in a paste of salted duck egg yolks, a touch of oil, and cornstarch. The starch creates a craggy crust that fries to a golden, savory crunch. The sticky rice is cooked with coconut milk, which adds a subtle sweetness that balances the saltiness of the egg. The technique is to cook the rice with a 1:1 ratio of water to coconut milk, then let it rest for 10 minutes after steaming. This allows the grains to absorb the fat without becoming mushy. The prawns are then flash-fried at 350°F for exactly 2 minutes—any longer, and the yolk coating burns.
The green papaya salad from Lê Văn Tám Park is a lesson in acidity. The dressing is a simple mix of soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, and chili, but the key is the ratio: 2:1:1 (soy to vinegar to sugar). The papaya is shredded on a mandoline, then soaked in ice water for 10 minutes to crisp it. The beef jerky is actually beef liver jerky—thinly sliced and dried, then fried until brittle. It adds a mineral, almost iron-like depth that cuts through the sweet-sour dressing. The final touch is Vietnamese coriander (rau răm), which has a peppery, citrusy note that lifts the entire dish.
The crab soup is a beast. The broth is made from pork bones and dried shrimp, simmered for 4 hours. The giant crab claw is steamed separately and added just before serving. The soup is thickened with cornstarch, then enriched with beaten egg whites that form delicate ribbons. The century egg is sliced and floated on top—its creamy, funky yolk adds an umami bomb that makes the soup unforgettable. The technique is to temper the egg whites: slowly drizzle them into the simmering broth while stirring, so they form silky strands, not clumps.
Finally, the fermented pork salad. This is a fermented dish—raw pork that's been cured with salt, sugar, and garlic, then wrapped in banana leaves and left to ferment for 3-5 days. The result is a tangy, slightly sour meat that's sliced thin and mixed with shredded pork skin, cucumber, and herbs. The dressing is kumquat juice, fish sauce, and chili—simple, but the acidity from the kumquat brightens the funky pork. The key is to use fresh, high-quality pork from a trusted source, and to keep everything cold during preparation to prevent spoilage.
Ingredients & Substitutions
For the bánh bao, you can substitute quail eggs with chicken eggs (use 2-3 small ones), but the texture will be denser. Salted duck eggs are available at Asian markets; if you can't find them, use a regular hard-boiled egg and add a pinch of MSG and salt to mimic the savory depth. For the dough, all-purpose flour works, but bread flour gives a chewier crumb.
For the sticky rice, use glutinous rice (also called sweet rice). Coconut milk can be substituted with full-fat canned coconut milk—don't use light; it won't provide enough richness. If you're dairy-free, this dish is naturally vegan-friendly if you omit the egg coating and use tofu instead of prawns. The salted egg coating can be replaced with a turmeric and nutritional yeast paste for a vegan umami hit.
For the papaya salad, green papaya is essential—it's unripe and has a crunchy texture. If you can't find it, use jicama or green mango. Beef liver jerky is hard to find outside Vietnam; substitute with beef jerky soaked in a little fish sauce and lime juice, then pan-fried. For a vegetarian version, use fried tofu skin or mushrooms.
The crab soup is the most challenging to substitute. If you can't find giant crab claws, use regular crab legs or even lobster claws. Century eggs are an acquired taste; omit them if you're squeamish, or substitute with a soft-boiled egg. For a gluten-free version, use rice starch instead of cornstarch for thickening.
For the fermented pork, this is a dish that requires specific fermentation. If you can't find nem chua (fermented pork), you can make a quick version by mixing ground pork with salt, sugar, garlic, and a splash of rice vinegar, then letting it sit in the fridge for 24 hours. It won't be the same, but it'll give you the tang. Alternatively, use a combination of cooked pork and pickled vegetables for a safer, non-fermented version.
Common Mistakes
One of the most common mistakes when making bánh bao is over-proofing the dough. If you let it rise too long, the buns will collapse in the steamer. Aim for a 45-minute rise at room temperature, then shape and steam immediately. Another mistake is using too much filling—the buns should be about 2/3 filling to 1/3 dough. Overstuffing leads to soggy bottoms.
For the sticky rice, the biggest error is using too much liquid. Glutinous rice absorbs water differently than regular rice—use a 1:1 ratio of liquid to rice, and don't stir while steaming. Stirring breaks the grains and turns the rice into paste. Also, don't skip the resting step; it allows the rice to set.
With the papaya salad, home cooks often skip the ice water soak. This is crucial—it crisps the papaya and removes some of the latex that can make it bitter. Another mistake is overdressing—the salad should be lightly coated, not swimming in liquid. Start with half the dressing and add more to taste.
The crab soup is often ruined by overcooking the crab claw. Steam it for only 5-7 minutes, then add it to the soup just before serving. If you cook it in the soup, it will become tough and stringy. Also, be careful with the century egg—it's potent. Use only half an egg per bowl, sliced thin.
Fermented pork is tricky. The most common mistake is not using enough salt, which leads to spoilage. Use 2% salt by weight of the pork. Also, don't skip the banana leaves—they provide the right environment for fermentation. If you're making a quick version, don't let it sit for more than 24 hours, or it will become too sour.
Pro Tips
For the bánh bao, use a bamboo steamer lined with parchment paper. The bamboo absorbs excess moisture, preventing the buns from getting soggy. If you don't have a bamboo steamer, use a metal steamer and cover the lid with a clean kitchen towel to catch condensation.
For the sticky rice, toast the glutinous rice in a dry pan for 2 minutes before steaming. This adds a nutty flavor that pairs beautifully with the salted egg. Also, when coating the prawns, use a mortar and pestle to mash the salted egg yolks into a paste—this ensures even coating.
For the papaya salad, use a mandoline for uniform shreds. The texture is key—you want long, thin strands that absorb the dressing evenly. Also, toast the peanuts and crush them just before serving to preserve their crunch.
For the crab soup, make the broth a day ahead and refrigerate. The fat will solidify on top, making it easy to remove. This gives you a clean, clear broth. When adding the egg whites, use a whisk to create a vortex in the soup, then slowly pour in the eggs—this creates the silkiest ribbons.
For the fermented pork, if you're making it from scratch, use pork shoulder with a good fat content. The fat adds richness and helps the fermentation process. Wrap the pork tightly in banana leaves and weigh it down with a plate to ensure even fermentation. Store in a cool, dark place (60-70°F) for 3 days.
The Verdict
This street food challenge is more than a gimmick—it's a masterclass in Vietnamese culinary philosophy. Each dish is a study in balance: the richness of the bánh bao is cut by the acidity of the papaya salad; the funk of the fermented pork is tempered by the freshness of herbs. The techniques are approachable for home cooks, but they demand precision and patience. The bánh bao is beginner-friendly—just don't overthink the dough. The sticky rice with salted egg prawn is intermediate—the coating requires a light touch. The crab soup is advanced—the broth takes time, and the egg ribbons require practice. The fermented pork is for the adventurous—fermentation is a science, and mistakes can be costly.
Is it worth trying? Absolutely. These dishes are a window into Saigon's soul—resourceful, bold, and unapologetically delicious. For content creators, this is a narrative goldmine: the hunt for the best street food, the stories of the vendors, the sensory overload of the markets. The $100 challenge is a hook, but the real story is the food. So go ahead—steam those buns, fry those prawns, and taste the chaos of Saigon. Your kitchen will thank you.
