Does An Choi in Sheung Wan Pass the Authentic Vietnamese Taste Test?

Tucked away on Mercer Street, a succinct unassuming feeder thoroughfare to Bonham Strand and a stone’s throw away from the Murderer’s Row of Hong Kong lunch specials (Jervois Street), An Choi is “the answer” to Hong Kong’s desperate plea for high-quality, authentic Vietnamese fare that not only ensures you don’t go home hungry but are transported back to a cragged, bustling, back alley Saigonese noodle, banh mi, and spring roll haunt in the process.

Like George Washington, I cannot tell a lie. I was skeptical at first. Having spent over one year living in Ho Chi Minh City, I was accustomed to authentic Vietnamese cuisine at an affordable price, served with several sides of chaos, character, and chili (pepper), and I was convinced it was impossible to replicate in this beleaguered, prohibitively expensive, and gastronomically stagnant city (in my humble, uneducated opinion).

I’m happy I was proved wrong. 

An Choi gets me so pumped up – not storming the Capitol after a fifth of Jameson type of pumped up but more in a wholesome way type of pumped up, like when MJ and the Tune Squad beat the Monstars after he extends his arm to pull off an improbable dunk (courtesy of an assist by Bill Murray) – that I had to take a banh mi break while writing this.

Without further ado, here’s what I love about An Choi in Sheung Wan and why I keep regularly going back (and will continue to go back) to get my Northern, Central, and Southern Vietnamese fix. 

Pale Ale Travel Note: I’d like to apologize for not including the correct Vietnamese accents on the names of the dishes. Also, sorry to the woman who is in the feature image.

An Choi: Your Neighborhood Vietnamese Street Food Joint in Sheung Wan

I’ve pressed my nose to more than a handful of these banh mi carts in Saigon, eagerly looking in at a banh mi maestro mama hard at work.

Website, Address, & Details: https://www.anchoi.hk 

• Address: Shop A, 15, 17 Mercer St, Sheung Wan
• Price: $ – $$

Opened by a husband and wife duo – Lewis Dai and Saigonese-born wife ‘Kay’ – An Choi and its emphatic Kool-Aid man kick down the wall type of entrance into Hong Kong’s culinary scene was a long-time in the making (“You better fix that hole in my wall before my dad comes home and beats me with a toaster.”). In a city on the decline when it comes to gritty, open-air, food stalls and street food culture, it was time to bring it indoors. And what better place to make it happen than at a spot that literally translates to ‘Eat for fun.”

When you turn off Jervois (or flank Mercer from Bonham Strand), it’s hard to miss An Choi. Its exterior, a loud, bright yellow (like the color of my friend’s father’s mustache after three decades of chain smoking Parliaments) with red block lettering (reminiscent of old Coke bottles) inscribed across a white, almost luminescent backdrop, a reddish-brown balustrade separating you and Bun Bo Hue and ca phe sua da glory.

You can see the Vietnamese coffee street cart right next to the red crates.

Upon entering, you quickly realize An Choi is actually an extension of a District 4 side street in Ho Chi Minh City after staring down a metallic, ca phe sua da street cart, see-through banh mi trolley (the size of a pony on steroids), blue and white 2 liter Tiger beer towers (a staple at any drinking establishment in Vietnam), and brash, blinking multicolor signs. The only thing that is missing is a tank of nitrous oxide and some party balloons – you know, to ermmm, throw a birthday party for Nana.

Alright, we made it through that in one piece.

Pale Ale Travel Tip: If you’re planning on traveling to Saigon in the near future, make sure to check out my comprehensive post breaking down the pros and cons of living in Ho Chi Minh City (Vietnamese cuisine is very much at the top of the list).

Rotating Vietnamese Staples That Keep Things Fresh

If I were to ask you to name a list of ten random ingredients, I guarantee at least half of them would be in this bowl of bun thit nuong.

Unlike the current relationship that you may be in right now, it’s nice when someone goes out of their way to keep things fresh. From a rotating cast of weekly noodle dishes to fusion takes on Vietnamese classics, street food staples, and fish straight from the market, An Choi is putting far more effort into the relationship than whatever Greg or Stephanie are that you’re dating.  

I’ve worked my way through a considerable number of dishes on the menu by now but keep circling back to a few key staples, primarily An Choi’s (1) pho ga (chicken pho), (2) BBQ pork banh mi, and (3) pork and prawn summer rolls. 

Pale Ale Travel Tip: For another one of my favorite Vietnamese restaurants in Hong Kong, make sure to check out my post on Soho Banh Mi.

7 Days & 7 Nights of Vietnamese Noodles

I go hard in the paint when it comes to ordering here.

First, what you need to know is that An Choi offers a different Vietnamese noodle dish for every day of the week – with their bun thit nuong (pictured above) holding strong and on deck every single day. 

You can find everything from the classic pho bo that you know and love (southern-style due to its emphasis on bean sprouts and emphasis of basil and coriander), to Hanoi-inspired bun cha with cold, thin rice noodles and a secret nuoc cham (fish sauce, sugar, water, and citrus dipping sauce), central Vietnamese pork broth-based bun bo hue, and even the easily thick and hearty, slurpable, thick tapioca-rice noodles of the lesser-known seafood amalgam ‘banh canh cua’.

As my body constantly oscillates between uncomfortably hot to Costanza after he gets out of the pool (another Seinfeld reference), my noodle choices run parallel. 

Bun Thit Nuong – the “Everyday” Noodle

The previous two pics are of the bun thit nuong, this is just a picture of me halfway through it.

When it’s the thick of summer, where humidity is off the charts and three showers a day are the norm, I go with An Choi’s bun thit nuong – a sizable bowl of cold rice vermicelli, pork shoulder, fresh herbs, and peanut, garnished with a fried spring roll and house nuoc cham (as noted above).

This is the very definition of everything under the Vietnamese kitchen sink. It’s crunchy, salty, chewy, savory, sour, refreshing, and all the above (sung like T-Pain in Maino’s ‘All the Above’). 

The cold vermicelli provides a delicate foundation and a somewhat neutral, slightly chewy canvas that can be easily paired with every single ingredient of the dish. It absorbs the contrasting secret nuoc cham which treads carefully between a syrup and briny fish sauce. The pork, soft and sweet, yet richer and sturdier in texture than the candied pork belly served in its banh mi brethren. 

There are multitudes to this dish – each one with its own distinct flavor profile and gustatory contentment. 

Pho Ga – Beef Pho’s Slept-On Poultry Cousin

If that isn’t calling your name then I don’t know what does.

During the sneakily chilly Hong Kong winter months, where it looks like I’m smuggling an AA battery in my pants, it’s their pho ga to warm and nourish my weary soul. I think a lot of casual Vietnamese cuisine enthusiasts often overlook traditional beef pho’s capon (chicken) cousin – pho ga. Chicken pho swaps out the intensity and deep of beef broth with a lighter, slightly buttery, clearer broth. 

If you’re thinking this is comparable to your Nana’s chicken noodle soup, I’d say you’re very wrong. An Choi’s pho ga broth is far less salty, is infused with semi-sweet aromatic undertones of (what I think is) cinnamon and star anise, and boasts a cleaner fish. What really stands out (in a positive way) is the acidity of the garnishing lime to ensure that the natural sweetness of the chicken and aromatics don’t usurp its congruous collision of flavors.

The white meat chicken retains some structural integrity which is essential for some sort of textural variety (due to the already slippery, soft flat rice noodles). Further, there’s never really any potential for the chicken to dry out with its placement in a well-simmered stock of its ancestors. 

[Insert overdone joke about “sending noods.”]

The noodles remained separated and avoided clumping together (which if they clump together, typically means they are overcooked), which I’m guessing means that they were pre-soaked or blanched with care before being added to the bowl. While soft and smooth, there was still a slight chewiness for mouthfeel, which when paired with the crunchy earthiness of the beansprouts yielded one of my favorite bites.

This isn’t either a positive or negative but based on the hundreds of bowls of pho I’ve eaten in Vietnam, the heat and spice of the chili was one that didn’t particularly come through in the first half of the meal to the degree that I’m used to. I sense this was done deliberately as at most pho haunts in Saigon, you customize your chili levels yourself (adding in however many or few you want from a communal plate with chilis and limes). However, by the end of the broth, it was notably felt on the tongue and in the nostrils.

Keep Calm & Eat Banh…Mi

I’m combining pictures from several trips here.

Second, if it ain’t a banh mi, it ain’t for me (this is a new nonsensical saying I’m trying to catch on with Gen Z). It’s flaky, it’s light, it’s soft, it’s airy. Maybe it’s born with it, maybe it’s banh Maybelline. If you’ve read any of my other articles on the site then you know that mayonnaise and I go together like cats and dogs, the Ayatollah and Salman Rushdie, a pair of nice white pants after a Dulcolax exorcism, and [insert two groups from whatever political divide is plaguing the world when you read this].

I may be a bit of a banh mi iconoclast as I opt against tradition (their Dac Biet Special with signature pate, mayo, cold cuts, and pork floss) instead choosing the thit nuong BBQ pork banh mi – which sees the combination of a sweet, slightly smoky, pork sausage laid in perfect harmony with small bits of salty (and also sweet) grilled pork belly, a fragrant spring onion oil, fresh herbs, and a fried shallot finish. 

For me, a formidable banh mi should maintain a harmonious balance between all ingredients. It should be fresh and light, and leave you without any overpowering aftertaste of any particular ingredient. 

This is kind of like a Frida Kahlo painting without the nudity – split down the middle.

An Choi’s BBQ pork banh mi ticks all of these boxes…and then some. It yields a satisfying crunch (that will flake and rain down bits of its exterior all over your pants) when biting into an airy interior. The pork sausage and grilled pork belly almost feel like an homage to its Fragrant Harbor home (then again, Cantonese cuisine has a documented influence on Vietnamese fare), reminding me more of a Cantonese char siu (in the best way possible) rather than anything I remember tasting during my Ho Chi Minh City tenure.

The aromatic herbs and pickled vegetables add to the complexity and cut through the sweetness and slight fattiness of the pork, restoring banh mi equilibrium.

Gotta Keep (Summer) Rollin’, Rollin’, Rollin’, Rollin’

One woman at a Thanksgiving party told me I really should “start using Portrait mode” to take pictures with my camera. How’s this, Denise!? How’s this for portrait mode???

Third, as the voice of our generation, Fred Durst so emphatically growled, “‘Gotta keep summer rollin’ rollin’ rollin’”. When I order the prawn and pork summer rolls, I can’t help but think back to the Seinfeld episode where the Dominicans rolled the crepes so tight that the filling sprayed and burned customers. Luckily, there’s nothing dangerous in these summer rolls. I feel like Elon chumming it up with Rogan on the Joe Rogan Experience while smoking cigars every time I pick up these Duraflame logs of herbaceous, sweet, savory, and peanutty gastronomic virtue – sans a pocket full of carbon credits and a trio of children named after alien noises and Egyptian hieroglyphs. 

The savory ribbons of pork contrast nicely with the slightly sweet, pinkish prawn which is interwoven with a Charlotte’s Web of subtly chewy, thin rice noodles. The translucent rice paper casing casts a sheer veil over the innards, providing a gentle, forgiving resistance to each bite. Dipped in a thick velvety peanut sauce and you have a bite that’s creamy, refreshing, and versatile. 

Pictured above is me wrapped in a blanket during a harsh New Hampshire winter.

To sum things up with less pretentious language, these are some Swackhammer cigar-sized summer rolls that would have Snoop (aka ‘The Doggfather’) stay true to his renunciation of smoking that “sticky icky icky” henceforth, as he’d be hooked on summer roll spliffs.  

There are countless other Vietnamese classics and fusion dishes on the menu, including “banh mi bites” and a banh mi charcuterie spread (pate, cold cuts, pickles, and fresh herbs), beef in betel leaf, stir-fried chicken wings, and the unsung hero of Vietnamese street food – butter and garlic snails (with a crunchy, flaky banh mi, of course).

Pale Ale Travel Note: Summer rolls differ from traditional spring rolls in the way that the wrapping is made of translucent rice paper and is served cold, while spring rolls consist of a water and flour dough that is fried.

Vietnamese Iced Coffee That Will Pump Lightning Through Your Veins

I once drank so many of these in Saigon that I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

If you haven’t had iced Vietnamese coffee (ca phe sua da) then here’s all you need to know. Take one part of the unleaded gasoline that powers the Dutch wunderkind Max Verstappen’s carbon fiber chariot, mix it with two parts lightning (extra lighting – thanks Zeus), and top it off with one final part of whatever’s inside a Cadbury Creme Egg (I’ve eaten 8 in one sitting before). That nearly gets you there. 

From there, it still requires thirty years of muscle, grit, and resilience (this makes it sound like you need a Chicago Bear linebacker making this), several ice cubes from a polar bear’s sleeping pit, and a tornado (with Helen Hunt in tow) to mix it all together. 

So, if you have all that lying around the house then you don’t actually need to go to An Choi. But if you don’t, then get on over there and leave it to the professionals.

It’s 11 PM and all I want to do is get wired to the gills off of iced coffees right now.

It’s sweet, it’s bitter, it’s strong, it’s delicious. I did go down a bit of a ca phe sua da rabbit hole while living in Saigon and put on about 20 pounds because you just can’t be drinking five coffee milkshakes (calorie-wise, they may be close) per day. I mean you can but I’m not trying to have my remaining good leg amputated anytime soon (just kidding, I have two legs – I know that was unwholesome).

I’d be remiss not to mention that An Choi also serves up a rich, creamy, iced coconut coffee that can go toe-to-toe with their traditional ca phe sua da.

Should You Shell Out That Cold Hard Dong at An Choi?

Fin.

Absolutely. Although you’ll be purchasing in cold hard HKD rather than cold hard Vietnamese Dong. Spend that Dong in HKD form. All things considered, cost-wise, for the quality, variety, and authenticity of the food – I’m not too bummed about paying Hong Kong prices. Trust me, there are hundreds of Hong Kong restaurants (primarily Western) I’ve been to where I walked away kicking myself for having paid such an exorbitant price for mediocre grub.

An Choi is the real deal. It’s worth it. I promise.

My only real complaint is that there needs to be more chaos. Then again, I’ve only eaten here for lunch and late afternoon, so maybe the 333 and nitrous fiends, the older woman who would drive by my apartment every day in Saigon and ask “You want my number?” before throwing her head back in laughter, the shirtless guy outside my friend’s D4 apartment who would cockfight every Tet, and the pajama-wearing aunties of the Mekong come out as the night falls. 

You can bet your bottom dollar I’ll be back for a night of lechery and indulgence with one of their reasonably priced free-flow options. My only requirement is that the Saigon Specials need to be warm, served in a bucket, and accompanied by clear mugs packed to the brim with ice.

If you’ve been to An Choi in Sheung Wan, I’d love to hear from you in the comments about what you ordered, your favorite dish, how many Saigonese beers you slammed in the process, and anything else you loved while dining there. Or, if you have a favorite Vietnamese restaurant in Hong Kong, let me know! You can also reach me at info@palealetravel.com. 

Cảm ơn everyone,

Big Body