In 2019, I was lucky to visit my friend Sam in Vietnam, who was living in Ho Chi Minh City. It was a glorious trip — without question one of my favorite travel experiences to date. We buzzed around on his motorbike, ate phở in quiet alleys off frantic thoroughfares, drank Tiger beers along the canal, and spent hours sipping powerful coffees at skylit cafés. I remember the chaotic energy and pungent smells of HCMC being culture-shocking in an eye-opening, transformative way. I came home more aware of my footprint and the space I occupy — and an even bigger believer that tremendous food experiences often come from humble, unpretentious storefronts.
Having a tour guide like Sam — someone with their bearings of the local scene — was incredibly helpful. He knew the perfect time to arrive at lunch buffets, which banh mì purveyors had the freshest bread, and had a sense for the upscale restaurants worth forgoing a cheap, satisfying streetside meal for. These might sound like small, insignificant details. But in an often-overwhelming city like Saigon, they were crucial.
The trip introduced me to a dimension of Vietnamese food that I hardly knew existed. My prior exposure amounted to a nourishing bowl of phở from the aptly named Pho House on Washtenaw Ave in Ypsilanti, Michigan. I loved dousing the piping hot noodle soup with heavy squeezes of hoisin and sriracha. But after traversing Ho Chi Minh City on a 50cc Honda Cub, my craving for funky fish sauce and sinister fermented red chilis spooned over bowls of rice feels insatiable.
I’m a little tired of hearing about the food New York doesn’t have. Angelenos love to rip on New York’s Mexican food scene. There’s a noted absence of Indonesian spots. No legit Southern barbecue, or Tex-Mex. And New York’s Vietnamese food scene tends to come up in these conversations, too.
“The Viet scene here just can’t compete.” “It’s not nearly as good as Houston.” “... or L.A.” “There’s no flavor, punch, or depth.” “It’s so Americanized.”
There are, of course, cultural and immigration factors that have influenced the prominence of certain food cultures in New York. But regardless of the explanation, there’s merit to many of these remarks — gaps do exist.
That said, I’ve never felt that New York was lacking in Vietnamese food. Soon after moving, I was introduced to Di An Di by my friend Hannah, and was incredibly impressed. A dimly lit restaurant with a contemporary menu isn’t comparable to eating grilled pork over rice in a District 1 alley, but it did the trick and then some. It hit the flavor profiles I wanted and craved: layers of aromatics, fresh herbs, lots of brightness, and deep, umami-rich punches. At the time, it was the best Vietnamese food I’d had in America — by a pretty wide margin.
Digging deeper into the scene took me to Sunset Park, where truly badass banh mì sandwiches are assembled on craggly French bread at Ba Xuyên. In the East Village, Hanoi House might not be revolutionary, but it serves a consistently great bowl of phở that hits the spot every time. Mắm arrived in 2022 and has captured some of the spirit of eating in Vietnam — that is, sitting on colorful plastic stools on a gritty street just off the main drag in a hectic part of town. There are humble shops that specialize in single dishes: Sao Mai for a tender beef phở; Kitchen Cô Út for bún bò huế; Phở Gà Vàng for, unsurprisingly, phở gà (chicken pho).
Maybe it doesn’t stack up to Houston or L.A.; I don’t have first‑hand experience to compare. But there’s no doubt in my mind that there are very good Vietnamese restaurants in this city.
New York’s Vietnamese food scene has continued to evolve over the past few years, ascending in popularity and prominence, and building on an already solid foundation. Ha’s Dac Biet isn’t outright Vietnamese, but it’s certainly a big part of the equation. There are pop-ups like Bé Bêp, specialty cafes like Larry’s Ca Phe, and dessert shops like Bánh by Lauren that are expanding the Vietnamese-inspired food culture.
And now, there’s Bánh Anh Em. A restaurant that raises the ceiling for Vietnamese food in New York.
Bánh Anh Em opened downtown, on 13th Street and 3rd Ave, earlier this year. It joins Soothr around the corner, and Yellow Rose, directly across the street, to form a cluster of casual, high-energy restaurants on the western edge of the East Village.
Bánh Anh Em isn’t just the best Vietnamese restaurant in New York, it’s one of my favorite dining experiences anywhere in the city. Its early success should settle any lingering gripes about the city’s Vietnamese food scene — this place rocks.
This is the second restaurant from the owners of Bánh on the Upper West Side, which has been praised since opening in 2021, yet remains somewhat under the radar. The new location, just off Union Square, is centrally placed and has commanded serious attention off the bat. Lines, hype, Eater articles, all that noise. At Anh Em, they’ve upleveled the offering from the uptown original, going for something ambitious, meticulous, and (I don’t use this word lightly) unique.
The premise isn’t explicitly spelled out. There’s no “we do things a little differently around here” speech from a server about the restaurant’s ethos (thank god). But once dishes start flying out of the kitchen, the flavors and textures speak for themselves. If I had to summarize: it’s a Vietnamese restaurant with a few things familiar, most things rare, hard-to-find, regional specialities, and all things well-executed and intensely flavorful.
We took the Q train to the restaurant instead of a motorbike, but I still had Sam by my side for dinner. Once again, he stepped up as tour guide. Jon, Chris, and I watched as he scrolled through the menu on his phone, eyes wide, pausing every few swipes and saying, “Man, I’ve never seen this dish in the U.S.”
I’m usually on ordering duty at dinner, but I know when to defer.
The pace at which Bánh Anh Em operates won’t be for everyone, especially those looking to chat and linger. Dishes came hard and fast: bánh cuốn Hà Nội; chewy steamed dumplings filled with pork, shrimp, and wood‑ear mushrooms, topped with crispy shallots; shrimp spring rolls; and individual bowls of banh beo — flat rice cakes with shrimp and caramelized pork. Bánh xèo rounded out the first set of plates: a savory rice‑flour crêpe with a delicate, crisp, golden‑brown exterior, stuffed with ground pork, mung beans, pork belly, shrimp, onions, and bean sprouts. Exhale…
An intermission arrived in the form of an enormous banh mì, with beef, pork ham, head cheese, and pork floss overflowing from the house‑baked bread. I know I could take one of these down on my own if I really put my mind to it — but shared among four, in addition to everything else, it was perfect.
On the other side of the banh mì came larger dishes, notably chả cá Lã Vọng — turmeric fried catfish. Finished tableside over a burner, it’s sautéed with dill and scallions, served with rice noodles, a side of peanuts for sprinkling, and a bowl of dangerously potent mắm tôm (shrimp paste) for the adventurous. I went a little too heavy with my first dip and learned a valuable lesson. Know your limits.
Personally, I’ve been enjoying this somewhat frantic style of dining lately — places like Kisa on the Lower East Side and Great N.Y. Noodletown in Chinatown. Bánh Anh Em is that kind of place. Your table will be jammed with dishes, and your options for the next bite will seem infinite. It’s a place where flavors play off one another, where nothing feels redundant, and where everything can be dipped into the communal bowl of fish sauce in the middle of the table. You’ll be in and out fast, but it won’t feel rushed, just quick and efficient.
The long, narrow, concrete-lined space is minimal and comfortable — warmed by exposed wood beams and a long row of plants that hang above the wide open kitchen. If you’re not already seated at the counter with a front row view, it’s worth standing up and watching the line cooks for a few minutes — not too long, though, because you’ll almost certainly miss the next course. Ambiance-wise, there’s not much to write home about — there’s greatest hits 90’s hip-hop on the speakers, the lighting could be 30% darker, and everyone in the room is laser-focused on the endless stream of dishes hitting their table.
And thus, Bánh Anh Em feels like a place to build a night around, but not have a night at. Not uncool, by any means — but clearly a place that’s prioritizing the texture of bánh uớt chồng over the details of space. This tradeoff would usually frustrate me. But the chewiness of those rice rolls is really that outrageous.
Lines generally start for the walk-in-only restaurant a bit before they open at 6:00 pm. There’s plenty of internet discourse about lines worth standing in — this is one of them, I promise. My singular data point: arrived just before 6:00 pm on a Friday night, seated at 7:20 pm after a beer at O’Hanlon’s up the road. We were out the door and onto the next bar by 8:30 pm. You can skip this process altogether if you opt for lunch, but it sounds like options are more limited.
It’s unlikely one prolific Vietnamese opening will silence the Food NYC subreddit haters. But it does make the critique feel a bit tired. The city doesn’t just have a few servicable Vietnamese restaurants — it has great ones. And right now, Bánh Anh Em is my top dog.
This was a restaurant write-up from Mr. Flood’s Party. Subscribe for free and get Flood’s delivered every week. If you feel inclined, consider becoming a paid subscriber and supporting the creative process.