Ha's Snack Bar
The prolific pop-up has settled down on the Lower East Side — and chaos has ensued
Clever restaurants get you through the door. Great restaurants get you to come back.
There are countless ways a restaurant can captivate you to visit: tasteful branding, a beautiful space, a professionally designed website, well-lit, highly saturated Instagram photos, a menu packed with crowd-pleasers, or dishes engineered for virality. Some pour funds into carefully crafted influencer marketing programs, or hefty PR budgets. The list goes on.
But once settled in a seat, what happens next is the only thing that matters. How’s the food? The vibe? The value? Do you feel good in the space? Do you want to bring your Mom? Your friend from out-of-state? Do you want to come here on your birthday? On a fifth date that’s getting kinda serious? Is it physically possible to obtain a reservation if you want one?
The million-dollar question isn’t how to capture attention — it’s how to hold it.
Ha’s Đặc Biệt, the prolific pop-up from Anthony Ha and Sadie Mae Burns, has held my attention for a long time. They’ve dragged it all around New York. They’ve taken it across borders and overseas. And now, they’ve stashed it in a little jar on the ledge of their kitchen on the Lower East Side.
In January 2022, just six months after moving to New York, I was eager to get a pulse on the big city’s restaurant scene. On a Friday night, my friends and I ventured down to the Lower East Side to check out Ha’s Đặc Biệt’s brief residency on Forsyth Street. I pushed open the door three-quarters of the way — the coats piled behind preventing full range of motion — and slid inside. In a matter of seconds, I did a 180 and was back onto the street.
Full, and fully committed. “Please, please try again another night.”
New York is strange. Months, even years, can blur together, but certain micro-moments remain sharp. I remember the neon sign reading “Ha’s,” casting a soft red glow against stark white walls. The pungent smell of chili and fish sauce hovering in the air. And I certainly remember feeling dumbfounded that a walk-in-only pop-up was already past the point of taking names by 5:30 p.m.
In my brief first encounter, without tasting a dish or even knowing what was on the menu, I could tell there was something special going on. It felt like everyone in that tiny room was in on a secret. I wanted to be in on it too — so I started paying attention.
The secret didn’t last very long. Since the LES residency, Ha’s Đặc Biệt has revolutionized the pop-up scene. They’ve shifted the public perception of these fleeting events from scrappy, DIY experiments by amateur chefs to world-class, culinary commodities — like popstars on tour. They’ve taken over wine bars in Montreal, barbecued on the streets of Brooklyn, and teamed up with chefs at the best restaurants in Paris. Usually for one night, sometimes two — rarely for more. The only constant amongst this chaos: no matter where, when or what they’re cooking, reservations are booked in seconds, and walk-in-only affairs command long lines. Almost as impressive as the food itself, Ha’s has managed their exposure masterfully, keeping demand well above supply.
But the seemingly endless Ha’s Đặc Biệt pop-up run has concluded. Or evolved rather. Ha’s Snack Bar opened in late-December on Broome Street in the old Gem Wine space.
Someone used the phrase “settled down” to refer to Anthony and Sadie’s first storefront, but now that the target has stopped moving, Ha’s is busier than ever. The buzz has ascended beyond hype into full-blown pandemonium. Reservations are booked solid, and as is customary in New York, there’s often a queue of hopeful diners vying for a bar seat each night at opening. Ha’s is so overwhelmingly busy that they’re asking major publications — The New Yorker, Grub Street, The New York Times — not to write about them (Flood’s did not receive such a request).
The ludicrous demand is justified — Ha’s Snack Bar is, unsurprisingly, a great restaurant. Not because it’s perfect, or flawless. But because it feels spontaneous and unpredictable in an exciting way, in a real way. Ha’s has personality that a lot of restaurants shy away from. The feeling the pop-up days delivered — that every night was a special, one-off experience — is present at 297 Broome. And that’s what keeps me coming back.
The dark blue awning blends in with its Lower East Side surroundings. If you weren’t on the hunt for Ha’s, you’d probably blow right past it. Four counter seats line the front window looking out to passersby. Beyond them is a tight room with a soft-amber glow, and a radiance that lights you up before you set foot inside. A small strip of painter’s tape displaying the hours is affixed to the front door, a perfect encapsulation of Ha’s vibe — thoughtful, a little haphazard, endearing. Once inside, you’re first greeted by a bracing aroma — once again, chili and fish sauce — to which you’ll soon be accustomed. Soon after comes your second greeting: Sadie wielding an iPad asking your name.
The other 20 seats beyond the window are mostly stools situated along narrow ledges. I don’t know how else to put it: You will feel crammed. The space is 350 sq ft, after all. If you plan on having sensitive business conversations over dinner — you know, mergers & acquisitions chatter — I’d suggest you dine elsewhere. But if you’re able to embrace the tight space — bumping elbows with strangers, and conversations being interrupted with “woah, what’s that dish?” — you’ll have an excellent time.
Once settled, the indigo blue-tiled open-kitchen that occupies the back third of the restaurant will catch your attention first. Anthony, along with one other cook, hold down the space amongst a sea of carefully organized mise-en-place metal containers. The Parisian-style chalkboard menu is the next thing you notice. I’ll make no promises as to what’ll be listed — Anthony and Sadie won’t either — but rest assured every dish will be good, and every dish will be interesting.
Ha’s cooking has serious range that excites and intrigues. The influencers are eager to compartmentalize, calling it “the hottest new Vietnamese restaurant in New York,” some going as far as to rank it above Di An Di but just below Mắm (a truly stupid comparison). There are Vietnamese influences, yes, but I wouldn’t call it Vietnamese. There’s French technique, but I also wouldn’t call it French. I’ve found it’s best not to box Ha’s in, or try to dictate what they are — they’ll prove you’re wrong.
The dishes I think about most seem to be on opposite ends of the spectrum. The simplest, like their perfectly dressed vegetables, and the most elaborate, think tripe, oxtail, and snails overflowing out of puff pastry.
Razor clams arrive dressed in fragrant garlic tamarind butter and crumbs. Braised leeks sit on a bed of oeuf mayo, liberally topped with chili crisp. Grated carrot salad has punchy acidity, and a peppery bite from rau ram. There always seems to be a great piece of fish around — like perfectly cooked skate in a rich, zesty blood sauce, served with fluffy white rice (obviously). If you spot something grand, like squid ink risotto with bay scallops and lap xeong, order it.
Rarely am I disappointed with Ha’s big swings, but sometimes the safe-sounding dishes are less than memorable. An example: roast pork in sweet chili au jus, that at $45, simply can’t be justified against the $8.50 iteration you’d find a few blocks over at Great N.Y. Noodletown. Crab toast is another dish that didn’t impress — lacking punch or a unique identity. But even when Ha’s misses, it’s never egregious, just fine. It’s a high floor, and a limitless ceiling.
I’ve noticed plenty of diners feverishly scanning the menu trying to locate the dishes they’ve seen on TikTok, only to find the list has been completely overhauled from last week. It’s amazing how refreshing this methodology is to me. Ha’s forces you into unfamiliarity — there’s no signature dishes, no “must-orders.” People waltz into The Corner Store and rehearse the exact order they saw online. At Ha’s, every dinner is a clean slate — it’s not a place to check off your list, it’s a restaurant meant to be a mainstay in your rotation.
Unlike other spots with a revolving door of dishes, the menu roulette at Ha’s doesn’t feel like it’s for show, and it only partially seems to be about seasonality. It’s just how they operate. Throughout years of pop-ups, the menu has never stopped evolving — why would it now? My perception is this constant flux is what keeps Anthony and Sadie excited and inspired. And truthfully, Ha’s Snack Bar is only as good as their inspiration. The restaurant is a direct reflection of their separate and collective personalities — if they’re not on, neither is the restaurant.
In these early days of Ha’s Snack Bar, expect some bumps in the experience. The server might ask for your order after you just placed it with Sadie. You likely feel rushed because a couple is eyeing your stools from the 3x3 vestibule. These things will smooth out with time, I’m certain.
Ha’s somehow feels like it has everything and nothing to prove at the same time. They’ve been there, done that — but they’re also just getting started. Where they go from here is already being rumored. A bigger space to pair with this miniscule one seems to be a lock. Continuing to host prominent guest chefs from around the world (like Harry Lester back in February) is likely.
One thing is certain: Ha’s has my attention, and I don’t ever see them losing it.
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.
That puff pastry situation has me 🥵
Those leeks and interiors are to die for. Amazing, thoughtful and thorough review. So happy I stumbled across this!