The Ice Beer Cometh
The Ice Beer Cometh
The golden hour in Saigon brings with it a sense of relief. As the choking exhaust of the motorbike stampede peaks for the rush hour, the sticky heat of the day begins to settle, and the sidewalks begin to clear to make way for the main event of the evening: street vendors
There’s an informality to street life in Saigon that make its sidewalks an appropriate place to punctuate the end of the day. Here, sidewalks are not primarily for walking on. They are for eating on, gossiping on, babysitting on, taking impromptu naps on, having business meetings on, and consuming cheap beer on while sitting in tiny plastic chairs.
The first time I was served a beer in Saigon, it came in a bottle with a mug of ice next to it. I thought this pairing was an anomaly. My fellow drinkers informed me that no, that’s the way it’s done in Saigon, and in the next breath, “We know—foreigners think it’s weird.”
Indeed, the ice and alcohol issue is a divisive one. Imagine the judgement—nay, the sheer horror—you’d be met with if you asked a bearded Brooklyn brewer for some ice cubes to accompany your Chinook single hop IPA. In France it seems that ice and alcohol is only an acceptable combination under specific circumstances: in August, in the Côte de Provence region, drinking a carafe of rosé. Doing this anywhere or with anything else is simply très vulgaire.
It is only in a perpetually stifling climate where one begins to see the necessity of such a pairing. In Saigon, where refrigeration can still be scarce, your choices are between a literally ice-cold beer or a warm beer. In addition, when beer is consumed over ice, you get the added bonus of extra hydration to go along with the intoxication. (For the careful traveler, fear not: most ice in Vietnam is produced industrially and fit for all types of consumers.)
Whether cheap bia hoi (locally produced, unpasteurized homemade beer) or a cheap mass produced lager like Saigon Red or 333 is poured over ice, the result is another drinking experience entirely. It is a way to wash down the thinly sliced cuts of salty meat often served as drinking snacks, a way to make light of the day without committing to a heavy night. Or it’s a gentle warm up, a chilly introduction to the harder drinking to come deeper into the night. It is a concept that, while you might never replicate once you get on the plane, couldn’t feel more perfect when 5 o’clock in Saigon rolls around.