I was supposed to meet a friend. But as I stepped off the bus I found myself face to face with a place I’d only heard of. I didn’t remember the name, but rather the location. So, just before 7pm, I walked through the corner entrance of the building on 49th and North Avenue: Viet Hoa.
I debated not calling my friend to let him know I’d be late—but there was no hesitation as I crossed the street and pulled the door open. As I walked through, I was confronted by a large rack full of rice sacks. I walked past the checkouts, past the open freeze coolers and refrigerated displays full of exotic fruits and vegetables. The store was full of color, smells, bizarre packaging, and things one would generally not sense in an American grocery. Despite being the only white male in the store, wearing a bright yellow hoodie, rolled up jeans, and large green bag, no one stared at me—unlike the attention I’ve drawn at other ethnic groceries. Thanks, El Rey.
I felt at home. I was comfortable. At ease, completely free. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. As I wandered the store, I smelled things I’d only read of, touched things I’d only seen in pictures, and smelled things whose existence I’d still question as I write this. And for once, I saw a real butcher in a grocery store. And a proper one at that—who sold more than the choicest cuts that this culinarily-challenged nation has become so accustomed. One whose case contains whole chickens. Head in all, in all their de-feathered glory. In case you’re looking, they’re right next to the bin of chicken feet. Or you could just ask.
I continued, perusing the aisles, absorbing as much as possible. From what I’ve heard, Viet Hoa is Milwaukee’s largest Asian food store. I haven’t been to all of them, but I wouldn’t question it; the store expanded back far deeper than I expected—where I found an entire aisle of rice noodles. Seeing as I’m invited to two food-related events on Sunday (with wheat allergies being a potential issue), I figured they were a safe buy. Plus, I’ve only cooked rice noodles a few times and could use the practice. I also picked up some standard fare: a can or coconut milk, some chile oil, and a box of red bean popsicles—a memory of a friend from my recent past.
As I walked out, I immediately opened the popsicles. They certainly…were…frozen? The taste grew on me, but they were still a bit too subtle and questionable to be a regular purchase. Anyhow, I finally rang the doorbell 30 minutes late. No questions asked.
I’ll return soon for some in store photos, but I couldn’t resist writing something. This place is phenomenal. Indian, Vietnamese, Thai, Chinese and other Asian ingredients have been creeping into my cooking vocabulary, so I will definitely be writing more soon. I’d suggest you check it out if you haven’t already.
NICE. this reminds me of our adventures in HUGE asian grocery stores in seattle. it was a challenge to figure out what we should buy becase all the labels were in an asian language i don’t know. but i did also notice that they seemed way more into selling entire animals, which is awesome. they must be more seasoned the idea that meat comes from animal. heh. there were little crunchy crustaceans in bags and everything. that was a wild adventure.
i’ll have to definitely check this place out when i’m in the area. it’s not TOO far from my house.