Squid: Seven Delights and One Cart

Seven squid bites and one nostalgic cart.

A buddy from my coastal hometown landed in the hospital, appetite shot, and asked me how to spark some hunger. I grinned and said I’d whip up a menu of “seven squid dishes” just for him. He groaned, “That’s cruel, man! How’s a sick guy supposed to eat squid?” I shot back with a sly chuckle, “Exactly! Wanting what you can’t have is the ultimate craving trigger!” But then he hit me with a curveball: “While you’re at it, write about those old-school squid carts too.” Caught in my own trap, I had no choice but to deliver.

Seven Squid Dishes

Dish One: Calamari Salad, Three Ways

Let’s kick things off with a zesty calamari salad. Picture fresh calamari, steamed or boiled with a hint of ginger for that fragrant pop, sliced into perfect bite-sized pieces. Toss it with green mango, cucumber, or banana blossom – each combo’s a winner. For cucumber, throw in shredded carrots and golden-fried garlic. With banana blossom, sprinkle on some crushed peanuts. And for green mango, pick ones that are just shy of ripe to dodge that bitter bite.

Steamed calamari shines like a star: pearly white, paired with vibrant hues. They can match with golden mango and fiery red chili – crisp, tangy, and chewy in all the right ways. Or with cool cucumber and bright orange carrots, fresh and refined. Then there’s calamari with tender banana blossom and roasted peanuts, earthy and nutty. Every now and then, a sprig of fresh mint or basil sneaks in, adding a cool zing or a sweet aroma that lingers.

No fresh calamari? No problem. Swap in dried ones. The colors might fade a bit, but the flavor? Oh, it’s bold and rich. Grill that dried delicacy over charcoal for max aroma, wrap it in paper, and give it a good whack to soften the fibers. Tear it into thin strips. Some folks even toss those strips in a pan with garlic-infused oil, a splash of fish sauce, and a pinch of sugar for extra softness and punch.

Two salads scream for dried calamari to steal the show: one with Hue’s thanh trà and one with papaya. The papaya salad probably borrows from the classic beef jerky version, just swapping in calamari. The thanh trà salad, though, owes its fame to that sweet, delicate citrus – a white-fleshed pomelo thriving not just in Hue but also in Biên Hòa’s pomelo gardens. Ever hear this old Vietnamese folk saying:

“Biên Hòa boasts thanh trà so sweet,

Fermented pork in Thủ Đức is a treat,

Tây Ninh’s Bà Temple rounds out the scene.”

In the South, another fruit shares the name thanh trà, tiny as a hen’s egg with flesh so mango-like folks call it xoài mút (suckable mango). Unlike Hue’s thanh trà, this one’s no friend to salads.

Now, about that dried calamari salad with thanh trà: most online recipes stick to a classic dressing of fish sauce, lime, sugar, garlic, and chili. But Ms. Hoàng Thị Kim Cúc, a culinary maestro from Hue, took a bolder path. 

She sautéed a smidgen of shrimp and pork with shallots, chili, pepper, and fish sauce, then added shredded dried calamari to drink in all that savory goodness. Next, she folded in tiny thanh trà segments, a hint of garlic, pepper, and fish sauce – no sugar or lime needed. The fruit’s natural sweetness pops, dancing with the fiery chili and aromatic pepper, all grounded by the ocean’s briny depth. Isn’t this the essence of Hue’s culinary artistry?

Dish Two: Half-dried Calamari, the Coastal Queen

Next up, a coastal classic: half-dried calamari. The sea creatures catched from the sea are cleaned and sun-dried for just one day so it’s not shriveled like dried ones. The skin’s just set, and the flesh stays tender. Pop it in the freezer to keep it fresh. I’m not sure when half-dried calamari became a thing, but I’d bet it popped off in the ‘90s.

You can pan-fry it with fish sauce, toss it in a tangy tamarind glaze, or char it with chili salt or satay spice. Softer than dried ones yet sweeter than fresh, it’s the perfect middle ground like Goldilocks finding her just-right bowl of porridge. My favorite? Grill it straight-up and dunk it in velvety mayonnaise, with a sriracha kick for those craving heat. The mayo’s creamy zing lifts the calamari’s natural sweetness to heavenly heights. Simple, but pure bliss.

Dish Three: Steamed or Boiled Calamari with Ginger Fish Sauce

This one’s old as dirt but still makes my mouth water. Fresh calamari, steamed or boiled, served with a pile of herbs and a bowl of fish sauce spiked with ginger. Sounds basic, but good luck finding night-caught ones, sold fresh at dawn markets, with clear eyes, thick flesh, and that pristine purple-pink skin.

Long ago, fishermen hunted squid beneath starlit, moonless skies. In late ‘70s Nha Trang, the beach at night was pure enchantment: waves whispered against the shore, and a string of squid-boat lanterns glimmered like fireflies on the horizon. A young dreamer, barely a poet, got swept up in the scene and jotted down verses with the raw spark of a future wordsmith:

“Out at sea, the squid lights gleam,

Gold and green in a flickering dream.

The light dances on the water’s flow,

Like a silver stream, swift to go.”

Dishes Four and Five: Stuffed Squid and Squid Sauté

Got small squid, about two fingers long? We call ‘em “rice squid” for a reason: they’re perfect for homey dishes. First, stuffed squid. Chop the heads and tentacles, mix with minced pork, pepper, onions, and fish sauce, then stuff it back into the body. Sew it shut or pin it with a toothpick so the filling doesn’t escape.

Pan-frying stuffed squid demands more finesse than spring rolls. Take it slow, turn with care, and watch for that golden hue and the mouthwatering scent of the filling. Cut it into neat rounds, arrange them on a bed of crisp lettuce, and dive in. As I write this, I can almost see my mom at the stove, me crouched nearby, staring at the pan, pleading for the crispy end piece when she slices. “Get a toothpick,” she’d warn, “it’s hot!” That bite – rich, savory, sweet, and chewy – outshone any roast chicken or pork.

Next up, squid sautéed with pineapple and onions, bursting with sweet, aromatic goodness. It whisks me back to childhood, playing “chef” with the neighborhood crew. One of us would snag a bit of squid, pineapple, and onions from their mom, and we’d toss them into a tiny clay pot. Each kid scored a single bite – absolute heaven. Every flavor popped, and honestly, it was pure magic.

Dish Six: Braised Egg-Filled Calamari

These tiny calamari, no bigger than your finger, are packed with eggs and cloaked in a deep red membrane. Just remove the backbone and ink sac, leaving the eggs and membrane intact. Marinate with fish sauce, sugar, garlic, pepper, and a splash of ginger juice. You can toss in chili for heat. Braise over high heat (low and slow makes it tough). The result? Glossy, amber-hued calamari, fragrant with fish sauce and ocean vibes. The eggs add a nutty richness, blending with the salty, sweet, spicy flesh. You’ll need extra rice for this one.

Dish Seven: Calamari Porridge

Last up, calamari porridge, made with fresh or dried ones, often jazzed up with pork bones and blood pudding for protein. Fancy folks might add pig’s feet or ribs. It’s rare, though, home cooks and restaurants don’t mess with it much.

In 1980s Saigon, Thanh Sơn’s calamari porridge spot, tucked near the University of Economics and University of Architecture, drew students like moths to a flame. Each bowl brimmed with fresh and dried calamari, plus chewy pork skin, jazzed up with a lime squeeze and a dash of ground chili. Later, Phó Đức Chính’s joint near Bến Thành Market took it to new heights, serving dried calamari porridge with blood pudding, crispy fried dough sticks, and add-ons like chicken feet, wings, century eggs, or pork knuckles. Comfort food doesn’t get cozier than that.

Squid Cart Chronicle

With the seven squid dishes in the books, let’s dive into the nostalgia of squid carts. If you came of age in southern Vietnam’s towns or the glitzy Saigon of the ‘60s and ‘70s, those carts etched memories deep in your soul.

Imagine a wooden cart rolling on four wheels, iron handles for pushing, and a rack draped with flat, salt-flecked dried squid. A hand-cranked press stood tall on top. Slip a grilled squid between the rollers, turn the handle, and out popped a perfectly flattened, tender strip, ready to tear apart and dunk in spicy chili sauce.

These carts rolled up to school gates or afternoon hotspots like parks and beaches. Before 1975, Nha Trang’s coastline was lined with them, brimming with jars of pickled tamarind and golden preserved berries. The aroma of dried squid sizzling over charcoal drifted through the air, teasing your taste buds and carving memories into your heart. Some vendors opted for alcohol burners to speed things up, but nothing beats the smoky allure of charcoal-grilled ones.

After 1975, Nha Trang’s iconic squid carts disappeared, replaced in the 2000s by packs of spiced squid slices – velvety, golden, and dotted with chili flecks. Bursting with sweet, spicy, and briny ocean goodness, these snacks are so irresistible you’ll polish off a whole bag in a flash. 

If yesteryear’s squid carts kindled countless bashful romances, where words faltered but chewing squid said it all, today’s spiced squid slices add a bold, zesty kick to those dreamy schoolyard love stories.

Once, someone asked why I adore matching food with poetry or music. Simple: they all nourish the heart. They spark brief bursts of joy in this chaotic, tangled world, giving us the energy to press on. For me, discovering a poem or song that hums in harmony with a dish is sheer bliss.

As I wrote about squid, my thoughts wandered to Hồ Xuân Hương’s “Bánh Trôi Nước” (floating cake): “My body, white and round…” Swept up in her spirit, I’ll wrap up with a playful ode in her poetic style:

My body, white and long, a coastal prize,

Seven dishes, dried or fresh, no compromise.

Ginger’s bite, salt’s sting, I fear no test,

My ruby heart stays true, squid at its best!

mlefood – Minh Lê 

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