Spring Rolls: Southern Vietnam’s Sassy Queen

Uncover the golden tale of Vietnam’s spring rolls!

The oil sizzles like a rock band kicking off a concert, spitting and popping in the pan. Rice paper wrappers, once shy and pale, transform into golden, crispy beauties in a hot oil bath. Inside, plump shrimp and pork mingle with fragrant shallots and pepper, flaunting their flavors like supermodels on a runway of bubbling oil. Nearby, a plate of vibrant greens – lettuce, basil, perilla, fish mint – stands ready to shine, sidling up to a bowl of sweet-sour fish sauce where garlic and chili float like confetti at a party. Every time I lay eyes on spring rolls, my heart skips a beat, like I’m crushing hard on the sassy queen of Southern Vietnam.

Down south, they’re called chả giò, up north it’s nem rán, and in the central regions, just ram – short, chic, and classy. Whatever you call it, this dish steals the spotlight at every party, ancestral offering, or cozy family dinner. It’s not just a Vietnamese heartthrob; it’s got the whole world swooning. The story of its name, origins, and endless variations is as juicy as a tabloid scoop on a pageant queen. So, buckle up, and let’s dig into this tasty tale!

Southern Chả Giò: The Free-Spirited Diva

Back in the late 18th century, Saigon was the bustling economic hub of Southern Vietnam, with Chợ Lớn as its lively Chinatown. Among the Chinese dishes lighting up the scene was chūn juǎn (spring rolls), a festive treat for the planting season in early February. It’s stir-fried spring veggies wrapped in wheat flour skins and fried to crispy perfection (The Penguin Companion to Food, Alan Davidson, Penguin Books 2002, p. 898).

In Saigon’s open-minded, multicultural vibe, chūn juǎn got a Vietnamese makeover faster than you can say “glow-up”. Rice papers swapped in for wheat wrappers, and the filling leveled up with local ingredients. The name? It went full Vietnamese, morphing from chūn juǎn to chả giò, much like how popiah became bò bía. 

Before long, chả giò was ruling the streets, popping up at food stalls, family tables, and eateries. By the late 19th century, it earned a shout-out in scholar Huỳnh Tịnh Của’s Đại Nam Quấc Âm Tự Vị: “chả giò: wrapped or rolled meat” (Rey Curiol & Cie, 1895, p. 113).

Now, here’s a spicy tidbit: one of Southern Vietnam’s beauty stars, Miss Trần Ngọc Trà (aka Cô Ba Trà), started out hawking chả giò. Born into poverty and orphaned young, at 15, she helped her mom sling spring rolls on the Saigon – Nha Trang train route, earning the nickname “Ba Chả Giò”. By the 1920s-30s, she was the It Girl of the south, with suitors lining up like fans at a concert. Writer Vương Hồng Sển spilled the tea on her life in a 17-part series for Tiếng Dội newspaper, and later, a novel immortalized her story. 

So, how did old-school Southerners whip up chả giò? In Southern Specialty Dishes (Mũi Cà Mau Publishing, 1998), Mrs. Lâm Hoa Phụng from Bạc Liêu dishes out the recipe for classic Vietnamese chả giò, plus three Chinese versions  from Teochew, Cantonese, and Fujianese. Bạc Liêu’s got a big Chinese community, and with the author pictured as a hearty, 70-something grandma, I’m betting her recipe is straight outta yesteryear.

Her Vietnamese chả giò calls for lean pork mixed with crab meat, diced onions and garlic, mashed taro, beaten duck eggs, a splash of rice wine, and soy sauce. Roll ‘em up small and tight, and serve with woven rice vermicelli or round rice noodles, soaked rice paper, lettuce, and fresh herbs, dipped in a tangy fish sauce with ginger, garlic, chili, and pickled radish (ibid, pp. 217-218). No carrots or wood ear mushrooms yet, and the Chinese influence shines through with that wine-soy combo.

Over time, peeled shrimp subbed in for crab, and the filling got a boost with glass noodles, taro, carrots, wood ear mushrooms, seasoned with dried shallot cloves, garlic, salt, pepper, and a pinch of sugar for that Southern sweet touch. The fish sauce dip? Upped with coconut water for extra pizzazz (Complete Cooking Techniques, Triệu Thị Chơi, HCMC General Publishing, 2005, p. 336; Popular Southern Dishes, Nguyễn thị Diệu Thảo, Women’s Publishing, 2003, p. 65). The Southern way to eat? Wrap that chả giò in greens or rice paper, dunk it in fish sauce, and take a big, glorious bite. Pure bliss!

Central Ram: The Refined Belle

In Central Vietnam, frying’s called “ram,” so chả giò becomes ram – sleek and sophisticated. From Hà Tĩnh to Bình Định, ram keeps it petite, skipping heavy fillers like carrots or taro, and showing off some creative wrapping styles beyond the South’s classic long rolls.

In Huế, the old imperial capital, Ms. Hoàng Thị Kim Cúc (Cooking Huế Dishes, HCMC General Publishing, pp. 149, 171) spills the tea on two ram styles: everyday small, round rolls, and fancy square ones “like seal cake” for offerings or guests. Square ram is all about puréed shrimp, while round ram packs shrimp, pork, bean sprouts, wood ear mushrooms, glass noodles, and duck eggs. Square ram’s a classy appetizer, no dip needed, but round ram gets dunked in fish sauce with garlic-chili or a savory meat sauce (like Huế’s filled rice crepe dip), paired with fresh greens.

Ms. Lương Thúy Anh, a Huế native who spins poetic tales on Facebook, spills that her mom took ram to the next level, wrapping it not just square but triangular! The filling pops with chopped glass noodles, finely sliced wood ear mushrooms, minced pork, crushed green shallots, and a pinch of seasoning. Huế ram is petite and refined, designed to be popped in one bite, chewed softly to keep things elegant. As a kid with a true Huế mom, I’d sneak a few rolls to the backyard to munch freely – table manners just killed my appetite!

Hà Tĩnh ram stands out with its wrapper and serving style. The rice paper’s mixed with molasses and left out in the dew, making it soft and tear-proof, frying up golden and crispy for ages. The filling sticks to tradition: pork, wood ear mushrooms, glass noodles, eggs, plus chive bulb leaves and culantro for that extra zing. Locals wrap ram in bánh mướt (their take on bánh ướt – steamed rice papers) and dip it in a zesty fish sauce with chili, garlic, and lime. Soft, crispy, and totally unique! I’m still wondering who dreamed up this combo and why it hasn’t gone viral like Southern chả giò wrapped in rice papers.

Bình Định’s chả ram tôm đất is the quirky underdog – teeny tiny, even out-daintifying Huế’s ram. It’s just a sliver of rice paper wrapped around “one piece of pork, one shrimp” (My Homeland, Tràng Thiên, Thời Đại Publishing, 2012, p. 171). The shrimp’s fresh and sweet, its shell adds a crisp crunch, and the pork’s just enough to tickle your taste buds, sometimes joined by a tender shallot bulk. The rice paper’s so thin it practically melts in your mouth. Small but mighty delicious!

Northern Nem Rán: The Elegant Star

Chả giò made its way north early on, dubbed chả rán or chả Sài Gòn. The 1930 cookbook Ẩm Thực Tu Tri lays out the recipe for “chả rán (aka chả Sài Gòn)”: pork, crab meat, mushrooms, wood ear, glass noodles, duck eggs, wrapped in rice paper, fried golden, and served with a vinegar-spiked fish sauce dip, paired with lettuce, split water spinach, perilla, and herbs (Vương Thị Thu Hương, Tân Dân Publishing, p. 163).

In Hanoi’s Delicious Bites (Văn Học Publishing, 1994, p. 174), writer Vũ Bằng sketches a lively scene: a street vendor plops down her bag, calls for chả Sài Gòn, and scoops up every crispy morsel to savor with round rice noodles, dipped in zesty vinegar for a refreshing zing. The name “chả Sài Gòn” gradually got a Northern makeover, becoming nem rán. In Old Hanoi Stories, Vol. 2 (Trẻ Publishing, 1999, p. 187), Tô Hoài gives a shout-out to iconic nem rán joints like Tế Mỹ on Hàng Quạt Street and Cát Tần on Hàng Vải Street, pointing out some rolled ‘em long like Southern chả giò, while others went square, channeling Huế’s classy vibe.

Post-1954, Hanoi’s nem rán got a remix, per journalist Vũ Thị Tuyết Nhung (Hanoi’s Old Flavors, Vol. 1, Hanoi Publishing, 2023, pp. 168-169). Fillings bulked up with jicama, kohlrabi, carrots, glass noodles, and bean sprouts when jicama was out. Rice paper was brushed with vinegar-molasses water for softness and a golden fry. Her mom’s pro tip? Roll ‘em big so they’re “crisp outside, soft and sweet inside, without soaking up too much oil.”

Picture a family gathered around a steaming tray of nem rán and bún chả. Mom delicately “dips a chopstick tip into cà cuống oil, adding a fragrant zing to the fish sauce. The glass bowl sparkles with amber dip, green papaya, orange carrots, and vibrant garlic-chili slices bobbing invitingly.” (ibid, p. 171). Compared to Ẩm Thực Tu Tri, modern Hanoi nem rán leans lighter on meat, heavier on veggies, with dưa góp – crunchy pickled veggies stealing the show.

Hai Phong holds onto the old-school vibe with nem cua bể, square and plump, bursting with crab meat and shiitake sweetness. True to tradition, it’s a standalone snack, no noodles needed, just like Ẩm Thực Tu Tri described.

Spring Rolls Go Global

After 1975, chả giò hitched a ride with the Vietnamese diaspora, charming taste buds worldwide. In 2011, CNN Go crowned it one of the “50 Best Foods in the World.” The first Vietnamese dish to break out globally, it paved the way for phở and bánh mì. Only one regret: It’s often called spring roll abroad, lumped in with Asia’s fried roll family, while phở and bánh mì strut their Vietnamese names proudly in dictionaries, right next to pizza and sushi.

What makes chả giò special isn’t its name; it’s the memories and flavors. A hot plate of chả giò at a family dinner, a ceremonial tray of ram for ancestral offerings, or a reunion feast with nem rán and bún chả – these moments stick with you.

Chả giò likely kicked off in Saigon in the 18th-19th centuries, then sashayed across Vietnam’s three regions, picking up unique charms along the way. While phở and bánh mì get all the press, chả giò’s story is still waiting for its close-up. Here’s hoping the story of this “Southern Vietnam queen” gets its moment to shine as a dazzling star of Vietnamese cuisine!

mlefood – Minh Lê

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