A Savory Cake: Bánh Khọt

A cake with two rhythms.

Southern Vietnam has bánh khọt—small, round cakes made from rice batter with filling, poured into earthenware, cast-iron, aluminum, or stainless-steel molds. In the Southeast, bánh khọt in Vũng Tàu shows a few changes. In the Southwest, bánh khọt is made much the same across the region.

Bánh Khọt in Vũng Tàu

A large bus pulls in. Passengers step down and stream into the shop. The hum of conversation drowns out the hiss of oil in the pans. Two large stainless-steel pans. Each with around forty round molds. Batter is poured continuously. Filling dropped in. Lids come down. Oil spills over the rims of the molds. After about a minute, the crisp cakes are plated, finished, and rushed to tables.

Each cake carries a different filling. A curled shrimp, pink-red. Or a tiny whole baby squid, tentacles intact. Some are topped with minced lean pork or a quail egg. Over the surface, a light scattering of fluffy shrimp floss, dotted with deep-green scallion oil. 

A plate of fresh greens: young mustard leaves, lettuce, fish mint, Thai basil. Beside it, a plate of shredded green papaya, juicy and crisp. Some pour dipping sauce over the cakes, add papaya and herbs. Others wrap the cakes in greens and dip it in the sauce.

These days, bánh khọt in Vũng Tàu draws a steady crowd. Mr. Hòa, owner of the Cây Xoài shop on Cô Giang Street, says with a smile, “Tourists know about it now, so they stop by a lot. Some even buy it to take away.” He wakes at three in the morning to prepare. By around seven-thirty, his shop is full.

An elderly neighbor nearby shakes her head: “When I was little, the cakes my mother made used much less oil. And just shrimp filling. Now there are too many things.”

In Vũng Tàu’s bánh khọt today, what is valued most lies on the surface.

The Southwestern Bánh Khọt

In the Mekong Delta, bánh khọt moves to a different rhythm, one closer to home kitchens than storefronts.

Here, bánh khọt is made in aluminum or cast iron molds, and the oldest version— earthenware. Before their first use, the molds are thoroughly coated with oil and warmed over the fire. It absorbs the oil, becoming slick. When it is time to pour the batter, Delta cooks brush the mold with only a little oil. The cakes release quickly, without sticking.

The batter is a bright yellow from turmeric. It smells of coconut milk. The fillings are seasoned and stir-fried before being added. Usually tiny shrimp. Or minced pork mixed with jicama and carrot. Sometimes steamed mung beans.

The charcoal stove glows hot. Charcoal crackles. “Not yet. Wait until the mold is really hot. Then the cakes will be good,” the mother-in-law says to her daughter-in-law. The young woman says yes and holds her hand above the mold. “It’s hot now, Mom.” The mother-in-law does the same, then nods.

The cakes are soft and rich, with crisp edges. Wrapped in garden leaves—young mustard greens, lá cách, mango shoots—and dipped in sweet-sour fish sauce. Not slick with oil like bánh cóng or bánh giá (shrimp fritters). The filling is savory beside the coconut richness. Slightly bitter leaves with sweet sauce. Flavors that sit well together.

Bánh khọt is usually a home dish in the Mekong Delta. On rainy afternoons, children often ask their mother to pour a batch. The warmth of the stove holds off the chill of the rain. The children chew noisily and jostle for the freshly made cakes.

In Vũng Tàu, the care goes into the surface. The cake leaves the mold and goes straight to the customer’s table. In the Mekong Delta, the pleasure is hidden inside. Slowly wrapped and dipped, beside a warm stove.

The same mold, two rhythms: one opens outward, the other keeps things inside.

Note:

– lá cách: a local edible leaf used in southern Vietnamese home cooking, mild and aromatic.

mlefood – Minh Lê

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/leminhnt.le