A rather strange thing happened to me yesterday. I had headed over to An Thượng at around 1 pm in the hope of enjoying a pleasant sea breeze while I drink a few coffees and sample a delightful looking cake that I had seen posted upon some social media page for Bon Appétit; it is known as ‘Pink Velvet’ and is supposed to be a strawberry and rosewater flavoured twist upon the classic Red Velvet cake.
To be fair, it wasn’t bad at all yet still not actually worth heading all the way over there for. When your combined taxi fee expenditure for a day over there is going to run close to 200,000 VND, it is only reasonable to ensure that you make a good day of it, a trip to just one café is just not enough.
For most tourists, the obvious option would be to head towards the beach; it’s a fantastic beach but I feel like I’ve already seen that beach a million times. Combine that with the hassle of cleaning feet after walking on the sand, scammers pestering you to buy sunglasses and whatever else and the beach doesn’t sound like such a great idea at times. So instead, I walked around the neighbourhood for a little while.
Recently, I feel that I have become a victim of the second stage of the cultural adjustment cycle; not everything feels new and fantastic now and some times you can even feel slightly depressed or disillusioned. Therefore, the logical thing to do is to turn to drink as soon as the Happy Hours start at around 4 pm.
So I did, as that social lubricant known as alcohol enabled one to move on to the An Thượng Night Market and chat with random people at relative ease while everyone present often found themselves being collectively distracted by the presence of a beautiful cat that was enjoying its feline privilege by getting a chair all to itself. It had no interest whatsoever in sharing its seat with inferior peasant humans.
Later, I found myself chatting with a cute tattooed Russian lady that brought up her country’s national festivals that were currently being celebrated as a nearby Korean gentleman had for some reason or another decided to enjoy the delights of a ham and cheese crêpe. After struggling to understand her pronunciation of the word ‘crêpe’ for about 5 minutes, I responded by telling her that us Brits have that very similar and wonderful tradition called ‘Pancake Day’ aka ‘Shrove Tuesday.’
Suddenly, I found myself rushing to consult Wikipedia as I had completely forgotten when we were supposed to be celebrating Pancake Day this year. Wikipedia informed me that I was supposed to be celebrating right at that current moment in time.
Despite having already consumed something excessively sugary and sweet earlier on that day; I felt that I was obliged to observe my country’s national tradition. I reluctantly found myself heading towards that crêpe stand. The idea of paying to eat what is a ridiculously easy and cheap dish to make at home may seem ridiculous but after consuming a few beers, it was the safe option.
Unfortunately, when it comes to toppings I could not find my preferred safe option of sugar and lemon juice on the menu. As a child, I had enjoyed placing absolutely everything on top of a pancake, such as copious amounts of ice cream, chocolate sauce etc, but nowadays my tastes are much more basic; I would always revert to the classics.
Feeling the strain of being forced to make a decision that I did not even want to make, I decided to place trust in the crêpe stand’s staff recommended ‘Tirimasu’ option. The idea of chocolate and coffee on a pancake sounded rather wrong, but it removed the need for me to choose.
Thankfully, it did not taste quite as horrific as one would expect; it even bordered on being a rather pleasant filling for a crêpe. What did confuse and irritate was the addition of ladyfinger biscuits, added for authenticity no doubt. These may have added a little crunchy texture to the middle of the soft crêpe; but when one is only given a plastic knife and fork for the purposes of eating it, it makes eating the simplest of foods to be a rather challenging task.
Next year, I will attempt to do a much better job of remembering the date for this festival and cook my own pancakes at home; possibly inviting local friends to join me in indulging this most sugary and sweet of British traditions. As for 2019, it took a Russian to remind me of my own national traditions. That’s absolutely disgraceful, isn’t it?
Đà Nẵng Diaries 