Rach Gia
A local legend
In the small coastal town of Rach Gia in Kien Giang Province, there’s a simple noodle shop that has quietly become a local legend. For over 50 years, Bà Hai Tầm, a cheerful 74-year-old woman with a warm smile and a lifetime of hard work behind her, has been serving bowls of fish noodle soup that people travel from all over to taste. Her real name is Viên Thị Liên, but here, everyone simply calls her Hai Tầm.
The shop doesn’t look like much at first glance. There’s no shiny sign, no fancy decorations. Just a modest space with a few stainless steel tables, plastic stools, and the smell of something delicious wafting through the air. What really draws people in, though, is the woman sitting behind the wooden table at the front, ladling fragrant broth into bowls with practiced hands. By her side is Mỹ Linh, her kind-hearted daughter-in-law who has been learning the family recipe and is slowly stepping in to take over the daily work.
In Kien Giang, there’s a popular saying: “Rach Gia for noodles, Ha Tien for fish.” But finding a truly authentic bowl of fish noodle soup isn’t as easy as it used to be. Many places have cut corners or modernized their recipes, but Hai Tầm’s shop remains loyal to tradition. That’s what makes it special.
The secret, Bà Hai Tầm says, is in the ingredients and the care. The fish she uses is black snakehead fish—locally known as cá lóc—brought fresh from Phu Quoc. It costs about 80,000 VND per kilo, but she doesn’t mind the price. What matters is the quality. The fish looks plain on the outside, but inside, the flesh is tender, white, and sweet. She carefully cuts each fish into quarters and removes the bones by hand so the meat stays intact.
Her day starts before sunrise. By 4 AM, she’s already boiling fish, preparing the broth, and getting everything ready. The broth isn’t complicated, but it has to be done right: sugar, a little MSG, fish sauce, and salt. It has to be balanced—savory, with just a touch of sweetness that lingers after each sip.
Shrimp is another key ingredient. A proper bowl of Kien Giang-style noodle soup has to have shrimp. In the old days, she used bigger shrimp, but now she uses smaller sea shrimp which are more affordable, about 120,000 VND per kilo. She simmers them with their roe to get the broth’s beautiful reddish color—no food coloring here, just natural goodness.
Each bowl is generous: four or five shrimp, two or three pieces of fish, bean sprouts, fresh herbs, cilantro, and thin slices of cucumber. On the side, there’s homemade pickled leeks—sweet, sour, and crunchy—and crispy shrimp cakes made with mung beans. It’s a meal that fills not just the stomach, but the heart.
And the price? It’s one of the best parts. A large bowl costs 30,000 VND. Medium is 25,000 VND. Small is just 20,000 VND. If you want extra fish or shrimp, it’s just a little more. Most of her customers are regulars—families, office workers, even schoolchildren. Some have been eating here for decades. Mornings are the busiest, with laughter and chatter filling the air.
What sets Bà Hai Tầm apart is not just her food but her openness. She’s happy to share her recipes with anyone who asks. “Cooking isn’t about keeping secrets,” she says. “It’s about knowing how to season from the heart.”
Her life has been one of hard work and perseverance. She started learning the craft at just 16 years old and has kept going ever since. Running a noodle shop isn’t easy. Every day means early mornings, heavy lifting, and endless cooking. These days, she’s grateful for Mỹ Linh’s help. “Without her, I couldn’t keep doing this,” she says with a tired but happy smile.
The shop goes through about 30 kilos of noodles every day. The broth is cooked in massive pots—two large ones and a smaller one—carefully filled to avoid spilling during the short trip from her home to the shop. The biggest pots are about half a meter tall and 40 centimeters wide. They hold enough broth to feed dozens of hungry customers.
Her daughter-in-law has mastered the family recipe and ensures every bowl tastes the same, day after day. Consistency, they believe, is key. If the taste isn’t right, the customers won’t come back. That’s why the shop opens early every morning and runs until about 11 AM, serving bowl after bowl to loyal patrons.
Despite the physical demands of the job, Bà Hai Tầm has built a life she’s proud of. She raised six children—two sons and four daughters—and made sure every single one of them finished university and found good jobs. “I worked hard so my kids could have a better life,” she says. “Seeing them succeed makes everything worth it.”
The family’s story doesn’t end with noodles. They also own about 50 acres of farmland, which they lease out. Years ago, her husband managed the farm while she focused on the noodle shop. After he passed away, one of their sons left his career as a ship engineer to take over the family’s land. The current noodle shop stands on land bought by her son and daughter-in-law after years of hard work. In the past, they used to rent space, but now they have their own place—a source of great pride for the entire family.
Today, life is calmer. Bà Hai Tầm still comes to the shop every morning, but she doesn’t have to do everything herself anymore. She sits, she chats, she smiles at her customers—many of whom she’s known for years. She watches her daughter-in-law work and knows that the family tradition is in good hands.
The noodle soup at Hai Tầm’s is more than just food. It’s a story of dedication, family, and the quiet satisfaction that comes from a life lived with purpose. For the people of Rach Gia, it’s a taste of home, a reminder that sometimes, the simplest things are the ones that matter most.
