This Vietnamese snack bar is a lunchtime destination worth travelling for

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Between 1954 and 1955, an estimated one million people in the north of Vietnam, fearful of persecution under communist rule, relocated to the country’s south. It was a migration that helped define a nation.

Two of the people that made this journey were Van Uyen Nguyen and Thi Huong Nguyen: a couple that swapped the greenery of picturesque Ninh Binh province for the bustle of then-Saigon. A decade after resettling in the capital, the Nguyens gave birth to their daughter, Thi Nga Nguyen.

Three decades later, Nguyen made her own southern migration and, together with one-year-old son Bac Pham, flew to Western Australia where her husband Van Pham had settled after fleeing Vietnam in 1980.

Although Bac, now in his mid-30s, is yet to have children of his own, he did give birth last month to North 54, a fresh-faced Leederville eatery shaped by his family’s story as well as that of the Vietnamese diaspora. (North 54 is the name given to the transplanted northern Vietnamese living in the south as well as their migration). While the Vietnamese migration story has no shortage of hardship, Bac has the vibe at North 54 set to upbeat and welcoming.

The former Oxford Street home of Gigi’s – funnily enough, also a Vietnamese eatery – has been brightened with bold brushstrokes of red and gold: two cheery colours that psychologists and roughly a gazillion fast food businesses around the world believe make people happy. If it’s equally sunny outside, guests can crowd around low tables and squat, cherry-red plastic stools. Otherwise, pull up at the seven-seat, tile-lined bench hugging the room.

While North 54’s accoutrements are few – think teacups, cans of Asian soft drinks and red boxes of Trung Nguyen Gourmet Blend coffee – the smiles are many, thanks largely to Bac and the other outgoing staff doing their best to keep the lunch queues moving. Bac may have been raised in Perth’s Vietnamese heartlands, but his is also the generation that grew up with Munchies, so there’s rap in the air, tattoos on limbs and his culinary small-screen heroes are less Peter Russell-Clarke and more Matty Matheson.

It also means that while Bac’s cooking is clearly Vietnamese, it’s Vietnamese that’s been influenced by modern cooking ideas (Bac’s resume includes Petition, Special Delivery and Vinotto) as well as what’s happening at street level in Asia. So the thick cream that sits like a quiff atop a cup of heart-starting coffee is a nod to Vietnam’s salted coffee trend, just as Madeleines with pandan ganache centres tipped with darkly toasted coconut make splendid introductions to the bright and colourful world of Korean-style Madeleines. The result is a properly brilliant Twinkie-like wonder that deserves your attention, as does baker Ilju “Natasha” Moun of Tasha Bakery that makes these for Bac.

Bac also outsources the baking of the bread of his banh mi. Gently crunchy and a pleasing cottony texture – the wheat and rice flour rolls get toasted to order – they’re solid examples of their genre and ideal vehicles for the six fillings in North 54’s core range.

You won’t find a classic cold-cut banh mi thit here, possibly because Bac reckons
you can get those anywhere. So a ream of pork belly as thick as a magazine is sharpened with fermented red bean. Lamb gets shaped into crumbly xiu mai meatballs – typically made with pork – and braised in a tomato-based sauce till brilliantly (and dangerously) juicy. While the spiced grilled chicken dish known as gai yang originated in Thailand, riffing on it by grilling deboned Marylands hit with turmeric and white pepper suggests the dish would feel at home on the Vietnamese side of the Gulf of Thailand. Hanoi-style pork patties are played straighter and finished on a hibachi for maximum char.

In addition to deployment in bread, some fillings can be served as a bowl alongside rice or rice noodles: good news, I suspect, for surrounding office workers. Your correspondent, however, is likely to stick to the banh mi, especially since the vegetarian son-in-law eggs – one of the two fillings I’m yet to try – is a roll-only option.

Compared to regular-issue banh mi, North 54’s rolls are thinner, but longer and less likely to dislocate jaws. One banh mi makes a sensible meal for one, although I’ve seen some eaters share one between two. (Rolls are thoughtfully cut in half as default.) Hello half-and-half lunchtime swapsies, or supplementing orders with some snacks.

Golden and crunchy spring rolls are, as every spring roll in history is, fine as-is, but sparkle when dragged through a brilliantly murky and herbal green sauce typically paired with seafood. The chicken wings, however, are what you’ll want to get around. One serve contains three whole, juicy wings finished with a sticky fish sauce caramel whose savoury marine funk will perfume your fingers like an Aesop hand cream.

You will dab at your hands with napkin after napkin and wash them repeatedly with soap, but you will not remove the smell. You will not mind. This is a flavour that’s travelled a long way to get here. Why not let it stay a while.

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