History
ABOUT US
A few words about US
BEP ME IN
Bep Me In is a vietnamese restaurant offering a Vietnamese family style food, with street food specialities, classic dishes, and some modern take of.
Bep Me In is nestled in an alley steeped in history and culture. From the seemingly inconspicuous entry, near Ben Thanh Market, follow the path and be met by a uniquely styled dining experience.
Vietnamese Cuisine
BEP ME IN
The Essence of Old Saigon Street Cuisine
Step into a bygone era with the bustling street food of 20th-century Saigon. Here, traditional dishes that once graced the humble food stalls of the city’s ancestors are now cherished staples among its modern dwellers. These meals, simple in their creation yet rich in history, are served from roaming carts that occasionally echo with the clatter of ladles and pots — a rhythmic reminder of Saigon’s vibrant culinary culture. It’s this unique blend of flavors and stories from the past century that we proudly preserve and serve at our restaurant.
Cyclo Taxi: A Signature of Saigon Spirit
The cyclo taxi, affectionately shortened to ‘xe lam’ from the eight-wheeled ‘Lambo’ imported from Italy, is a distinctive vehicle that’s become an emblem of Saigon. Similar in design to other vehicles yet unique in its construction, the xe lam is divided into two main parts: a front cabin for the driver and a rear carriage for passengers or cargo, accommodating on average 8 to 10 people.
In Southern Vietnam, the cyclo taxi once reigned as the most common public transport method, ubiquitously ferrying locals and their goods across the city’s thoroughfares since the 1960s. It stands as a testament to the region’s rich transport heritage and the bustling life of its streets.
Fond Memories of Mother's Cooking
I’ve never dared to criticize the rice my mother cooks, for it’s perfect in taste—a bowl full of her love, each sticky grain an embodiment of her care. The rice is not just tender, but rich with meaning.
During my childhood, as I joined my parents in the rice fields, my mother would say each grain wasn’t just rice but precious pearls, which I joyfully failed to understand. Now grown, I deeply grasp the weight of her words. Being away from the family meals makes me yearn for the familiar scent of our homeland’s rice.
The rice mother cooks might be ordinary, and the hearth she kindles only a simple straw stove, but those meals gathered with family—my father, my brother—turn into feasts of togetherness, especially when far from home. There were days when fish sauce was all she had to accompany the rice, yet those meals tasted like abundance.
Every grain is a drop of my parents’ sweat, grown from the beloved soil of our homeland.
