Pho Hanoi Soup with beef, chicken, meatballs or shrimp served with fresh sprouts. Photo by Laura Petrilla.

Tram's Kitchen

4050 Penn Ave., Bloomfield
412/682-2688

Tucked away in Bloomfield, Tram's Kitchen remains a popular destination offering the exotic cuisine of Vietnam.

Tues.-Sat.,11 a.m.-9:30 p.m.; Sun., 11 a.m.-9 p.m.; Appetizers: $1.95-$11.95; Rice: $6.95-$9.95; Soup Noodle and Pho: $6.95-$7.95; Vermicelli: $6.95-$11.95; Vegetarian Delights: $5.25-$11.95; Desserts: $3.50; Cash only, no smoking, BYOB, take-out, deliveries and catering.

 

Pho-nomenal

On any given day, 5 p.m. is zero-hour at Tram's Kitchen. Owner Thao Le sets aside his newspaper, with no time for cursory glances to the 13-inch television on the counter. He braces himself for the crush of humanity about to pour through the front door in common pursuit of Vietnamese fare - food that is healthful, savory and fast in a place where anyone and everyone is welcome.

People willingly crowd into the little lobby to see if a table opens up, while takeout bags fly out the door. When times were good, this tiny Vietnamese café competed well; now, as the economic vice tightens, it seems to fare even better.

Left: Loyal customers make tracks to Tram's for Vietnamese cuisine. Photo by Laura Petrilla.

I've been eating spring rolls, fried wontons, Vietnamese pho and the crunchy noodles Thao recommended pretty regularly since my first visit in 1997. Back then, Tram's was a pioneering, modestly appointed Vietnamese restaurant on the opposite side of Penn Avenue from its current location. In those days, retro was cool and the neighborhood bohemian. The unpretentious, no-frills storefront mimicked Saigon circa the 1960s, when noodle shops with wobbly tables and squeaky stools used mirror trim, plywood wainscoting, plastic tablecloths and artificial bouquets. Oldies from that era were playing on local radio. The kitchen entrance was walled off by a curtain, but the food that came roaring out was much the same then as it is now.

These days the Penn Avenue corridor in the East End is in the throes of mid-stage revitalization. Like a gangly adolescent, it has one foot in a pre-developmental stage with the other in maturity. A growing gallery scene mixes well with tall Victorians that once sagged at their very seams but now are in various stages of facelifts. It's San Francisco with an edge. In the midst of all the adventure, Tram's is almost innocuous. Look for the blaring white Coca Cola sign with bilingual inscriptions.

In general, Vietnamese food is sedate Asian fare, more delicate than Chinese, less spicy than Thai. Though it has historically been influenced by many cultures, what sets it apart is the extensive use of nuoc mam (fish sauce) to season most every dish, the high consumption of rau thom (aromatic herbs) and the distinctive style of eating small pieces of meat or seafood wrapped in lettuce or rice paper, layering starch and fresh herbs with sauces and condiments to blend it all together.

I'm thankful Tram's has ditched the familiar, tome-style Asian menu (shrimp 20 ways, chicken 20 more ways...) for a more streamlined approach, saving customers endless pages of variations on the same theme. Substitutions aren't considered consumer mischief at Tram's.

One of the reasons to go here has always been the iconic spring rolls (two for $1.95). On a crowded weeknight, I can practically guarantee nary a table is without an order of these delights. The rolls are wrapped in cool, iridescent, glistening transparent rice paper like well-tended papooses, yet they're pliant and light as air. The rolls are lined with red basil and - depending on what's fresh - cavorting with teeny pockets of the market's best mint, needle-thin vermicelli and coriander leaves, with your choice of shredded pork, shrimp or vegetables.

Crispy, fried wontons are an excuse to gorge on your favorite condiment. Count on Thao to direct novices to the piquant, chocolate-colored hoisin sauce made from soybean paste, garlic, sugar and salt, or to Sriracha, the chili puree sharpened with vinegar that we in the States call "rooster sauce." Still another option is nuoc mam, the quintessential soul sauce of Vietnam, a product of French colonization and a defining ingredient for almost any dish, which is used for dipping sauce and seasoning food.

"Like ketchup in United States," says Thao of nuoc mam. "This, that; more, more," he'll urge with expressive churning motions. No doubt, during rush periods, Thao is no-nonsense. He provides unsolicited aid to uninitiated patrons - how to wrap a pancake in lettuce leaves, layer it with fresh mint, sauce it the Vietnamese way. Personally, I find him charming.

Main courses are fresh and lively. The crispy noodles (No. 19) are a favorite, adding texture to the rest of the flavors. And the soothing, mystic rituals of soup, or "pho," the country's beloved meal-in-a-bowl noodle soup (Tram's uses both beef and chicken bones in the stock pot) are used to create an empowering one-dish meal. In Vietnam, I'm told, the rice noodles are almost sheer, and the broth is clear like spring water, yet intensely aromatic. Pho is meant to be eaten while it's piping hot. I love the huge blue and white bowls, steam rising up into your face, and the towering plate of accessories, a tangle of bean sprouts, lime, mint and fresh chilies.

Doctor it with nuoc mam. Thao may be across the room, but he'll raise an eyebrow to make sure you've got the technique down.

You can also count on the Vietnamese rice pancakes if you call a day ahead, as the menu suggests, since matriarch and chief cook Bach-Cuc likes to make them fresh, just before the dinner invasion.

Right: Mixed vegetables with tofu. Photo by Laura Petrilla.

Though pea pudding, moon cake and jelly beans are listed on the menu as desserts, regulars accept the fact that dessert is an anomaly, not part of the package. You can always finish the meal with thick, sweet iced coffee, a product of French imperialism and Vietnamese ingenuity, served tall with a straw. This beverage is so strong that it almost needs a chaser and definitely jump-starts a lazy frontal lobe. It's like a coffee milkshake. Stir it up; condensed milk is resting on the bottom. The banana cake with coconut milk, stuffed with tiny, baked banana pieces covered in a heavy vanilla-cream sauce with toasted sesame seeds, in more ways than one, is sweet success.

Each month, Deborah McDonald jump-starts appetites with lively restaurant reviews that scrutinize who's cooking what and where. She works anonymously, visiting each restaurant at least twice before writing her column.

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