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The English content below is automatically generated by Google Translate. Please ignore any wrong wordings or you could change the default language to Vietnamese.
“It’s so hot.” My thoughts are limited but sufficient to describe the weather of a typical July afternoon in Hanoi. I turned my head to the side trying to wipe away the drops of sweat that flowed from my bangs to my chin. Swallowing a mouthful of saliva, I squinted my eyes and looked at the beer shop across the road.
“Anyway, it’s not the appointed time yet, so…” Before I could finish my sentence, my feet automatically walked down the street. A familiar “tango” dance of Hanoi people at rush hour is to take one step forward, one step to stop, turn sideways and walk diagonally forward and then cross the street.
Laying my back down on the plastic chair, without even ordering anything, I just stretched out my legs and tilted my head up to breathe. Hanoi is so hot this season, it’s hard to find a breath of relief even on a free weekend.
Drunk in the past drinking Hanoi beer
I ordered a glass of Hanoi draft beer and a plate of boiled peanuts. After finishing, I sat and thought about whether anyone would drink beer alone like me?
Taking a sip of cool beer, I suddenly remembered that summer when my grandfather and I sat across from each other at that beer shop. He said that in his memory, the image of “lining up in a long line” to buy half-liter cups of Hanoi draft beer is still intact, “three dimes of beer, one dime of peanuts.” Even though we had to line up for several hours, everyone was eagerly waiting to enjoy it. That’s how great the love for Hanoi draft beer was that day.
The sound of the staff calling at the next table made me startled to realize that the restaurant had become more crowded. Every 6pm onwards, waves of customers flock into the shop; There were people who were still wearing shirts and pants tucked in. There were men who went to the gym and the backs of their shirts stuck to their bodies due to profuse sweating. There were even young people sitting in shorts and T-shirts, slapping their thighs and biting peanuts. All create a bustling, noisy and comfortable space, a comfort that only Hanoians can understand.
A “proper” beer must be enjoyed at 12 degrees Celsius in a bustling space with the sound of clinking glasses, noisy people and bustling traffic. Perhaps for those who come here, drinking draft beer is just an excuse, the important thing they like is the noisy feeling when sitting in the middle of the bar. That was the sound of staff calling customers, the sound of glasses clinking together, and the loud sound of car horns outside. All those sounds create a very Hanoi atmosphere.
Suddenly thinking about the beer culture and the pleasure of “foam beer” of Hanoi people, I immediately remembered the image of a very typical glass beer cup. The cup was heavy to hold, but when pouring beer in, the rim of the cup quickly turned cold. The yellow color of draft beer mixed with the green color of the cup creates harmony and coolness. Raising my eyes to look at it, I saw thousands of air bubbles surrounding the rim of the cup, like beer bubbles slowly dissolving in the pale blue glass… I still remember someone at the beer shop once saying that it was because the cup was made by hand. from recycled glass, due to poor technique, air bubbles are accidentally created. Yet it is this inadvertence that gives the cup its own unique characteristics.
It can be said without exaggeration that sidewalk draft beer is a “specialty” imprinted in the minds of many Hanoians. Every afternoon, beer shops on street corners are bustling with people, bustling with congratulations, and chatting about the end of the day. Drinking a whole cup of beer, that culture seems to permeate the mind and soul.
The phone rang and I realized it was time for my appointment. It’s also a place to drink, but perhaps a more modern place with air conditioning and elaborately prepared dishes in a more luxurious and quiet space. Yet I hesitated forever before leaving this noisy and bustling space. Before the car rolled away, I looked back, silently promising to come back one day soon, ready for dozens of unfinished stories with a cool, frothy white beer in hand.
