Tasting History: Affordable French Cuisine in Ho Chi Minh City

French elements are deeply rooted in the cells of Ho Chi Minh City, most visibly in its architecture and its food.

After a dusty, bumpy day-trip shopping tour of the Mekong River, I returned to the city feeling quite worn out. A Taiwanese girl staying at my hostel gave me some advice: “Stop eating just Pho and Banh Mi. Before you leave, you have to try an affordable, authentic French meal.”

Common recommendations include Chef Thien, The Refinery, and Cocotte. I eventually chose The Refinery, primarily because it’s housed in an old colonial-era opium factory. I’ve always had a penchant for dining in restaurants with a story, even if the decor isn’t strictly “French” and feels more like a casual bistro.

A Solo Dinner at the Bar

Checking the menu at the door, “affordable” didn’t exactly spring to mind—the prices were similar to what you’d find in the upscale Zhujiang New Town back in Guangzhou. Ho Chi Minh City is often said to be ten or fifteen years behind China in development, but its cost of living certainly isn’t as low as it was a decade ago. My wallet definitely felt more relaxed back in Indonesia.

I glanced at my reflection: still in my dusty clothes and wearing flip-flops. Having heard that some places have dress codes, I specifically asked the waitress. She just noted that a solo diner couldn’t take up a four-person table and directed me to a high stool at the bar. Fair enough.

The Art of the Course

French dining typically follows a specific order: apéritif, amuse-bouche, appetizer, soup, main course, and dessert. I went for the classics: French Onion Soup, Duck Confit with Mashed Potatoes (the main), and Crème Brûlée for dessert. For a drink, I chose the “Refinery Special.”

The onion soup arrived first, served with baguette slices that soaked up the rich cheese aroma. I couldn’t help but fill up on the bread, realizing only then that the portions were quite large—one of the downsides of dining alone.

Half an hour passed, and my second course still hadn’t arrived. Feeling too shy to pester the staff in such a setting, I decided to look up “French dining etiquette.” I discovered that if you finish a course, you’re supposed to place the dish to the side for the waiter to realize you’re ready for the next one. As soon as I moved my soup bowl, my “dream dish” finally made its appearance.

The duck leg was plump, crispy on the outside, and tender on the inside. Paired with smooth mashed potatoes and a refreshing blueberry sauce, it was perfectly balanced. As I ate, one of my flip-flops slipped off to the floor; the stool was so high my feet couldn’t reach the ground. In the end, I finished the last bite of meat with zero etiquette and one bare foot.

The meal cost me 40 USD—roughly equivalent to my entire food budget for three days in Indonesia. But as my Southeast Asian journey neared its end, I figured a little reward was well-deserved.