My first bowl of pho was from Pho 24, a pioneer of modern Vietnamese dining in Jakarta.

I remember thinking how could a soup could be so crystal clear yet packed with intense natural flavor?

There was the deep rich flavor of the meat slices, a fragrant broth, chewy rice noodles that gave an overall texture and crunchiness to the dish along with minty-peppery fresh coriander leaves.

Eighteen years after that initial encounter, I visited NamNam Noddle Bar, a festive shrine to the humble bowl of pho and—finally—to the signature Vietnamese sub sandwich, the bahn mi.

NamNam Noodle Bar, another creation from Singapore’s Les Amis Group, has several outlets in Jakarta; I visted the one in Plaza Indonesia.

Walking into the restaurant during the lunch rush, I saw the the back-of-the-house, team, visible through the open kitchen in front of the restaurant’s stool bar, working fast.

The wait staff also moved at speed: Imagine The Flash slowed down to about 20 kilometers an hour-passing the salt, taking dirty bowls, giving out water bottles, handing patrons their bills, taking orders, pouring soups and greeting guests.

I chose to sit at the stool bar and watch the activity. There I heard nostalgic Indochinese music in the background to help me to settle in. I barely had time to sit and post a message to Twitter before a server took my order.

What I loved was that I didn’t need to drill down through the menu. The presentation of dishes was focused, clear and effortless. As I watched the work at the bahn mi counter, my pho arrived.

It was an immsense bowl of fragrant broth with chicken, homemade meatballs and tripe cooked until they were as soft as braised veal tendons.

A sip of the broth was like breathing in deep in a meadow full of herbs-fragrant and refreshing, even during the rush.

Unlike as in some other restaurants, which encourage diners to add mint leafs, coriander leafs and scallions to taste; at NamNam, the recipe for pho is fixed.

The recipe is already adjusted to local palates and is perfect, as is. However, additional herbs are available (Rp 8,000 [about 60 US cents] will get you a big bowl of coriander leaves).

One thing that hit me were the meatballs. While they were of the Indonesian variety, there was a definite inspiration behind this bulb of meat.

Chef Nam, the principal, was looking for something local to be added to his menu. Then he found out about Indonesia’s bakso.

A man of dedication, Nam trained for a short time as the protégé of a local tukang bakso, following and learning everything from the meatball vendor, from how he chose his meat at a traditional market at dawn to how he worked in his home kitchen.

Nam’s efforts paid off; his bakso are some of the finest I’ve ever tasted-meaty and with a perfect crunchy texture resulting from a precise proportion of meat to flour and a perfect cooking time. This bowl was truly comforting to the soul.

For my next dish, I tried bahn mi, the original Indochinese fusion food, which, in its original incarnation, mixes the Franco-Austrian baguette, French liver pate and Vietnamese staple ingredients such as fresh coriander herbs, carrots and bean sprouts.

At NamNam, the baguette itself was more festive than filling, with more air in the dough leading to a lighter bread. My bahn mi was the Australian wagyu version, with a hint of spicyness from the chilli sauce, julliene-cut carrots and cucumbers that added natural crunchiness. Last but not least, there were green coriander leaves that bound everything in harmony.

NamNam doesn’t use liver pate, as its taste is unfamilar for Indonesian diners.

I finished my lunch with Vietnam’s iconic finger food: Translucent sping rolls, as captivating to look as it as they were to eat. Vietnamese springrolls is a dish like no other, offering a perfect mix of the delicious and the healthy. Inside was a crunchy sweet shrimp that was poached to perfection, glass noodles done to perfect consistency and spring onions that gave the dish an extra hint of flavor.

Chef Nam is an inspiration. Born toward the end of Vietnam’s war with the US in the 1970s, he flew to Denmark and eventually enlisted in that nation’s army.

His culinary career began to pick up steam when he worked for Les Amis in Singapore and the Legian Hotels in Bali, ending as the Chedi Club’s food and beverage director. One day after work, chef Nam came home not with a fiery spirit but in total silence. He asked himself if serving gourmet fare to wealthy diners was his first, best destiny? The answer was no.

Chef Nam returned to Les Amis and to his traditional roots in Vietnamese cuisine. NamNam was launched in Singapore and the rest is history.
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Plaza Indonesia

Basement Level, Unit 16-19
Jl. M.H. Thamrin Kav. 28-30
Jakarta 10350
Instagram: @namnamnoodlebar
namnamnoodlebar.co.id