Bánh mì is a sandwich of endless layers and possibilities. Here’s where to find six of the best examples in the capital.

This is an edited excerpt from Two Bear Sandwich Club, a Substack newsletter by Nick Iles.

What is your desert island sandwich? The one that you return to in your mind’s mouth more than any other? I will give you a minute if you like, but be forewarned that I’m not really asking you and I don’t really care. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that people often think this line of questioning will open up an entertaining and somewhat meandering conversation on the various merits and drawbacks of potential sandwiches. They perhaps think we may take it in turns listing fillings we have enjoyed and our memories of them. Maybe we will share stories inspired by those fillings and how they have helped shape us as people. They might hope we will then move on to discuss the importance of selecting the right type of bread, laughing as we recall the times fillings have fallen through large holes in unsuitable slices of sourdough. After much back and forth, they may even hope we will come to an agreement that there are just so many good sandwiches out there we simply can’t decide. We will laugh, hug and agree to get a sandwich together sometime soon.

Except this doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen because the answer I respond with immediately, and with too much certainty, is bánh mì. Obviously. Of course. Everything the sandwich you were potentially thinking of choosing is contained in the multiplicity of a bánh mì, with much more besides. 

Bánh mì is a Vietnamese sandwich that literally translates to English as “bread”. It is unequivocally the master sandwich, with endless layers and possibilities: You can find bánh mì filled with sardines (cá mòi), fried eggs, (trứng ốp-la) and even ice cream (kẹp kem). The real beauty of bánh mì is it can be whatever it needs to be. There are no rules, so it will thrive and survive on one simple measure: is it tasty enough?

For simplicity, and because it is my favourite, we are looking at a classic bánh mì here: the bánh mì thịt nguội, which broadly means a cold meat or ham sandwich. We are hoping for a few things with this sandwich: firstly, the bread should be crusty yet soft and chewy. Next, we want to see at least one, but hopefully a couple of types of fatty pork. This could be thick-cut BBQ pork, with or without some crackling to add texture. There may be thinner, processed, pink cuts of ham or vibrant red char siu. There should hopefully be a thick spread of pâté in the roll, adding butteriness and a savouriness. Garnishes would hopefully include sharp juliennes of pickled vegetable for acidity and texture, a fistful of fresh herbs for verdancy and brightness and a sauce or two would be good. Particularly some hot sauce, fish sauce and mayonnaise to bind it all together. But really, anything tasty will be good.

Inescapable when thinking of the food of Vietnam is the long shadow of French colonialism. An imperialist occupation meant that for nearly 100 years Vietnam had its natural resources exploited, its people left impoverished and its culture neglected. This French self-aggrandisement and the expansion of Culture Français led to a programme of “civilising” the people of Vietnam through a programme of French history, art and law, literature, music and culture. The reverberations of this problematic past can still be seen today in some of the most popular dishes associated with Vietnam. A single coffee tree was brought over in 1857 and now Vietnam is the world’s second largest producer of coffee beans. Phở is an evolution of the French meat broth and likely a namesake of the pot-au-feu. And bánh mì was simply a way of using up all the cold cuts and piles of baguettes made for the French. 

The global obsession with bánh mì began in the 1970s as the Vietnam War ended and many Vietnamese began to flee the communist government. Any territory that took in refugees was rewarded with access to Vietnam’s rich cultural and culinary history. In 1977, the first wave of mass migration from Vietnam to Aotearoa took place and 412 emigres began the process of settling, often without possessions and having been separated from their families. Over the next 50 years, more than 10,000 people arrived to live with family and set up new lives. We now have a thriving diasporic community living across Aotearoa. As the population and demand has grown, so too has the desire and ability to import and stock the original ingredients needed to make a truly authentic bánh mì experience. 

With bánh mì literally meaning bread, most of us know we are meant to be looking for something a bit different with the roll. It should have an almost savoury-candy-floss interior and an outside that shatters like a grenade has just gone off in your hand. Some people will tell you that a standard baguette is inauthentic bread and, therefore, a bad bánh mì. But what is authenticity, and is it really important? At what point was the marker laid down and the authentic version of any dish established? Often people seek to find a dish that closely resembles the dish in its original setting, in this case Vietnam. But surely the lived experiences of the Vietnamese diaspora also counts, and that the new ingredients encountered and made a part of the now evolving history of the dish by generations of emigres should be respected and appreciated in much the same way the inception of the dish is respected. To hold a torch only for a verbatim original iteration of a dish is to deny the lived experiences outside of a mother country. A Vietnamese family serving bánh mì in Wellington are serving authentic bánh mì by definition, regardless of whether or not it looks or tastes like one someone had in Ho Chi Minh.

All of this is to say that there is no official yardstick by which to measure bánh mì in Wellington. Rather, this is a subjective attempt at appreciating the ways in which each establishment has sought to reference the dish and put their own spin on it. 

6. Wraps and Rolls

$12
41 The Terrace, Wellington Central

What you imagine when you think of bánh mì.

Wraps and Rolls is a two-part operation: one side curries, baked goods and bánh mì, the other sushi, all coming from a centralised kitchen at the back. I had heard a lot of good things about this place, but only being open during the weekday, I found it hard to make time to get there. Right away, it is probably the most aesthetically pleasing of all the bánh mì on this list. The traditional looking roll spills forth strips of pork and piles of herbs, with a most generous with the herbs. As with most of the other rolls, it was heated to order, with a crisp outside that acted like a shell to contain and soak up all the sauces and flavour. Wraps and Rolls played by the traditional elements of a bánh mì thịt nguội; thinly sliced ham and char siu pork were piled high with thickly cut juliennes of pickled carrot and daikon, fresh cucumber, lots of herbs – and all this on an incredibly generous portion of pâté. The pâté is incredibly unctuous and rich, providing an immediate iron quality that is then tempered by the sweetness of pork and a gentle heat from chilli sauce. Not every roll on this list has mayo, but it is generous here and acts to bind all the disparate acts together to make something more unified. This sandwich really does everything you imagine when you think of bánh mì. Everything is in exactly the right ratio: sweet, acid, salt and fat. What isn’t to love?

5. Go Vietnam

$12.50
16 Chews Lane, Wellington Central

For the smokey BBQ lovers.

Go Vietnam is that tiny place down the side alley off Willis Street that perfumes the whole area with its light, herbal phở broth. The bread has those trademark bubbles on the surface that add texture to the otherwise slightly pale bread. There is an incredibly generous portion of BBQ pork chunks, which have been marinated in lemongrass, garlic and chilli and provides an impressive level of herbal warmth. The pork itself is moist and has a real savoury, smokey quality to it. This pork is piled high on shredded cabbage, lettuce and a small amount of pickled carrot. All three provide a much needed crunch to the soft pork and soft bread. A small amount of pâté then supports everything from the underside. The smaller amount here feels appropriate due to the volume and quality of BBQ pork. No hot sauce or fish sauce means that this is perhaps missing some of the acidity and heat that you look forward to in a bánh mì, but this ‌creates something very savoury that focuses and gets the main elements very right indeed. Definitely a sandwich I will go back to and one that is best enjoyed in the small, bustling cafe that serves it.

4. Nam Nam

$11.90
Willis Lane, 1 Willis Street, Wellington Central

Almost unbeatable.

Nam Nam, in the new Willis Lane development, is the little sister of established Auckland Vietnamese restaurant Sen Kitchen. Ordering is through a self service machine on the counter and the option to add extra pâté and hot sauce for free is every greedy person’s dream. This bánh mì is impressive in its size; when opened it is absolutely packed with tons of shredded carrot, thick slices of BBQ pork complete with crackling, a couple of wedges of cucumber, lashings of chilli sauce and a heavy swipe of pâté across the bread.

The contrasts in this sandwich are everything I look for in bánh mì: fatty, smokey pork gives way to sharp pickled carrot and prickles of chilli heat. The bread is warm, crusty and chewy in all the right places; it has that candy floss-like inside and a deeply fatty, creamy pâté, almost the consistency of butter. Those flavours combine with the mayo and hot sauce and emulsify into something immensely rich that brings all the other elements together in unity. The ribbon of pork fat is so well rendered it almost acts like a second sauce and seasons the whole roll, along with the fish sauce. The whole thing just feels so incredibly generous; the textural contrasts of crunchy carrot and crackling, chew of bread and fatty, porky, saucy mess makes this an almost unbeatable sandwich. The only way this would be more perfect if there was a bigger handful of herbs to add that much needed florality and freshness. But that’s just me being picky. 

3. SatayMe Satay 

$12
194 Lambton Quay, Wellington Central

The luxurious and decadent one.

SatayMe Satay is tucked down the back of Woodward House on a side alley off Lambton Quay. The bánh mì these guys are putting together is something very special indeed. The bread has been taken to a darker stage of baking than others might dare, meaning all the sugars have set and the roll is all things crispy and chewy. Coriander is spilling out of the slice line and you can see generous fistfuls of carrot and daikon, both heavily pickled, giving the whole sandwich much needed acidity.

The meat here is absolutely unique: coin-thick slices of processed Vietnamese sausage are layered up with a deep, rust-coloured char siu. The latter of which, unlike others, is cut thick from a loin of pork and has been barbecued over fire to create something at once so sweet and so smokey it stops you in your tracks. This, paired with the almost umami-like pâté, generously applied to both sides of the roll, all culminates in one of the most generous, luxurious and decadent bánh mì you are likely to find in Wellington. 

2. Le Saigon

$16
46/150 Featherston Street, Wellington Central

Doing everything right.

Le Saigon is that really beautiful Vietnamese restaurant on Featherston Street that seems to always be thrumming with people – and for good reason. The bánh mì here is absolutely world class. If you stare closely into the breads, you can get lost, like looking into The Infinity Nets by Yayoi Kusama. The surface is blistered and cracked, brimming with potential energy and ready to explode like a grenade in your hand when approached. It miraculously has every single texture it is possible to have: crunchy, crispy, chewy and soft. It is the most generous – and expensive – roll on this list.

All the key players are present and correct, but somehow they feel more considered and purposeful here. The freshly pickled daikon and carrot have all the acidity they need, but with all the bite and texture that comes from newness. The pâté is dark and coarsely textured with an almost nutty quality that sits behind every mouthful. Thinly sliced wafers of pork belly have been cooked down with spring onions, garlic and other magical things to create something rich and almost stew-like. Ribbons of rendered fat run through everything, almost hedonistic in its richness. But those pickles. And those herbs. And that mayo. And that chilli sauce, with actual heat, the hottest by far on this list, means that every bite feels like it refocuses and leans into another element: heat – pickle – fat – verdancy. 

1. Vietnameezy

$12.50
4c Onepu Road, Kilbirnie

Probably the best bánh mì in Wellington.

If you are a purist on the hunt for authenticity, come here and see what bánh mì bread would be like in Vietnam. The owner, Jess, was born in Vietnam and was raised in Sydney from the age of seven. After spending 20 years living and working in Wellington, she came to the realisation that there simply wasn’t a bánh mì in town worth shouting about, worth queueing for. So she did what any right-thinking person would do. She quit her job and set up her first-ever food business. She is someone who knows bánh mì and knows exactly where the focus should be, proudly telling me that this is not bread that anyone can buy. No. She worked in conjunction with a bakery to develop this exact recipe and she is the only one who is utilising it. But it isn’t just the bread, everything else here is just perfect.  

The first thing they do is re-bake the bread to order, meaning you get that fresh bite of the recently set crust all day long. It also means the homemade pâté they apply becomes runny, unctuous and deeply fatty. The amount of pâté they use is just a little too much pâté, which remarkably is exactly the correct amount of pâté. It oozes from the crisp bread as you eat your way down the roll, meaning the last bite is always one that is rich and fulsome. Next comes the selection of cold cuts, processed pink slices of pork, the type with a fluorescence you don’t want to ask about but remind me of school lunchboxes and trips to Bologna. Then comes a couple of very thin slices of sweet, sticky char siu pork belly. But just a couple. Often, people seem to think that sandwiches should have an excessive volume of meat; maybe it is from the popularity of the Reuben or our capacity for consuming more food on Instagram than we do with our actual mouths. But this sandwich is all about a balance of flavour and texture. Some meat is exactly the right amount of meat; it gives over room for pickles, fresh herbs, chillies and all the other good stuff. Here, it is all about the classics: pickled daikon and cucumber batons add the much needed astringency to balance out the fatty meats before the sweetness of cucumbers and florality of a fistful of fresh coriander. All this is finished with an eggy mayonnaise and heat from chilli sauce.

Too often, sandwiches are designed to be looked at, filled on a slice line or with such a sporadic placement of key components that the whole piece is unbalanced. Here, the cross section reveals the perfect synchronicity at play. Pâté cocoons the meats, which, in turn, wrap around pickles and salads. That perfectly airy bread holding it all in place and the shell providing the perfect textural contrast. A masterclass in balance and my favourite bánh mì in all of Wellington.