Oakland, California
When the pandemic arrived in the Bay Area, shutting down restaurants and bars with it, there were places you began to miss first. Places that it was hard to imagine not visiting for months, places you dreamed of going back to when this was all over.
Tay Ho was that place for me, the kind of spot I often dropped by on a Tuesday or maybe a Thursday night, when I was tired from work and nothing sounded better than a plate of their hot, salty squid fried with jalapeño and thick sliced onions, a bowl of scalding phở and a cold, basil-spiked cocktail. The kind of spot that waits with glowing windows like a beacon, on a corner at the edge of Oakland’s Chinatown, as the sun falls behind the downtown high rises.
Like so many restaurant owners right now, Denise Huynh is hustling to make it through each day and each week, operating on takeout only and a limited staff, many of whom are her own family members. When we spoke, however, I was in awe of her positive attitude and her energy (she’d just come back from a morning run), and impressed to hear how much the restaurant was doing to feed local healthcare workers by participating in a scheme called East Bay Feeder, delivering free meals directly to hospitals.
The coronavirus is hardly the first challenge that Denise has faced. When she took over Tay Ho from her aunt 10 years ago, she had never run a restaurant before – and has worked incredibly hard over the last decade to make it the homey, inviting neighborhood space her customers love so much. The restaurant serves insanely delicious versions of Vietnamese classics like phở and bún, as well as regional specialties, all recipes she developed with her mother (oh, and did I mention the incredible cocktails?).
Denise’s love of Oakland and her pride in seeing the community pull together at an unprecedented time was obvious when we spoke. And her stories of growing up in Vietnam and the food she remembers eating as a child were powerfully evocative, and a reminder of how, even when stuck at home, a meal has the power to transport us to another time and place.
“I told myself, tomorrow will be better. And 10 years later, here we are”
When the lockdown happened I was just like everybody else. I thought, “Oh my god, what are we going to do?” I had been reading a lot about what was going on in other places, especially in Asia, so I thought maybe we should just be ready here. But how much can you prepare for something like this? Half of my staff are my family members, so I was going through this not just for myself but for my staff and my family, too. I just said, “Ok – we gotta do what we gotta do.”
For the first few weeks there were only three of us: me, my brother and one front of house staff. We just opened up our doors. There were still people coming by and saying, “Hey, are you open?”, so that was my gauge. I was like, “Ok, we should keep going.” But those first two weeks were really painful, because it was so dead. We’re just a few blocks from Chinatown, and the whole place was a ghost town. In the first week we probably only did $600 in sales. But it’s picking up more now that people know we’re back.
We got involved with feeding hospital workers pretty quickly. I had inventory and produce that I had brought in before the lockdown that I didn’t want to let go to waste. I told staff they should just come in and get whatever they needed, no questions asked. But we still had some leftovers that first week, and we brought it to Highland Hospital, because I have a brother that works there. It was in the second or third week of lockdown that Jenny [a coordinator for East Bay Feeder] reached out to me about signing up to feed people working in the ER. We did donations at UCSF, and it all started taking off from there. Today, for instance, we're cooking 50 meals for Highland Hospital. We’re also baking cookies so that each meal comes complete with a dessert.
So yeah, it’s been pretty crazy. I hope I don’t ever have to do this again, you know? You’re out here having to fend for yourself, you’re not getting any help from the city. We applied for a small business loan, but I haven’t seen anything yet. I told a lot of my staff to get on unemployment from the very beginning, because there was no way we were going to be able to hire people back with only $400 or $500 a day in sales. The best I could do is rotate two or three people, a few days here and a few days there.
During normal time we will be operating with four or five staff in the kitchen, a dishwasher, a bartender, and then two or three staff in the front of the house. I usually do a lot of the shopping myself, because I want everything that goes into the restaurant to be hand picked. So I’m usually the one running around, buying food and picking up groceries every day or every other day.
“I think she saw something in me, even though I’d never run a restaurant before. She said, ‘I know you can take this over.’”
We opened in 2010. Long story short, the restaurant actually existed before me, but at the time it belonged to my aunt. I used to work in sporting good marketing but I would come in to the restaurant all the time, taking friends here, and I’d also help out with whatever was needed – because it’s family, you know? My aunt had taken the restaurant over from a chain in LA that specialized in making bánh cuốn, which is basically steamed rice noodles that you make into a roll with pork. She ran it for two years but eventually she couldn’t handle it anymore. I think she saw something in me, even though I’d never run a restaurant before. She said, “I know you can take this over.”
At that time, I thought about when my dad was alive. He and I always talked about opening a coffee shop, because I loved coffee and I mean, he was Vietnamese, so the love of coffee is in our blood. And I thought OK, close enough, I can have my restaurant and I can have my coffee too.
I grew up loving my mom’s cooking – she was always in the kitchen – and I especially loved this spicy beef noodle soup. Her family comes from Huế, so that style is my favorite noodle soup of all time. One of the first things I did when I took over the restaurant was ask the chef who my aunt had hired to make me a bowl of that soup, to impress me. And when I tried it, I was like, “‘what the heck am I eating?” I thought, “My mom’s food is way better, so this is not gonna work.” And I brought my mom in to help re-write the whole menu. [That soup, bún bò huế, is still on their menu]
I have to tell you, it was a nightmare at first. I’ve never run a restaurant, I had no idea what I was doing. Every time we made enough money, something would break down. Some days I would finish work and drive around, wasting gas, so that I wouldn’t just blow off at my wife when I got home. I still feel bad she had to endure me for the last 10 years; but I'm so grateful to have her support. I don't think I could have done it without her.
There were so many times I was ready to walk out. But I think because I was stubborn and I had put all my eggs in one basket, I was like – I can’t let it fail. I told myself, tomorrow will be better. And tomorrow, and tomorrow. And 10 years later, here we are. I’m glad I didn’t walk away.
I’m a people person, and always liked the idea of entertaining, of throwing a party at your house. I want the restaurant to be an extension of that. Growing up my dad always did that, and my mom was cooking, and I was running around drinking the beer but they didn’t care. That’s a party, and there was always food. I grew up like that was normal. So I’m still having fun doing it after 10 years; the friends who came with us at the beginning, the new friends, the customers who are now my dear, dear friends.
I lived in Vietnam until the age of 12. My grandparents raised me in a little town outside Saigon. I have very strong food memories of living with them. Both of my grandparents were foodies, and they introduced me to many things when I was young.
Those spicy beef noodles that I fired that chef over? That’s something I could eat that every day. I remember when I was a kid living with my grandparents, there were these people who used to cook out of their courtyard – and I remember this woman, she would only sell this in the morning, and every morning they would see me running down before school and they’d be cooking a bowl ready for me. I’d sit down and eat, and then I’d run back and my grandfather would pick me up on his bicycle and drive me to school.
“On the first day I went to register at Oakland High, I felt at home. It was like I belonged here.”
When I went back to Vietnam for the first time in 1997, I went back to that place where I grew up. And I went back to that spot where the woman used to cook, and while she doesn’t cook anymore the place is still there, and now her daughter is in charge. I was just blown away that they still cook and serve in the same courtyard. It’s just amazing, something I’ll never forget.
Another vivid memory is of traveling by train to see family, I must have been about five or six, and when the train stopped there was this woman on the side of the tracks with a little grill. We were by the seaside, and she was grilling oysters. She would crack a tiny quail egg on top of them, then add this green scallion oil. I remember how the sun was so bright, and that little quail yolk was so bright. And then you had that green oil, with fish sauce and onions and garlic. That oyster was so delicious. To this day, I can almost taste it.
I moved with my parents to Oakland when I was 12. At first we lived in San Leandro, because that’s where my aunt, who sponsored us to come over, was living. I remember being scared to move to Oakland because at the time my friends were like, “you know it has the highest murder rate in the country, right?” But on the first day I went to register at Oakland High, I felt at home. It was like I belonged here. I think it was seeing people that looked like you, that weren’t all white. The diversity was so great.
Even when I'm in Vietnam, I don't feel like I'm home there, even though it’s where I was born and grew up for the first 12 years of my life. I can't explain it. Oakland just feels like home, and I haven’t left yet.
That’s been a big part of what I’m trying to do now, to reach out and help the community wherever I can, because we’re all in this together. The breadth and the diversity of the people and the food here is pretty extraordinary. And the sense of community is really strong among Oakland restaurants right now. There’s so much love and support and pride, that Oakland pride, you know? People just pulling together.
At times I’ve been so blown away by the generosity and kindness, seeing people respecting each other and helping each other out. The people who came when we opened up, just to say hi. It’s actually making me a little teary right now. I feel so grateful for being a part of this community. I couldn’t ask to be anywhere else.
• • •
All photos courtesy of Denise Huynh