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Same Same: Homage to the street food of Vietnam

Based on Chad Kubanoff's early resumé, the logical and conventional trajectory by now would have found him in some rarified fine-dining kitchen. Not making bánh mì hoagies at the casual counter-service cafe that is Same Same.

Bánh mì filled with caramelized pork, lemongrass chicken thighs, and pork sausage patties at Same Same. (Steven M. Falk./Staff Photographer)
Bánh mì filled with caramelized pork, lemongrass chicken thighs, and pork sausage patties at Same Same. (Steven M. Falk./Staff Photographer)Read more

Based on Chad Kubanoff's early resumé, the logical and conventional trajectory by now would have found him in some rarefied fine-dining kitchen. Not making bánh mì hoagies at the casual counter-service cafe that is Same Same.

But after a year of canapés at haute-French Daniel in Manhattan, followed by nearly another at cutting-edge Alinea in Chicago, where he made wax bowls and exploding cocoa butter spheres filled with apple juice, the Bucks County native had only one destination on his mind: Vietnam.

"I told people I was going to go, and when I tell people something, I have to do it," he said. "I tend to be a jumper."

That jump, which landed him in Saigon as the head chef at a well-regarded modern Vietnamese lounge called Xu, lasted nearly six years. He met his future wife, Thuy Ha, there, dabbled in a musical career playing guitar in Saigon bars, started a company giving food tours on motorcyles (Back of the Bike Tours, which still operates), and began planning for his family's American return.

What he's created at Same Same in Northern Liberties is far from the upscale Vietnamese dining experience of Xu - a concept Kubanoff, 29, still hopes to attempt in Philly, perhaps with a tasting menu, sometime down the road.

Instead, for his debut act he's presented a casual and affordable ode to the classic street foods he misses from Vietnam - like bánh mì sandwiches and lettuce wraps with everything from thinly sliced caramelized pork to delicate spring rolls, lemongrass chicken, and crispy hunks of fried tofu.

Of course, Philly already has one of the largest Vietnamese populations on the East Coast cooking many of those specialties, including at many places I love. But Kubanoff insists most he's visited here lack the vibrancy and attention to detail he came to crave while motoring tourists around to the culinary delights of Ho Chi Minh City.

I could taste what he meant from the moment his herb-blasted goi ga chicken salad appeared. Mounded high on a green ceramic platter, it is essentially a pile of shaved cabbage, onions, and poached chicken splashed with fish sauce and lemon. But it is really so much more, a perfect display of contrasting textures - finely shaved cabbage, velvety soft chicken, crunchy onions, and crushed peanuts - elevated by the dressing's electric sweet-and-sour funk, then amped even higher by an explosion of fresh herbs like Vietnamese rau ram coriander that left an aromatic imprint on my brain. If there's a more addictive salad this summer, I haven't tasted it.

The true test, though, is the bánh mì. No sandwich is hotter in Philly than this Vietnamese cousin to the hoagie, on menus now from authentic Asian cafes to hipster beer gardens, which layers various meats against fresh pickled veggies, chiles, and mayo inside a toasted baguette.

But just as is implied by the restaurant's name - the popular expression "same same . . . but different" - there are infinite subtle details that separate one similar bánh mì from another, and a decent one from a great one.

Philly already has several solid bánh mì specialists (QT in Chinatown, the new Lee's on Washington Avenue, Fu Wah in West Philly), as well as bakeries like Nam Son and Artisan Boulanger Patissier that specialize in the French-style roll modified with rice flour for extra delicacy. But I agree with Kubanoff that neither of those, whose rolls are too bulky, can touch Ba Le on Washington Avenue for the lightness of its crumb, the shattering flake of its crust, and the slender profile of its narrow girth that fits so snugly inside my grip.

The cooked-to-order stuffings and meticulous construction, though, are where Kubanoff's fine-dining discipline creates real separation, from the end-to-end slathering of zesty housemade mayo (sparked with fish sauce, lime, and chiles) and a shake of Maggi, to the careful layering of a single bread-long ribbon of sliced cucumber whose thickness is exactly calibrated to match the fiery spark of jalapeño rounds crunch-for-crunch with a quenching burst. Every plume of cilantro, shredded scallion, or pickled lace of daikon or carrot is layered in so every bite delivers the symphonic ping of each ingredient.

As for those meaty fillings, I enjoyed them all. The thin-sliced sheets of tender pork, sweet and garlicky from a fish sauce and sugar marinade, followed by a caramelizing finish over the grill, was probably my favorite for the sandwich. But I also loved the tender chunks of lemongrass-infused chicken thigh, and pork sausage patties that (even if a little burnt my night) delivered a savory counterpoint to caramelized pork. The thick-cut fried tofu was notable for the dual texture of its crunchy exterior and custardy soft middle - but was not overall as flavorful as the tofu bánh mì at Lee's.

Lee's and the others can also still hold court for those who crave their bánh mì stuffed with a schmear of livery pâté and the crunch of head cheese lunch meats. I'm one of those. Same Same doesn't serve a cold-cut sandwich yet, because it's still planning to make its own meats.

The meats Same Same does serve, however, are available atop the menu's other choices (lettuce wraps and noodle bowls). One of my favorites, a slow-steeped pork shoulder confit infused with star anise and cinnamon pho spice, is so tender I prefer it folded with Thai basil and pickled veggies inside a supple lettuce leaf wrap. The fine-thread bun noodles were a tad mushy for me, but are nevertheless the best showcase for Same Same's spring rolls.

I still prefer the bubbly crisp of the rice wrappers used for the spring rolls at Vietnam Restaurant, but Same Same's rolls were flakier than most other wheat dough shells I've tasted; their almost phyllo-like crunch compacting little bites of ground pork mixed with taro. The vegetarian rolls were also good, with glass noodles and black mushrooms that had an earthy umami.

Wash them down with a refreshingly creamy coconut-lime shake. And for dessert, don't miss the silky, caramelized tawny flans set over bittersweet Vietnamese coffee-swirled coconut crème anglaise, then topped with the crunch of crushed ice.

I appreciate that authentic touch with dessert. But I can't say I'm a fan of the tissue-paper napkins that unfurl from table dispensers like toilet paper. Kubanoff, though, who bought all the tableware in Vietnam, insists, "I wanted this to be the street as much as possible."

That explains the laminated Vietnamese money on the bar around the open kitchen, the recreation of graffitied phone numbers from actual handymen advertising their services in Vietname stamped across the distressed walls, and other breezy touches that have given the old KooZeeDoo space and its patio a fun new evocative mood.

That will only become more heady in a few months, when the air is perfumed with pungent bowls of bún bò huê, the spicy beef-and-pork noodle soup. It's the dish Kubanoff says he holds "most dear and was the whole reason for this place."

He's waiting for new equipment and staff to handle that labor-intensive dish, properly served with banana flowers, water spinach, pineapple, and a fermented shrimp paste punch.

With the speedy service, friendly staff, and affordable prices, Same Same already is a smart addition to Northern Liberties' gastropub-heavy mix.

Of course, there will be those who gripe that $9.50 (tax included!) is too much for a bánh mì when a similar sandwich costs a few dollars less on Washington Avenue. But considering the higher rent and clear commitment to quality over quantity here, Same Same more than makes its case. It's different, in the very best ways.

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claban@phillynews.com

www.philly.com/craiglaban