"Without nuoc mam (fermented fish sauce), it's not real Vietnamese food," said the owner of Cyclo, a New York-based Vietnamese restaurant, explaining why his restaurant does not offer any vegetarian dishes. This warning echoed in my mind as I prepared for a vacation in Vietnam.

Like many of its neighbors in Southeast Asia, Vietnam has a cuisine that features meat and fish not only as main dishes but also as condiments and seasonings. Non-vegetarian admirers of the area's cuisine note its abundance of fresh vegetables, but vegetable and even tofu dishes are almost invariably prepared with meat broth, pork, or fish--and sometimes all three. I had read that Craig Claiborne called Vietnamese cuisine "among the most outstanding on earth," and friends who had visited Vietnam cited the food as among the best reasons to visit the country. But as a vegetarian, my goal was far more modest: would I be able to find anything there to eat?

I'm pleased to report that experiencing a vegetarian Vietnam is possible. Armed with a tourist phrasebook, a healthy appreciation of local markets, and a willingness to be considered highly eccentric by the Viet-namese, I enjoyed such delicacies as a vegetarian version of pho, the fabled Vietnamese noodle and meat soup, at a Pho-Com (noodle-rice) shack on the road to Bat Trang, a village renowned for its pottery in the North; vegetable soup and sweet-and-sour cauliflower at a restaurant overlooking Hanoi's peaceful Hoan Kiem Lake; and stir-fried noodles and vegetables by the swimming pool of the state-owned hotel in Hoi An. Above all, I relied upon the markets--home not only to some of the best fruit I have ever tasted, but also to housewares and tailor shops, live chickens, and for the natives, the local gossip.

Travel for the Adventuresome

One of the attractions of visiting Vietnam is the fact that tourism is still relatively new. Local landscapes are not clogged with tourists and many native traditions are largely unaffected by the outside. As a vegetarian, however, you may occasionally wish that the country had the tourist infrastructure of Thailand or Bali. Vietnam is a poor country that, to its great credit, has managed to feed its people. These people, in turn, may be unused to the spectacle of anyone, even a wealthy tourist, refusing to eat "good" food. The Vietnamese also may be surprised by a Westerner voluntarily eating only humble greens. The Vietnamese practice of Buddhism has historically included vegetarianism, but nowadays only monks are expected to continue eschewing meat. For someone unfamiliar with Vietnamese cookery, the practice of vegetarianism may be additionally cumbersome. Even more importantly, fluent English is not widely spoken outside of tourist enclaves. With the assistance of a native guide, it may be possible to join the millions of Vietnamese enjoying freshly prepared meals on the street. But for those traveling independently, or accompanied by a guide who doesn't understand vegetarianism, some extra guidance may be useful.

The Country and the Food

Vietnam today offers a warm welcome to Americans. The country says it's eager to put the war behind, and indeed much of the population is too young to remember the war years. I was continually struck by the friendliness of the Vietnamese, and the frequent attempts many Vietnamese people made to practice English with me, even if they only knew how to say "Hello."

I, in turn, tried to perfect my Vietnamese. In addition to "chao" (hello), "cam on" (thank you), and "ve sinh" (toilet), the words I said most frequently were "Toi la nguoi an chay." (I am a vegetarian). Perhaps it is more accurate to say this was my most frequently pointed-at phrase: Vietnamese is a tonal language, so attempts to pronounce even simple Vietnamese words can provoke more mirth than understanding. I once reduced a group of schoolchildren to nearly hysterical laughter with my imperfect command of the language. Duly chastened, I learned to point at words in my phrasebook, or when possible, to ask a native speaker to write out my request in Vietnamese beforehand.

The rewards of this system were obvious. It's possible in Vietnam, especially in Ho Chi Minh City or the tourist-friendly areas of Central Vietnam like Hoi An, to get banana pancakes and pizza at Western-style travelers' cafes. To restrict yourself in this way, however, means missing out on some wonderful flavors and experiences.

On a tour of artisan villages, for example, Chung, our tour guide, stopped the car in front of a shack on the highway, got out, and exchanged a few words with the cook. "They won't make anything for you," he said, getting back into the car. A few minutes later he repeated his actions at a different roadside shack, this time giving us the high sign after conversing with the chef. My friend and I joined the diners already squatting on the low stools outside. On the table in front of us were dishes of artfully arranged red chili peppers, salt, and tiny sour orange slices. After studying the cup holding a motley collection of chopsticks and toothpicks, Chung selected a set of chopsticks, carefully wiped them on his shirt, and smiled at the steaming bowls headed toward us. We did the same. Everyone else at the table enjoyed pho bo, a beef and noodle soup garnished with bean sprouts, chili peppers, and a handful of mint, basil, and cilantro leaves. My vegetarian version was made up on the spot, with a vegetarian stock of plain water, soy sauce, garlic, and pungent sea salt. In lieu of beef, the cook had supplemented the broth with steamed greens.

Like the traditional version the others were eating, my pho had layer upon layer of flavor: Vietnamese food is rightly celebrated for its crystalline flavors. In most dishes, individual flavors remain distinct even as they contribute to a cohesive dish. Despite quick cooking time, Vietnamese dishes are full of flavor because of the bright taste of the local ingredients, including lots of seasonal produce.

Another quickly cooked but savory dish I enjoyed was bong cai tron dau dam, or steamed vegetables with sweet and sour sauce. With little time for dining before a performance of Hanoi's famed Water Puppet Theater, I resigned myself to what I assumed would be second-rate tourist fare at Dinh Lang, a restaurant popular with large Japanese and European tourist groups. Indeed, the restaurant seemed dubious about seating a party of two and appeared eager to see us depart when a throng of French tourists descended. But in the interim we enjoyed the peaceful view of Hoan Kiem Lake, the lilting sounds of traditional musicians performing in the restaurant, and best of all, wonderful food. Toi la nguoi an chay, I pointed. Much to my surprise, the waiter returned with a separate menu emblazoned with the words com chay (vegetarian food). From this I selected a flavorful vegetable soup with mushrooms (canh cai nau nam)--a big hit with me because it didn't have the gelatinous consistency of many Chinese and Vietnamese soups--and the sweet and sour vegetables. These "vegetables" included only cauliflower, but the vegetable was cooked perfectly. The sweet and sour sauce was also a bit of a misnomer; it was more of a vinaigrette. The cauliflower was surrounded by an attractive array of deep fried tofu crisps (dau phu, in Vietnamese). These I left untouched, for despite being a vegetarian, I have a real aversion to tofu.

Tofu lovers can rejoice in Vietnam, however. Dau phu is listed on almost every decent-sized menu and the word is pronounced almost the same way it is in Maine. The preparation of tofu, however, offers the same pitfalls as vegetable dishes--assume pork and fish sauce will accompany the dish unless you clearly request otherwise.

Some chefs may be willing to accommodate tourists with dietary preferences or restrictions, but may still be baffled by vegetarianism. In the old imperial capital city of Hue, for example, a chef who happily grilled beef kabobs with onion and tomatoes could not understand my request for a kabob composed entirely of vegetables. First he placed a whole tomato--stem intact--on the grill. When I indicated I wanted smaller pieces, he complied, then sliced the lettuce and cucumber he planned to grill for me into smaller pieces too. I could only conclude he thought I favored warm salad for health reasons, or that as a foreigner, I was simply inscrutable.

The Glorious Markets

Fortunately, restaurants were not my only source of sustenance. Of all the food I enjoyed in Vietnam, I enjoyed the fruit most. Vietnam is a produce-lover's paradise. Ripe local fruits and vegetables are available year round. Fruit sellers squat on the sidewalk with baskets of beautifully arranged fruit to sell their wares to those who are too busy to shop at the markets. I saw and tasted luscious fruit I had never even heard of: custardy star-apples (trai vu sua); refreshing dragon fruit (trai thanh long); ripe green bananas (trai chuoi); creamy sapodillas (trai xapoche), and my personal favorite, sweet mangosteens (trai mang cut). These I would devour by the kilo, to the stunned amusement of the sellers, who would marvel at seeing us back at their stalls so soon after making a large purchase. Observing the public health dictates against eating unpeeled fruit, I also bought inexpensive but excellent fruit knives, correctly surmising that in a country where so much fruit was peeled, the knives would be of good quality. I admired but did not duplicate the craft of the pineapple sellers, who deftly carved their fruit into attractive and easy-to-eat towers. Instead, I paid homage to their craft by doing as I did to most of the fruit I en-countered: I quickly made it disappear.

Much of the fruit had unusual attributes: the star- apple, for example, had juice like mucilage, and excessive indulgence could epoxy your lips together. I never acquired a taste for the notorious durian, which had an armadillo-like outer layer, creamy beige flesh, and a scent like an open sewer. Many hotels ban the fruit because of its telltale stench. But even familiar fruits were extraordinary in Vietnam. Deep green bananas were ripe enough for immediate snacking. Plums came in scarcely recognizable colors and shapes. Some fruit, like pomelos, longans, and fuyu persimmons, were old friends. Then I remembered that a few years ago these fruits seemed exotic.

The NextTrip

In addition to a few fruits like rambutan (trai chom chom) that weren't in season when I visited, I have a few prom-ised vegetarian dishes to look forward to on a return trip to Vietnam: rice ravioli with mushrooms, crispy shallots and fresh herbs (banh uot), grilled eggplant with ginger-lime sauce (ca tim nuong), and tamarind soup (canh chua nam bo). Before arriving in Vietnam, I had read that on the holy days of the lunar month--the 15th and last days--vegetarianism still is widely practiced, even to the point of market stalls adapting their everyday recipes to make them vegetarian. This time around I didn't actually find any vendors doing so. But I can't wait to find out next time.

Resources--Restaurants and Markets

The restaurants listed below can serve vegetarian food or are entirely vegetarian. In addition, "travelers' cafes," located in the centers of large cities, offer inexpensive Vietnamese and Western-style vegetarian options along with tourist information and the opportunity to use the Internet. Markets (called cho in Vietnamese) sell wonderful produce as well as bread, tea, household goods, etc. Bargaining is expected. Supermarkets sell food and household items, including imported goods. Prices are posted, with no bargaining.