The small stall has no signboard, just a few worn-out tables and chairs. 

Regulars simply call it 'Bun Rieu Ba Tai' (Mrs. Tai’s Bun Rieu).

$1.16 for a filling bowl

The stall operates from around 6:00 am until 10:30 or 11:00 am, serving mainly local workers and neighborhood residents.

It only serves direct purchase, with no delivery apps registered.

Each day, the venue sells around 70-100 bowls of bun rieu.

When Tuoi Tre (Youth) correspondents visited the stall at around 10:00 am, only a few customers were eating at the tables, while many others were coming for takeout.

The person serving was not Tai herself, but her grandson Huy.

“My grandma gets up at 4:00 am to cook so she can start selling by 6:00 am,” Huy shared.

“Now that she’s tired, she rests inside. 

"After dropping my kid off at school, I come here to help her. 

"Once we finish cleaning up, I head to work at my company.”

Tai cooks her bun rieu in the southern Vietnamese style, with the broth simmered with dried squid, dried shrimp, and pork bones, creating a light and not-too-fatty flavor.

A bowl of bun rieu at Tai’s stall costs VND30,000 ($1.16), served with a variety of toppings.

Customers can ask for extra toppings for an additional charge.

The noodles are served generously, sometimes double what other stalls offer.

“We want to make sure people are full before heading to work. If someone wants less noodles, just let us know,” Huy explains.

A septuagenarian preserving her 'bun rieu' tradition

Huy’s grandmother, originally from the Mekong Delta province of Vinh Long, moved to Saigon decades ago.

The bun rieu stall began 48 years ago as her way to support herself and raise her four children, including Huy’s mother, her eldest daughter.

It started with wood-fired cooking, and it is still the same today.

Recently, the family suggested switching to charcoal or gas, but Tai refused, saying customers think the bun rieu tastes better when cooked over wood.

Normally, Tai collects firewood from scrap dealers and even receives unused wood from others.

Tai lives in a house that is just a few doors away from the stall. 

It is easy to recognize her place, thanks to the kitchen door and wall blackened by decades of soot.

“Sometimes neighbors complain about the smoke, but she just adjusts the fire and it’s finally alright,” Huy says.

“My grandma is over 70 now. 

"We told her she could retire and we’d help cover her daily meals but she doesn’t want to.

“She says working helps with her joints, and it keeps her happy and healthy.”

Bun Rieu Ba Tai has people who like it and those who do not, depending on their taste, but the smell of wood smoke mixed with the soup while eating is a special, nostalgic feeling.

It is something that makes the stall different and adds to the variety of Saigon’s street food.