Sonal Singh On Sonal's Table
Coffee is my love language.
Not flowers. Not chocolates. Not expensive gifts. Coffee.
Well that and furry babies but that’s material for another post.
Hand me a well-brewed cup of coffee and I’ll emotionally commit faster than Gappu (my dog) with his chewy treat.
Unfortunately, courtesy a deeply discourteous lactose intolerance, my caffeine addiction survives mostly on hot black coffees and cold brews. Milk and I now maintain the kind of distant, diplomatic relationship seen between India and Pakistan. We acknowledge each other’s existence. We do not engage.
But coffee? Coffee is survival.
Without coffee in the morning, I resemble a sloth clinging to a tree branch during an existential crisis, eyes half shut, soul suffering, brain running on Windows 98. My family has learned not to ask me important questions before caffeine. Once, my husband casually asked where the car keys were before my first sip, and I nearly turned into Manjulika.
But once coffee enters my bloodstream, uff, suddenly, I’m alert, productive, opinionated (the family isn’t a huge fan of this), and a woman with purpose. I basically transform into a caffeinated racehorse on steroids. (Relax. Metaphorical steroids. I know it is illegal).
My adoptive city, Hyderabad, has developed a dangerously seductive coffee culture over the past few years. Places like True Black, Karafa, Roastery Coffee House, Qaffeine, and Manam Chocolate Karkhana Café have transformed coffee from beverage into personality trait. People no longer grab coffee. They discuss tasting notes.
I am a happy migrant to this city.
But I have also been gloriously itinerant. And wherever I travel, coffee becomes my first personality test for the country/city. Forget monuments and museums. Give me the local caffeine scene. If the coffee is good, I immediately forgive traffic, humidity, rude immigration officers, and any tantrums.
LUWAK COFFEE (Cà Phê Chồn)
Almost a decade ago, I discovered Luwak coffee in Indonesia.
Now before you recoil and yell, “EWW, poop coffee!”—please behave. There is an elaborate washing, roasting, sterilising process involved before it reaches your cup.
Besides, wasn’t human civilisation built by people looking at questionable things and saying, “But what if we cooked it?”
Legend says that a farmer noticed civet cats ate the ripest coffee cherries and pooped out the beans. Instead of reacting like a normal person and walking away forever, he washed and roasted them.
And voilà… luxury coffee was born because one man lacked boundaries.
But honestly? Luwak is incredible. Smooth, rich, bitter—the kind of coffee that makes all my taste buds tingle.
After my Luwak experience, I smugly assumed I had reached Peak Coffee Enlightenment.
Then came Vietnam.
Boy o boy, Vietnam did not serve me coffee. It seduced me with coffee.
All my chakras sang a happy little tune.
COFFEE IN VIETNAM
The Vietnamese don’t make beverages; they conduct delicious scientific experiments with caffeine. Coconut coffee, Egg coffee, Salt coffee, Yoghurt coffee, you name it and they’ve invented it. And because of that, to a coffeeholic like me, the country smells heavenly. Everywhere you walk, there’s this intoxicating aroma of roasting beans drifting through the air like a caffeinated love letter.
Vietnam is the world’s second-largest coffee producer, famous for its strong robusta beans and condensed milk-based preparations introduced during French colonial rule when fresh milk was scarce. Trust the Vietnamese to take scarcity and turn it into something addictive.
And my god, addictive is the word.
And here’s all that I sampled (or did not) and loved.
SALT COFFEE (CÀ PHÊ MUỐI)
This originated in Huế, and the first time I heard of it, I reacted exactly as any sensible Indian would.
“Someone accidentally swapped sugar with salt and built a business model around it?”
But one sip in, and I nearly apologised aloud to the entire country.
Traditional Vietnamese coffee slowly drips through a little aluminium phin filter with the patience of an elderly government clerk nearing retirement. Then comes condensed milk and a pinch of salt folded lovingly into creamy foam. Picture a grandmamma folding chocolate chips into cookie dough, and you’ll understand what I mean.
That tiny bit of salt cuts through the sweetness like gossip cuts through a kitty party.
The flavour is absurdly good—deep, creamy, sweet, bitter, salty, all at once. My taste buds didn’t know whether to applaud, attain salivatory heaven, or ask for a second round.
They chose all three.
COCONUT ICED COFFEE (CÀ PHÊ DỪA)
THIS…
Folks, this coffee and I are spiritually married.
Originating in Hanoi and popularised by cafés like Cộng Cà Phê, coconut coffee is less a drink and more a tropical emotional experience.
Imagine intense Vietnamese robusta blended with coconut cream, condensed milk, and crushed ice into a thick, velvety smoothie with toasted, crispy coconut flakes on top.
The first sip made me close my eyes involuntarily. You know food is excellent when you close your eyes, stop talking mid-sentence, and all that emerges is a deep, soulful, “Aah!”
Vietnamese humidity was trying its best to melt my organs daily, but coconut coffee kept reviving me like caffeinated CPR.
I drank so much of it I’m fairly certain my bloodstream briefly became seventy percent coconut.
MILK COFFEE (CÀ PHÊ SỮA)
This is the OG Vietnamese coffee. The dependable classic. Literally, the Shah Rukh Khan of Vietnamese beverages.
It’s a dark roasted coffee poured over sweet condensed milk and ice. Simple, tasty, and perfect for an evening cup.
Born in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon), this coffee is everywhere. You can find locals drinking it on tiny stools on pavements, in little cafés tucked into alleyways, or see office-goers balancing it as they rush to work.
But this is one that I did not enjoy. Nothing wrong with it. Just a personal preference.
EGG COFFEE (CÀ PHÊ TRỨNG)
Ah yes, the Beyoncé of Vietnamese coffee. The globally discussed diva.
I had read about it endlessly before travelling and naturally added it to my bucket list. But if I’m being honest, I was suspicious.
Egg? In coffee?
My brain kept reacting like a conservative auntie hearing about live-in relationships and questioning, “But WHY?”
Still, curiosity won.
And everyone said the best place to try it was Café Giảng.
Now, if you’re imagining a gleaming luxury café with polished marble counters and soft music; cull the thought. Café Giảng has the energy of a secret hideout discovered accidentally during a treasure hunt. Narrow entrance, rickety stairs, packed to the brim with tourists sweating enthusiastically and being served by equally (if not more) sweatier, harried staff. It is the kind of place where you wonder if you’re entering a café or taking part in an underground resistance movement.
But then the coffee arrives.
Hot, rich Vietnamese coffee topped with whipped egg yolk, condensed milk, and sugar beaten into a custard-like foam.
It tasted like tiramisu with an identity crisis. As if the drew couldn’t decide if Michelin deserved its participation.
Personally? I found it slightly too sweet. Pleasant experience, though and fascinating texture. But after all the global hype, my reaction was basically: “Haan…theek hai.”
My coconut coffee remained undefeated.
YOGHURT COFFEE (CÀ PHÊ SỮA CHUA)
Now, this is where my bravery ended. I did not try yoghurt coffee.
Not because I lack adventure. But because my imagination sabotaged me. I kept picturing hot coffee hitting cold yoghurt and curdling promptly into homemade paneer.
My brain refused cooperation.
And honestly, travelling teaches you an important truth: sometimes the only thing standing between you and bliss is your own ridiculous imagination.
But if accounts are to be believed, then yoghurt coffee is a must try!
MY RECOMMENDATION
If you ever travel to Vietnam, please embrace the coffee culture, even if you are fiercely loyal to chai. Actually, especially if you are fiercely loyal to chai. You’ll thank me later.
Vietnamese coffee is not just a beverage; it’s theatre. Chemistry elevated to the level of gastronomic bliss. Climate survival, more vital than oxygen. Emotional support more important than a supportive spouse.
And this recommendation comes from a woman with severe lactose intolerance who willingly consumed condensed milk multiple times a day despite knowing perfectly well that her digestive system would later retaliate like an offended mafia boss.
Worth it. Entirely worth it.
I’ve carried a small suitcase worth of coffees back and am already planning my next trip.
