The first time I ate Vietnamese Summer Rolls with Chicken, I was nine hours into a slow bus ride out of Saigon and we pulled over at a roadside stop just north of Mỹ Tho. Concrete floor, low plastic stools, a ceiling fan that did almost nothing.
I was the only foreigner on the bus. The driver pointed at a counter near the back where a woman was wrapping rolls so fast her hands blurred, and a butcher two stalls over was breaking down a chicken on a wooden block worn shiny in the middle.
The Bus Stop Counter Outside Mỹ Tho
I ordered by pointing. Three rolls came on a chipped pink plate, with a small bowl of brownish dipping sauce flecked with crushed peanuts. They were warm at the edges and cool in the middle, still slightly tacky from being rolled minutes earlier.
You could see everything through the wrapper. A pink curl of chicken. A green band of herbs. The orange shred of carrot pressed against the rice paper like stained glass.
The butcher came over while I was eating. He had a few words of English and a lot of patience. He explained that the chicken was poached, not grilled, because grilled chicken would sweat out water and make the rolls collapse by lunchtime. He showed me the cut he used, breast meat sliced thin across the grain, and pinched the salt between his fingers so I could see how much.
I sat there for forty minutes. Missed the bus. Caught the next one. Worth it.
What I Learned After the Plate Was Empty
Gỏi cuốn means salad rolls, and they come from southern Vietnam, where the heat made cooks invent food that needed no further cooking once it was on your plate. The wrapper, bánh tráng, is rice paper. Not the wheat skin used for the fried spring rolls (chả giò) that people sometimes confuse them with.
The classic version uses pork and shrimp. The chicken one I ate, gỏi cuốn gà, is a legitimate but less canonical cousin. The butcher told me his daughter prefers it because it is lighter. I think he just liked telling stories about his daughter.
There is a folk story that the snack format goes back to the army of Emperor Quang Trung in 1788, who needed cold hand-held food his soldiers could eat while marching. I have no idea if that is true. I love that someone tells it anyway.
Bringing Vietnamese Summer Rolls with Chicken Home to LA
Back in my kitchen the next month, I tried to recreate them and got it wrong twice. The first batch, I left the rice paper in the water too long. The wrappers turned to wet tissue and tore the second I tried to fold them.
Second batch, I overcooked the chicken. Dry. Stringy. The kind of mistake that makes you stand at the counter eating one in defeat and admitting it.
Third batch clicked. The trick is warm water, not hot, and only a five-second dip. The wrapper should still feel slightly stiff when you lay it down. It keeps softening on the towel while you build the roll, which is exactly what you want.
What I Used
- A pound of boneless skinless chicken breast, the freshest I could find at the Vietnamese market on Sawtelle
- Two stalks of lemongrass, bruised with the back of my knife
- Four coin-sized slices of fresh ginger, smashed
- Two scallions for the poaching pot, plus salt
- Four ounces of dried rice vermicelli (bún)
- Twelve 8.5-inch round rice paper wrappers
- One head of green leaf lettuce, thick ribs trimmed
- A cup of mint, a cup of cilantro, half a cup of Thai basil, all picked
- Eight garlic chives, cut into 4-inch lengths
- One English cucumber in thin batons
- One large carrot, julienned
Where Most Home Cooks Mess It Up
The rolling is a puzzle. Not a hard puzzle. Just one with a learning curve, and the wrapper does not forgive hesitation. If you fuss over placement for thirty seconds the rice paper goes from pliable to gluey to torn.
Here is the order that works for me. Lettuce down first, ribbed side against the wrapper. Vermicelli next, about two tablespoons, no more. Then a pinch of each herb. Cucumber and carrot. Then the chicken slices laid above the pile with the prettiest side facing the wrapper, because that face is what you will see through the finished roll.
The garlic chives stick out an inch past the edge on purpose. They look like little green antennae and make the roll look like it knows what it is.
Fold the bottom up over the filling and tuck it tight underneath. Fold the two sides in. Roll firmly. Not so firm you tear it. Firm enough that nothing shifts when you set it down. I keep a damp kitchen towel over the finished rolls so they do not dry out and seize up while I work through the rest.
The Poaching, the Part I Almost Got Wrong
The butcher in Mỹ Tho was right about the chicken. Bring the water with the lemongrass and ginger to a bare tremble. Not a rolling boil. Twelve to fourteen minutes is plenty, then off the heat and let it rest in the liquid for ten more.
I check with a thermometer because I do not trust my eyes. 160 F at the thickest part. Pull it out, cool to barely warm, slice thin across the grain. Across the grain matters. Slice with the grain and you get strings caught between your teeth.
The Sauce and the Honest Notes
I serve them with a hoisin-peanut sauce, which is the real one. Hoisin, a splash of water to loosen, crushed roasted peanuts on top. Not peanut butter blended with coconut milk. That is a Thai satay sauce and a different conversation.
A nước chấm on the side is also traditional and I usually do both because once people start dipping they pick a favorite and I like watching the argument unfold.
Eat them within two hours of rolling. The wrappers will harden if you refrigerate them too long, and a hard rice paper wrapper is a sad object. I have learned this the hard way.
One Last Note
I miss the bus stop outside Mỹ Tho. The fan that did not work. The butcher who would not stop talking. The sweat behind my knees and the cold roll between my fingers.
I cannot replicate the long day on the road that made the first plate taste like a small miracle. But on a hot Saturday in my kitchen, with the window cracked and the herbs already smelling sharp from the cutting board, I get pretty close.
Vietnamese Summer Rolls With Chicken
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Place the chicken breasts in a medium saucepan with the bruised lemongrass, ginger slices, smashed scallions, and 1 teaspoon kosher salt. Cover with cold water by 1 inch. Bring to a bare simmer over medium heat, then immediately reduce to low so the surface barely trembles.
- Poach the chicken gently for 12 to 14 minutes, until an instant-read thermometer reads 160 F at the thickest point. Turn off the heat and let the chicken rest in the liquid for 10 minutes to finish cooking and stay juicy.
- Lift the chicken out and cool on a plate until just warm. Slice each breast across the grain into thin pieces about 1/8 inch thick. Cover and set aside.
- Bring a small pot of water to a boil. Add the rice vermicelli and cook for 3 to 4 minutes until tender but still springy. Drain, rinse under cold running water until completely cool, then drain again well and loosen the strands with your fingers.
- Arrange your station: a wide shallow bowl of warm tap water in the center, the lettuce, herbs, chives, cucumber, carrot, vermicelli, and sliced chicken arranged around it, and a clean damp kitchen towel laid out as your rolling surface.
- Dip one rice paper wrapper into the warm water for about 5 to 8 seconds, just until it begins to feel pliable but is still slightly stiff. Lay it flat on the damp towel — it will continue softening as you work.
- On the lower third of the wrapper, lay half a lettuce leaf with the ribbed side down. Top with a small mound of vermicelli, about 2 tablespoons. Add a small pinch each of mint, cilantro, and Thai basil, then a few batons of cucumber and a small pile of julienned carrot.
- Just above the filling, lay 3 to 4 slices of chicken in a neat row with the prettiest side facing down (this side will show through the wrapper). Place one or two garlic chives so they stick out about an inch past the edge of the roll.
- Fold the bottom edge of the wrapper up and over the filling, tucking it snugly underneath. Fold both sides in over the ends, then roll firmly away from you, keeping the filling compact, until the roll is sealed. Set seam side down on a plate and cover with another damp towel.
- Repeat with the remaining wrappers and filling, keeping the finished rolls covered so they do not dry out. Serve whole or sliced on a sharp bias, at room temperature, with dipping sauces alongside.