By Carlos Ottery

There’s a universal truth about eating: when there’s a drink in your hand, a little something to nibble on suddenly becomes essential. Izakaya skewers in Tokyo, tapas in Barcelona, whatever pub snacks pass for dinner in London. This booze and bites model is a global reflex. Việt Nam has always known this through nhậu: shared plates, laughter across the table, and viciously sore heads that were not bargained for.

Pâté en croute and toasted focaccia and chestnut–vanilla butter (above). Photo courtesy of Hà Thu Phạm

With this in mind I was most grateful to my good pal Thu, who has far better taste than most and recommended we check out a new place in downtown Hà Nội, which pressed all my culinary buttons.

Vin Hơi, a three-floor Vietnamese-French bistro in a converted house in charming Ba Đình Ward, leans directly into that instinct. Here, the casual rhythms of nhậu meet French technique, and the glasses are filled with natural wine, a beverage beloved by those who love things clean, pure and organic.

Natural wine is certainly a curio, made with minimal intervention: low or no sulphites, wild yeasts, unrefined, unfiltered. Fans say it tastes alive and honest; sceptics say it can drift into barnyard eccentricity. They also claim it doesn’t give you a proper hangover, which is hard to believe, but a lesser one is surely plausible.

Vin Hơi's owners Léa (France) and Hải Trần (Việt Nam) met as young chefs in Paris and are now married. Photo courtesy of the restaurant

When it’s good, it’s expressive, a little wild, and full of character; when it’s bad, your nose will file a complaint. Vin Hơi’s list leans to the good: a staff-guided bottle (VNĐ1.2 million) arrived light, slightly funky in a friendly way, refreshing and flexible across the menu.

The owners Léa (France) and Hải Trần (Việt Nam) met as young chefs in Paris and are now married. Before that, Hải cut his teeth at Leclere, a Michelin-starred kitchen where reduction, precision and 80-hour weeks are standard. Working in such a kitchen is no joke.

Vin Hơi is a youthful, self‑assured bistro, blending French flair with authentic, seasonal Vietnamese touches that feel natural rather than imposed. Photo courtesy of the restaurant

“I started in Montpellier, working as an apprentice and climbed my way up to sous-chef. That’s where my main framework as a cook was built. Starting in that environment shaped the way I think about food from the very beginning. Technique, structure, discipline, all of that comes from those years. I learned to focus on the essence of ingredients, to push flavour as far as possible through reduction, dehydration, concentration,” Hải said.

There was a constant feeling that Hải had to prove he was just as good at French cooking as everyone else. "That period forced me to fend for myself," he added. "No one was going to do it for me. It taught me discipline, not just in my cooking, but in the way I think and act. Michelin kitchens gave me rigour and a big technical toolbox, but they also pushed me to my limits.”

Clams with chao sabayon and pickled chilli. Photo courtesy of Hà Thu Phạm

This philosophy ends up on the plate. The menu changes every month, which sounds exhausting because it is.

“It is very demanding, but if you look at it like a game, you're trying to capture all the Pokémon out there - Pokémon being seasonal produce. One month is really not enough to capture the fleeting moment,” said Hải, stretching his metaphors somewhat.

“Our clientele is one of the biggest motivations. Some come few times per month and they are always very happy to discover new menu. And happy people make me happy.”

Plates range VNĐ50,000–250,000, which is startling value considering the high quality.

Dinner included toasted focaccia and chestnut–vanilla butter (VNĐ75,000). The butter tastes like someone melted ice cream and culture together: chestnut earthiness, vanilla used as seasoning rather than sweetness. It’s the kind of bite that makes you sit up.

Crispy baby potatoes. Photo courtesy of Hà Thu Phạm

The Oeuf mayo with homemade black garlic (VNĐ60,000) is deep and rich, the mayo giving the eggs an almost marmite-y touch somehow. The mayo, darkened by weeks-long fermented garlic, tastes like umami caramel, glossy, rich, and somehow still humble. Clams with chao sabayon and pickled chilli (VNĐ130,000) may be the dish that best captures the restaurant’s identity: fermented tofu, white wine, and citrus plus heat, like France and Việt Nam gently flirting with one another.

Crispy baby potatoes (VNĐ90,000) hit the comfort centre. Burnt cabbage with miso butter (VNĐ130,000) is bolder, the controlled bitterness rescued by miso beurre blanc. It won’t be for everyone, and that’s fine. The pâté en croûte (VNĐ180,000), however, is sensational. The sort of thing you plan a return visit around. I mean, when was the last time you ate anything with pigeon?

The steak with aligot (VNĐ250,000) is a hug disguised as a plate. Aligot, an absurdly elastic cheesy French mashed potato, is notoriously hard to reproduce outside France; Hải spent months working with Vietnamese cheese producers to dial it in. It shows. Dessert, a baked Alaska (VNĐ120,000), closes the loop: egg whites from the kitchen’s ice-cream programme become meringue. Practicality becomes nostalgia.

Steak with aligot. Photo courtesy of Hà Thu Phạm

Our bill for two was VNĐ2.5 million, with half of that being the wine. In other words, the food itself is a bargain. The food offers absurd value, considering we ate about 80 per cent of the small and manageable menu.

Not everything is polished. The space, stacked across three narrow floors, feels unfinished in places. Charming, yes, but slightly improvised, like a gig venue the band are slowly renovating between sets. The atmosphere, however, is warm; strangers could plausibly talk to each other here. Regulars clearly do. The kitchen’s right there; dishes and chatter spill between rooms.

And the catch? If you go tomorrow, you may not find what I ate. That’s part of the deal. Menus evolve. Earlier months featured roasted bone marrow with tartare, mussels in curry and coconut milk, sourdough with brown-butter chestnut, pasta pop-ups, crispy anchovies, even a beetroots carpaccio with fermented cashew cream.

Desert – baked Alaska – egg whites from the kitchen’s ice-cream programme become meringue. Photo courtesy of Hà Thu Phạm

Hải is beautifully philosophical about what his restaurant means: “There’s no fine dining pressure and no pretence, just food made with intention, emotions over ego. If people leave feeling comfortable, curious, and a little better than when they arrived, then Vin Hơi is doing exactly what it’s meant to do.”

So what is Vin Hơi really? It’s not fusion, not fine dining, not a wine bar. It’s a young bistro with confidence, where the French influence is clear but not lecturing and the Vietnamese elements are a very real and seasonal part of the experience. It’s a place where Hà Nội seems to be discovering it can do this sort of cooking and drinking on its own terms, not imitating anywhere else.

Vin Hơi is a bargain, a little chaotic, deeply personal, occasionally brilliant and with just a cheeky twist of French romance. Ooh la. VNS

Vin Hơi

Address: 38 Hàng Bún Street, Ba Đình, Hà Nội

Open: Tue–Sun, from 6pm until 11pm

Comment: Michelin discipline meets Hà Nội's nhậu spirit. A standout for natural wine and shared plates. Wine from around VNĐ1 million per bottle; dishes VNĐ60,000-250,000.