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Cyclo Vietnamese Restaurant Reviews
Gayot
The Guide to the Good Life
Cyclo
Foodies who know and love Vietnamese cuisine invariably go
ga-ga for Cyclo, as do neophytes who don’t know the first
thing about pho, cha gio or nuoc mam. That’s because owner
and menu designer Justina Duong (a 20-something siren) acts
as goodwill ambassador for her country, bringing her guests
little tastes of this or that and urging them to try
something new. With so many beautifully presented and
accessible possibilities, it’s always a delicious
prospect---tiny melt-in-your-mouth pork short ribs glazed
with sweet soy-based sauce, shrimp and papaya salad, or a
yummy meat and vegetable stir-fry (called pho ap cho)
moistened with oyster sauce and served with toasty-tasting
fried rice cakes. Everything at Cyclo is fresh and
appealing. In fact, nothing misses here, including the
service, which is speedy, considering the rush at both lunch
and dinner. This is the East Valley’s most sophisticated
bargain.
Phoenix Magazine 2004
Best Place to Spot Foodies
Cyclo: It’s hard to say what foodies love most about Cyclo –
Justina Duong’s fresh spin on traditional Vietnamese food or
Justina herself. Talk about fresh! Decked out in clingy
down-to-there dresses and sexy stilettos, the girl’s got a
wink and a wisecrack for everyone who darkens her door.
Meanwhile, her list of regulars reads like a culinary Who’s
Who of Phoenix. Tom and Chrysa Kaufman (of Rancho Pinot),
Chris and Paola Gross (of Christopher’s Fermier Brasserie),
Marianne Markogianis and Fred Takiguchi (of Cowboy Ciao),
Carlos Manriquez (of Atlas Bistro), Debbie Taurisano (of
Pesto’s Pizza & Calzone) and Wendy Lamer (of 98 South Wine
Bar & Kitchen) are just a few of the restaurant people
addicted to Justina’s Bun Cha Hanoi and tart personality.
1919 W. Chandler Boulevard, Chandler, 480-963-4490
"...with fresh, exotic and
surprisingly inexpensive fare."
eLiving
- East Valley Dining Reviews
"So it's with great
pride that, over these past few weeks, I've been sending
everyone I see – even strangers on the street – to
Cyclo."
Phoenix
New Times - "Finally, fair Vietnamese fare"
"Everything – from the black pepper shrimp starter to the
coconut tapioca dessert – is fresh, authentic and absolutely
first-rate."
Phoenix
Magazine - "Best Vietnamese Restaurant"
"This country’s dishes are some of the most fragrant and
flavorful in the world, and Chandler’s charming Cyclo is the
place to experience them."
Get
Out AZ - "Best Chandler Restaurant"
"...big draw here is the food: a rotating menu of innovative
and classic Asian cuisine, all of it exceptionally fresh and
well prepared. "
Wrangler
News
"So crisp is the banh xeo
(Vietnamese crêpe) that its crust is virtually glazed; pair
it with a drip coffee, which tastes like liquid caramel."
Epicurious
Cyclo Maniac
Finally, fair Vietnamese fare
By Carey Sweet
Phoenix New Times
Published: February 6, 2003
Too many people I've met wrinkle their noses at the prospect
of joining me for a Vietnamese meal. I can't get them to
seek out delicacies like pho bo vien, a magical masterpiece
of soup that's rich and complex with slender rice noodles,
beef meatballs, bean sprouts and a flurry of feisty herbs.
Why? I don't think folks are frightened by the cuisine of
Vietnam itself – there's enough crossover into friendly
Chinese fare that there's something comfortable on the menu
for everyone.
No, I think many of my friends don't avoid Vietnamese food
so much as they avoid Vietnamese restaurants. The shops here
may offer impressive fare, but they offer little in the way
of ambiance. My cherished Pho Bang in Phoenix is a downright
pit, actually, with suspect stains on the walls and critters
on the window blinds I don't want to inspect too closely. My
beloved Saigon Pho in Chandler is cleaner, but purely
coffee-shop class.
And I've been to my share of truly creepy spots, cribs
clogged with the rank aroma of rotting fish, cigarette smoke
and old spring roll oil. There always seems to be some
skinny, wrinkled guy hunkered in the corner, chain smoking,
drinking beer after beer, and shrieking insults in
Vietnamese to no one in particular. Yes, I've been known to
eat at these places out of desperate craving for my favorite
tai gau, a noodle soup of eye of round and brisket. I've
done it because I'm hooked, and I can't help it.
So it's with great pride that, over these past few weeks,
I've been sending everyone I see – even strangers on the
street – to Cyclo. Because the new Cyclo cafe has the
authentic Vietnamese taste that I crave. It's got the same
rock-bottom prices found at other casual joints of its ilk,
but the place is so clean, graceful and modern that even
those diners whose idea of Asian adventure is a trip to P.F.
Chang's or Thaifoon would feel right at home. (I feel so
much pity for such sad souls, but that's a subject for
another time.)
This is a funky, fashionable cafe, with modern music, an
ornate street lamp smack in the center of its tiny room,
mismatched art-crafted pottery plates, and small metal
displays of the three-wheeled hooded pedicabs for which the
cafe is named. I love the contemporary red and black theme,
accented with a spray-painted mural of a jungle gent perched
atop his water buffalo (done by Cyclo's owner, Justina
Duong).
My sister Elisabeth and I decided that we'd come back to
Cyclo even when we weren't hungry, just for the great decor
and cool specialty drinks. (Of course, the sight of tom rang
hat tien, spicy plump black pepper shrimp with grilled
French bread, would have us salivating like dogs in no time,
appetite or no appetite.) We'd be oh-so-chic sipping
outrageously powerful Vietnamese coffee slowly seeped into
sweet condensed milk, salty iced plum soda, robust jasmine
tea, homemade lemonade, or, coming soon: beer and wine.
Duong takes her mission seriously, and I can taste it in
every bite. Her favorite time of day is the two hours
between 3 and 5 p.m. Tuesday through Sunday, she explains,
because that's when she gets to play with her food. Cyclo
closes each afternoon between lunch and dinner, and Duong
raids the kitchen then, romping with her chef to create new
dishes. She nibbles, tweaks, tastes some more, and the most
remarkable results end up on her constantly evolving menu.
On Mondays, the cafe goes dark, and, rather than rest, Duong
travels the Valley in search of competing restaurants. It's
no odd thing for the petite, strikingly pretty Vietnamese
woman to order a half-dozen dishes at one sitting, to sample
who's got what and how they do it. Duong reports that thus
far she's found no local shop that can best her Cyclo – not
even her other restaurant, Khai Hoan, a rickety little
Vietnamese-Chinese cheap eats shop in Tempe.
And it's with no hesitation that I put down my chopsticks,
dab my sriracha-stained mouth with a napkin, and agree.
Cyclo is fabulous. The food is superb, crafted from
high-quality meats, seafood and vegetables. I find myself
ignoring the sriracha by my second visit, in fact, finding
no need to distract my tongue with the spicy heat of the
bright red, crushed chile sauce. These flavors roar all on
their own, running in a wolf pack of sparkling fresh Asian
herbs.
And the prices – they're so low I feel like a thief, paying
a maximum of just $6 for big plates brimming with delicacies
like pho ap chao (crisp rice noodle cake with lots of beef,
pork, shrimp, scallops and fresh vegetables in a
feather-light brown sauce), or pho hai san (a huge bowl of
savory soup stocked with snow crab, shrimp, scallops, rice
noodles and sprouts). Rub my eyes: A hearty plate of suo n
non is just $4, bringing a healthy mound of tender glazed
pork short ribs with Thai basil.
Duong has set a chair at the end of each table, to sit a
spell as she visits with her guests, something she does with
ceaseless, charming energy. The mien ga I'm adoring is new
to the menu, she explains, thrilled that I'm so taken with
the chicken noodle soup she used to consume by the bucket as
a child. But how could I not be? I take in its aroma with my
eyes closed for two reasons: to keep out the steam puffing
from the enormous bowl, and also to better absorb the
aromatic brew bobbing with grilled breast shards, chopped
green onions, tears of lively cilantro leaves, bean sprouts,
and delicate opaque glass noodles with a splash of fermented
fish sauce and lime.
Duong praises me for choosing the perfect accompaniment, go
i du du salad. It's a combo that real Vietnamese people
insist on, she says. And it is marvelous against the pungent
soup, mounding crisp matchsticks of unripened green papaya
and carrot, crushed roasted peanuts, and a sweet-tart
vinaigrette electric with chiles. Elisabeth and I spar for
the crystal fresh poached tiger shrimp sprinkled throughout,
puzzling over how Cyclo can send out such an opulent,
filling dish for just four bucks.
I wonder if Duong has found a favorite food over her tasting
afternoons, darting as she does between traditional recipes
like bun sai gon, a wonderfully simple bowl of pork and
noodles; and innovative recipes like rau xao chay tofu, a
classy combo of wok-tossed tofu and vegetables over jasmine
rice.
Elisabeth favors the excellent bun sai gon, stirring up
forkfuls of cold, tender rice noodles, thin curls of grilled
pork, crispy chops of spring rolls and chopped lettuce
tossed in nuoc mam (a sweet-and-sour blend of garlic, sugar,
lemon and fish sauce floating with carrot slivers). I'm
fascinated by banh xeo, a giant rice-flour crepe stuffed
with shrimp, pork and bean sprouts, folded like an omelet
and pan-fried to a delicate crispness. The crepe is so
golden-colored it's almost green, a flat lace pillow with
juicy stuffing, and we wrap bits in leaves of lettuce to dip
in more nuoc mam.
There's only one disappointment at glamorous Cyclo, but for
me, it's a big one. There exists a classic Vietnamese soup
that is my constant lust: pho. A hot soup that is a staple
of Vietnamese cuisine, pho is a clear but complex mixture of
onion, beef bone, ginger, carrot, cinnamon and star anise
all lovingly simmered for up to 12 hours. In a sticky ball
in the center of the broth is a tangle of skinny rice
noodles. At the table, we add in crispy bean sprouts, hot
green chile slices, squirts of lime, and tears of fresh
basil, mint and cilantro. A variety of meats is added
(hard-core stores offer exotica like beef tendon and navel;
Cyclo keeps it more upscale with brisket, eye of round and
meatballs).
I often dream of pho tai, the version floating with ruby,
paper-thin slices of raw eye of round – the whispery pieces
cook gently in the scalding broth and melt on the tongue.
Yet my meat at Cyclo has already browned through and through
before it hits my table, rendering it simply slightly chewy,
ordinary beef.
My gloom passes quickly, though, as with spoon in one hand
and chopsticks in the other, I pull the food out of the soup
and eat, alternatively slurping on the broth. Soon, I'm
properly messy, with clumps of noodles dangling from my
mouth, my eyes squinting from the steam and from errant
splashes of stinging spiced liquid.
Elisabeth and I are always much too full to factor in
dessert after a Cyclo feast, but Duong isn't done with us
yet. She's been putting her two hours of freedom a day to
good use, and wants to show off her newest dessert, a
delectable, light French crepe gorged with ice cream.
Another time, it's tapioca, coconut-intense and capped with
ice cream and mint. Then, it's a Japanese confection, fruit
ice creams wrapped in sticky, blubbery balls of mochi, a
sweet glutinous rice dough that we spear with toothpicks.
Duong has given me a marvelous gift. I've got my gorgeous,
absolutely authentic Vietnamese cuisine. And finally, I've
got it in a place pretty enough to share with everyone. Now
that's a beautiful thing.
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