Vietnamese coffee is not a small espresso. It is a slow one, and the waiting is part of what you ordered.

It is made in a phin, a small metal filter that sits on the rim of the glass and holds the ground coffee under a light lid. Hot water goes in and then almost nothing happens. The coffee comes through one drop at a time while you watch it, and it is finished when it decides it is finished. There is no way to speed that up, and in Saigon nobody tries. People order one at four in the afternoon and stay for an hour, which tells you what the drink is actually for.

If you order it with condensed milk, a thick layer is already waiting at the bottom of the glass, and you stir it up yourself once the dripping stops. The coffee underneath is dark and strong enough to carry that sweetness without vanishing into it. The two have stayed together for generations because they need each other. Sweetened condensed milk arrived in Vietnam when fresh milk did not travel well, the coffee was roasted dark, and the country built a national habit out of the pairing.

There are four ways to take it here. Black is the honest one, and the one to order if you want to know what the roast is doing. White, with the condensed milk, is the one most people fall for. Coconut sits closer to a dessert than a coffee and does not apologise for it. Salted cheese coffee, which sounds like a mistake in English, arrives with a lightly salted cream on top, and the salt pulls the sharp edge off the roast in a way that makes the whole glass rounder. Order it once out of curiosity and you will probably order it again out of preference.

Our advice is to order coffee after the food rather than with it. Vietnamese meals move quickly. The dishes arrive as they are ready, the table shares, the eating is done long before the conversation is, and the coffee is what holds everyone in their seats for the last part of the evening. That final twenty minutes is usually the part people remember, and a glass that takes its time is the reason they stay for it.

There is no rush from us either. The kitchen is open every day from midday to ten, and the sea is five minutes down the road. It is not going anywhere.