Banh mi, smanh mi. I know, I know, we are already so jaded about banh mi. Like the New Yorker cartoon circa 1970 of the boy in the schoolyard investigating his bag lunch, “Oh no, not pate again.”
Baoguette, in NYC, makes a superlative banh mi, worth a long walk out of the way. I have eaten many banh mi, living about the length of a baguette away from “Little Saigon” in Arlington, Virginia, and Baoguette demolished all previous impressions.
Although I had read that the catfish was especially delicious, I asked for the top-of-the-menu choice, pork terrine and pâté. Not adventurous necessarily, but a way to check the bar. The bar at Baoguette is higher than the withers on a Central Asian Ovtcharka.