Chicken Banh Mi Flatbread with Incredible Sauces X 2

Father's Day. And before you ask — yeah, it's weird. It's always weird. This is my second Father's Day without Huy. Last year was the first and I spent it pretending to be fine, which is what Tran men do. This year I didn't pretend. I woke up at 5 AM, made Vietnamese coffee — the strong drip kind with condensed milk, thick as motor oil and twice as effective — and sat on the back porch and let myself miss him. My father was not a warm man. He was a quiet man who worked sixteen-hour days and came home smelling like dish soap and never once told me he was tired. He didn't throw a football with me. He didn't help with homework. He didn't come to Little League games because he was working. For a long time, I was angry about that. For a longer time, I understood it. He was a refugee doing whatever it took to keep us fed. Warmth was a luxury he couldn't afford. But he taught me things. He taught me that you show up, even when you're exhausted. He taught me that complaining doesn't change anything. He taught me that the way you treat a dishwashing job tells the world who you are. And at the very end, in hospice, he taught me that it's never too late to say what matters. The kids came over at noon. Christine dropped them off and said, "Happy Father's Day, Bobby," which was genuine and kind and I said, "Thanks, Chris," and we stood in the driveway for a minute not saying anything else, which is how we communicate now. It works. Tyler gave me a card he'd bought at Walgreens. It was a card with a grill on it that said "World's Best Grillmaster Dad" and it was generic and perfect. Emma gave me a handmade coupon book: "One free dinner request," "One free car wash," "One free hour of no complaining." I'm cashing in the no complaining coupon first. Lily gave me a drawing of me standing next to the smoker. In the drawing, the smoker is bigger than the house. She's not wrong about the proportions. I cooked, because that's what I do on days that matter. Made my dad's favorite — pho. Not my mom's pho. My pho. Ma's recipe, but my hands, my pot, my kitchen. Charred the ginger and onion under the broiler until they were black. Toasted the star anise and cinnamon in a dry pan. Simmered the beef bones for six hours, not twelve, because I don't have twelve hours and because — and Ma would disown me for saying this — six hours is enough if you do it right. The kids slurped their pho at the kitchen table and I watched them and thought about Huy watching me slurp pho at Mai's kitchen table thirty years ago. The table changes. The soup doesn't. The love doesn't. Happy Father's Day, Ba. I'm trying.

Pho is the dish I made that day — six hours, charred ginger, the whole thing — but pho takes time and patience and a pot big enough to mean it, and not every Tuesday is Father’s Day. What I can give you is this: all the Vietnamese flavors that live in my bones — the fish sauce, the bright pickled crunch, the herbs piled on until they fall off the edge — in a form that comes together fast enough for a weeknight and good enough to feel like something. The banh mi flatbread is what I make when I want to feed people the way my dad fed us, which is to say completely and without ceremony. Two sauces, because one was never going to be enough.

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 45 min (plus 30 min pickling) | Servings: 4

Ingredients

For the chicken:
1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs
3 tbsp soy sauce
2 tbsp fish sauce
1 tbsp brown sugar
3 cloves garlic, finely minced
1 tbsp fresh lime juice
1 tsp sesame oil
1/2 tsp black pepper
For the quick-pickled vegetables:
1 cup daikon radish, julienned
1 cup carrots, julienned
1/2 cup rice vinegar
2 tbsp granulated sugar
1 tsp kosher salt
Sriracha mayo sauce:
1/2 cup mayonnaise
2 tbsp sriracha
1 tbsp fresh lime juice
1 tsp garlic powder
Hoisin sesame sauce:
3 tbsp hoisin sauce
1 tbsp soy sauce
1 tsp sesame oil
1 tsp rice vinegar
1/2 tsp grated fresh ginger
For assembly:
4 flatbreads or naan (about 8–9 inches each)
1 cup fresh cilantro leaves
1/2 English cucumber, thinly sliced
2 jalapeños, thinly sliced
4 green onions, thinly sliced
Lime wedges, for serving

Instructions

Pickle the vegetables. Whisk together the rice vinegar, sugar, and salt in a medium bowl until the sugar dissolves. Add the julienned daikon and carrots, toss to coat, and let sit at room temperature for at least 30 minutes. Drain before using. (These can be made up to 3 days ahead and stored in the fridge.)
Marinate the chicken. Combine the soy sauce, fish sauce, brown sugar, garlic, lime juice, sesame oil, and black pepper in a bowl or zip-top bag. Add the chicken thighs and toss to coat. Marinate for at least 15 minutes at room temperature, or up to 4 hours refrigerated.
Make the sriracha mayo. Whisk together the mayonnaise, sriracha, lime juice, and garlic powder in a small bowl until smooth. Taste and adjust heat. Set aside.
Make the hoisin sesame sauce. Stir together the hoisin sauce, soy sauce, sesame oil, rice vinegar, and grated ginger in a separate small bowl until combined. Set aside.
Cook the chicken. Heat a grill pan or skillet over medium-high heat and lightly oil the surface. Remove the chicken from the marinade and cook 5–6 minutes per side, until cooked through and nicely charred at the edges. Let rest 5 minutes, then slice thin against the grain.
Warm the flatbreads. Place flatbreads directly on a grill, in a dry skillet, or under the broiler for 1–2 minutes per side until warm and just lightly crisped at the edges.
Assemble. Spread a layer of sriracha mayo over each flatbread. Top with sliced chicken, drained pickled vegetables, cucumber, jalapeño, and green onions. Drizzle the hoisin sesame sauce over the top. Pile on the cilantro — more than you think is reasonable.
Serve. Serve immediately with lime wedges and both sauces on the side for dipping or extra drizzling.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Banh Mi Flatbread with Incredible Sauces X 2 — The Vietnamese Table That Never Changes