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No. 14, Autumn 2026Print issue 85,000 VND

The Margin

A quarterly about eating and travelling

Two diners at a white-clothed table on a flat stone quay at dusk, with a plate of sliced raw tuna, bowls of cherry tomatoes and glasses of white wine; strung bulbs, moored wooden boats and a lit ochre stone building behind
Go

In Marzamemi, dinner ends when the sun finally gives in

By Lam Gia ThuyMarzamemi, Sicily6 min read

The quay outside Da Rosalia at 8:05 p.m. in September, a few minutes after the boat lamps came on. The tables sit about two metres from the water.

Da Rosalia has eight tables: four inside and four out on the quay, close enough to the water that salt dries on the rims of the glasses. There is no printed menu. At seven o’clock Rosalia Ferrante, sixty-one, walks the room once and reads out whatever the boats brought in that afternoon: bluefin tuna, cuttlefish, a few small groupers and, on a lucky day, red prawns with their antennae still on.

Ask the price and she gives you one number for the whole table. The night I sat there it was forty-two euros a head, which covered a jug of Grillo poured from a ceramic pitcher and a plate of Pachino tomatoes in olive oil that she calls the thing that opens your mouth.

Read the cover story
Kitchen

The bakery in the 11th opens at 6:40

Étienne Lereau bakes about 640 baguettes every morning and refuses to sell sliced bread. We stood behind his oven for a week.

By Do Minh KhueParis2 min read

What time do you have to get up for this dish to exist?

Most of this issue starts in the dark.

  1. 1:40Nguyen Thi Tu gets up for the stockpot
  2. 4:10Truong Van Ky, between first and second batch
  3. 4:20The fifty-litre pot goes onto the gas ring
  4. 5:30Wholesale buyers at Cai Rang bridge
  5. 6:40Maison Lereau opens to a nurse off the night shift

In this issue

Freshly flooded rice terraces curving down a mountainside under low grey cloud, the water reflecting a silver sky, a small figure walking along one of the banks

In late May, water is led down from the mountain streams into every terrace. For about ten days the whole valley becomes a staircase of mirrors.

By Lam Gia ThuyMu Cang Chai2 min read

In a small workshop behind Hoi An market, cao lau noodles are still kneaded by hand, steamed twice and delivered before the tourists wake up.

By Trinh Bao AnHoi An2 min read

A glass of egg coffee with pale yellow foam and a spoon, standing in a bowl of hot water on a worn balcony ledge, with tiled roofs, tangled power lines and a busy street below in hard afternoon sun

“A mixer is faster than me. But a mixer can’t see the egg.”

Dang Thu Ngan, who runs an egg-coffee café on Hang Bac street
Read the storyEgg coffee on an Old Quarter balcony

A hot egg coffee on the third-floor balcony at 3 p.m., when the sun is still on the roofs opposite.

Letters

Letters to the editor, trimmed for length. This issue prints three about issue 13.

After your piece on Thanh Tri rice rolls in issue 13, I flew to Hanoi just to eat one plate. The shop is still there, and the owner still steams the sheets over a cloth-covered pot. One thing the article missed: the dipping sauce gets a few drops of giant water bug essence, but only if you ask.

Pham Quoc Huy, Da Lat

Issue 13 said bun bo Hue should come with crab cake. In my family, three generations, nobody has ever put crab cake in bun bo. I’m not saying you were wrong, only that Hue has more kitchens than one article can cover.

Nguyen Hong Van, Hue

EditorWe agree, and we apologise for the word should. Next issue has a piece on bun bo without crab cake.

I’ve lived in the Netherlands for ten years and get the print issue by post, usually three weeks late. The first thing I do when I open the envelope is turn to the last page, where you print a short recipe. Last month I made sour soup with dried tamarind from the Asian supermarket, and my daughter had two bowls.

Le Anh Thu, Rotterdam

Two copies of the printed issue 14 on a linen placemat, the cover showing the Marzamemi quay at dusk, next to a cup of black coffee
The print issue: 132 pages, uncoated paper, 23 × 30 cm.

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