By Mia Hoang - @_miahng

It is not really solo travelling without taking yourself to a reservation-for-one. My first visit to Hội An was a decade ago, and while I’d returned occasionally with family and friends over the years, it was not until last month, on the cusp of turning 25, that I came back alone.

It was my way of marking a defining milestone in a rather quiet fashion: away from the overstimulation of the metropolis, toward something more grounding – a patch of agricultural land surrounded by herb gardens, the soft percussion of cicadas and a 14-course tasting menu at MÙA Restaurant.

While the concept of a tasting menu is hardly novel these days, especially in a culinary hub like Hồ Chí Minh City, where new dining concepts seem to sprout every two weeks with the nod of Michelin Guide – I’d never experienced one solo. The closest I’d come was a princess-treatment dinner at Pickles (a solid 8/10) and a five-course lunch at Nage Eatery shared between two friends, strictly for budget reasons (7/10).

Beyond the often-daunting price points, there is something about the terminology – tasting menu, fine dining or anything that frames eating as a cultural act rather than pure necessity – that still carries a faintly chin-up, aspirational air. The kind often reserved for high society and curated Instagram grids.

But MÙA offered something else entirely.

Perhaps it’s because the restaurant was born and raised in the heart of Trà Quế Village, a small islet known more for its basil and betel than its restaurants. The experience felt less performative, more grounded. Less exacting, more intuitive. Like the land guiding the hand that cooks.

With a 200-year history of herb and vegetable farming passed down through 180 families, Trà Quế still preserves its ancestral techniques, cultivating and harvesting everything by hand. There’s a kind of quiet authority to the place, a homegrown confidence that doesn’t need to declare itself.

You feel it in the lush, overgrown entryway; in the terracotta-tiled vaulted ceiling that lends the space a rustic kind of warmth; in the breeze drifting through large sliding glass doors, scented with grass and soil; and, almost imperceptibly, in the weatherworn hands that gently scoop lotus-scented rice into your bowl. It is Hội An’s essence beyond the postcard image.

Founded in 2017 by Chef Tru Lang, a Vietnamese-Chinese chef raised in the US, MÙA (Seasons) embraces the land as both source and muse. The concept is straightforward yet understatedly radical: to serve modern Vietnamese cuisine shaped entirely by what nature offers in the moment. No prepayment. No dress code. No glossy images promising vibes. Just food that speaks for itself.

My visit, in the ripe summer, meant a bright, herbaceous journey through 14 courses (which is surprisingly accessible at VNĐ1,000,000, or US$38, before drinks, tax and service charge). Some no more than two bites, but enough to tickle your curiosity.

The first course did it just right: a splash of kumquat juice cutting clean across the palate, followed by a soft, almost creamy veal tartare. Its richness was gently interrupted by a deep-fried taro cake, which crackled before melting into calm sweetness. A herald of summer.

Then came the grilled Cẩm Nam baby corn with the husk intact, soft enough to fall apart under a fork. It carried the aromatic undertones of Lý Sơn black garlic, củ nén and basil: sweet, earthy and softly fragrant. Slightly puzzling at first, yet completely unfiltered. Like something pulled straight from the garden.

Some courses, on the other hand, were meant to linger like a memory you want to revisit. These were the dishes that carried MÙA’s secret weapon: the sauces. If cooking were a sport, every chef would have their own kind of strengths. For Chef Tru Lang, his technique with sauces might just be his greatest asset.

The fourth course – a spring roll with seasonal greens, oyster mushrooms and seaweed – was dipped in a velvety peanut sauce. Creamy and balanced. Not too thick, not too thin. Just enough to gently hold the crisp vegetables together, rounding the bite into something deeply satisfying. I liked it so much the staff asked if I wanted to keep it for later courses.

But it was the sixth course that felt like a true revelation. MÙA’s contemporary take on bún riêu defied my expectations. Instead of the familiar bowl of steaming broth, this version featured grilled avocado and tomato slightly charred, paired with soft, crumbly Cà Mau crab meat enveloped in a smooth, subtly sweet, velouté-like base with just a hint of acidity.

The usual dollop of crab fat was swapped for brown butter emulsion: less pungent, less briny, more nuanced – it reminded me of soft cheese at a temperature that kept its pliable texture. Overall, a layered harmony of sweetness, fat and comfort.

What I admire most about MÙA, however, is how it balances sophistication with a deep respect for tradition. Sometimes, creativity lies more in reinventing than in replacing the familiar. Courses 8 through 11, for instance, followed the classic Vietnamese family meal format of rice, soup, vegetables and meat – a custom rooted in the belief that every meal should be nutritionally balanced. But tradition here never means repetition or rigidity.

Though the form remains the same, the ingredients change with the season. The clay pot rice might come with snails, mushrooms and lotus seeds in summer 2024, but in 2025, it transforms with Đà Lạt queen corn and fresh shrimp. The Cao Lầu salad shifts with the harvest: mustard greens replace squash; papaya soup gives way to taro.

The roasted duck might be marinated in cocoa or honey, served with an artichoke sauce or paired with a house-made version of chao, a Vietnamese-style fermented bean curd. So it goes with the entire 14 courses.

In following the rhythm of the land and sky, MÙA delivers a statement that is both assertive and unassuming: a Vietnamese culinary experience that evolves without ever becoming uprooted. The 14-course journey is a testament to that spirit.

Whether it’s cured Chàm Island fish paired with Quảng Ngãi musk melon and thính (toasted rice powder) in the third course, or Xí Mà Phủ in the seventh – a glazed river prawn in cauliflower and black sesame sauce – every element reflects a deep reverence for Hội An’s cultural veins.

Even desserts, bánh mì to name – reimagined with peanut praline, seasonal fruits and palm seed – is a subtle nod to the national trove in its sweetest form.

MÙA doesn’t shout to be heard among the Michelin stars. It reminds you that fine dining can be intimate rather than intimidating, and that luxury can be as simple as the understanding – of self, of the land and of the seasons’ endless conversation between giving and receiving. VNS

--------------

MÙA

Address: Trà Quế Vegetable Garden, Cầu An Bàng, Cẩm Hà, Hội An, Đà Nẵng

Tel: 077 941 0203 (Reservation only via link)

Price: VNĐ1,000,000 per tasting menu per person, subject to service charge and VAT.

Tip: Talk to Ms Chuyên, the ‘mama of the kitchen'. She’s an expert in gardening and winemaking, and will tell you everything you need to know about MÙA’s Founder-Chef.