I can only cook a version similar to my mom’s. My mom’s Quang-style noodles always have noodles, a rich shrimp and pork topping, plus chopped chili, crushed peanuts, fresh herbs, and crispy rice crackers.

People don’t call it a broth for mì Quảng; instead, it’s called “nhun” – a concentrated, thick sauce with just a little liquid. It should be a bit thick, and you can’t pour it over the noodles like you would with pho or beef noodle soup.

That said, mì Quảng is easy to adapt depending on what ingredients you have. It’s rustic and doesn’t require fancy techniques, but making it taste just right, like in Quang Nam, isn’t easy.

Eating mì Quảng always reminds me of home.

Quang Nam is usually hot, so mì Quảng doesn’t need to be served piping hot—a little cool is fine, unlike pho or beef noodle soup.

The writer Nguyen Nhat Anh once wrote about mì Quảng: “There isn’t a single street, village, market, or alley in Quang Nam that doesn’t sell mì Quảng. But here’s something worthy of the Guinness Book: There may be Northerners who’ve never cooked pho, or Southerners who’ve never made hủ tiếu, but there isn’t a single person from Quang Nam who hasn’t cooked mì Quảng at home…”