Little Saigon: A Unique Haven

Little Saigon in Orange County stands apart from other ethnic enclaves like Chinatown, Koreatown, or Little Tokyo. While these neighborhoods share similarities, Little Saigon is distinct in its own right, representing a vibrant community with its own unique cultural identity.

What makes Little Saigon special is its historical significance for Vietnamese refugees: After the fall of Saigon on April 30, 1975, this area became a new home for many. It serves as a living testament to South Vietnam’s enduring presence, reflecting its cultural legacy both in memory and reality.

For my grandparents and their eight children, moving to San Diego post-Vietnam War, Little Saigon became a cherished link to their past. Visits were more than just reunions with friends and family; they were encounters with symbols of a lost homeland, from traditional Vietnamese attire to the former South Vietnamese flag displayed alongside the American flag. Recently, my reflections on Little Saigon also include the complex legacies of the war, the conservative politics, and the ongoing efforts to preserve the traditions of the old country.

This summer, I revisited Little Saigon with my grandparents, driving the 90-minute journey from San Diego to Westminster after over a decade. For my 91-year-old grandfather, it was a chance to visit his favorite mall and enjoy traditional dishes like perfectly wrapped spring rolls, flavorful turmeric fish, and grilled clams with scallion oil. For me, it was a moment to reconcile my own feelings about Little Saigon, exploring its significance and allure for my family’s past and present.

Officially recognized in February 1988, the Little Saigon Tourist Commercial District was designated by the city of Westminster along a 1.5-mile stretch of Bolsa Avenue. By June of that year, Governor George Deukmejian officially named it Little Saigon, with signage added along the 22 freeway. As the Vietnamese community expanded through the ’80s, this initial business and cultural hub spread into neighboring cities like Garden Grove, Fountain Valley, and Santa Ana. Today, Little Saigon in Orange County is the largest Vietnamese community outside Vietnam, with 300,000 residents, multiple Vietnamese-language newspapers, and hundreds of businesses covering three square miles.

Exiting the freeway at Magnolia Street, it wasn't immediately obvious that we had arrived somewhere special. The usual suburban scene of planned communities and commercial strip malls passed by. However, as we neared Bolsa Avenue, the heart of Little Saigon, the political signs became unmistakable. With Election Day approaching, lawns were covered with campaign ads for every local office from state assembly to county supervisor and school board.

Our first visit was to the Asian Garden Mall, or Phuoc Loc Tho, named after the white marble statues of the deities of longevity, prosperity, and good fortune that greet visitors at the entrance. My grandfather has been a loyal patron since its opening in 1987, despite the 90-minute drive from his home.

Phuoc Loc Tho is the hub of the community, a popular gathering spot for retirees and a venue for one of the largest Tet (Lunar New Year) celebrations in the U.S. The mall's elaborate facade features floor-to-ceiling glass windows and pagoda-like architectural details, but inside, it is a classic 1980s shopping mall. With around 300 Vietnamese businesses across two floors, it offers everything from clothing and cosmetics to music and clocks, all with a polished finish. The food court is anchored by Lee’s Sandwiches, renowned for its banh mi, which, thanks to its English-language menu and modern service model, has grown significantly throughout the Southwest.

“In those early days, especially when I saw businesses run by non-white owners, I hoped the Vietnamese community could one day achieve the same,” he reflected. Clad in neat slacks, a dress shirt, and plastic sandals, my grandfather wandered through the mall with his walker, checking out imported goods he had seen advertised on the Vietnamese-language TV channel he watches at home. After making two laps around Phuoc Loc Tho and checking out the latest in high-tech massage chairs and handheld devices, he was exhausted, so we decided it was time to head to our next destination.

As we drove east, crossing Little Saigon’s key intersections of Brookhurst and Euclid, we passed by some of the area’s historic landmarks, such as Danh’s Pharmacy, one of the first businesses established in Little Saigon, and the Bolsa Mini Mall, once the neighborhood’s shining star before Phuoc Loc Tho took over.

Tan Cang Newport Seafood recently updated its exterior signage, yet the inside remains largely the same as when Wendy Lam and Ly Hua first opened it in 1988. The space, with its square layout packed with large banquet tables and tanks of live seafood, maintains its original charm. We settled in and, as usual, ordered sour fish soup, shaking beef, sautéed morning glory, and the restaurant's famous lobster — an eight-pound Maine lobster cut into generous pieces and stir-fried with green onions, black pepper, jalapeños, and clarified butter, all served over garlicky noodles. Following tradition, my grandfather took the first bite, with the best lobster pieces landing on his plate, along with a sampling of everything else. Conversation paused as we enjoyed the meal, our fingers and mouths coated in butter and garlic.

With our stomachs full from lobster, we drove west on Bolsa Avenue to Thach Che Hien Khanh, the top spot in Little Saigon for Vietnamese sweets, thanks to my grandfather's legendary sweet tooth. Hien Khanh’s small storefront operates with a focus on efficiency rather than comfort, with a team of staff in branded polos quickly taking orders without much greeting.

Sweet enthusiasts can choose from quick snacks like flan and thach (colorful jelly made with agar-agar), while a large glass case displays an array of che, Vietnam’s diverse and often misunderstood desserts made with tapioca and coconut milk. With such a wide range of varieties, che is both refreshing and indulgent, available warm or cold, sometimes chunky enough to require a spoon or smooth enough to sip through a wide straw. Some versions are layered — showcasing contrasts, viscosity, and vibrant food coloring — with ingredients like mashed mung beans, pomegranate seeds, and legumes such as black-eyed peas and kidney beans.

My grandfather enjoys che troi nuoc, chewy rice balls filled with yellow mung bean paste and floating in ginger syrup, while I’m always drawn to banh da lon, the jiggly green treats my mother introduced me to as a child. We took our desserts to go, savoring them with the air conditioning on full blast in the car. Each bite seemed to bridge the generational gap, as my grandfather has always appreciated the comforting qualities of che.

Although I would have loved to spend a few more hours and perhaps have dinner at Thanh My, the cherished restaurant where my family used to enjoy hot pots on rainy evenings and late nights, my grandparents’ tiredness and discomfort made it clear they were ready to call it a day. After a quick stop at Lien Hoa BBQ Deli for some Cantonese-style roasted pork and a generous portion of pha lau (five-spiced offal stew), we decided it was time to head home.

As I was checking my phone for the best route home, my grandfather began to cry. He never could have imagined 43 years ago, when he left Vietnam, that Little Saigon would grow into such a vibrant community — a testament to the resilience and hard work of exiled people. Through his tears, he expressed concern that future generations might inherit the benefits without understanding the struggles that came before. Despite their exhaustion, my grandparents seemed rejuvenated, and I achieved what I set out for — a deeper appreciation for this place.

The drive back was a slow crawl through rush hour. As I inched toward San Diego, my grandfather’s words echoed in my mind. I thought of Andy Nguyen and Scott Nghiem, two local entrepreneurs who started Afters Ice Cream. Their visually stunning doughnut-ice cream sandwich, the Milky Bun, has become an Instagram sensation across Southern California.

I also reflected on Diep Tran, the niece of Pho 79’s founder, who grew up working in the family restaurant. Now, as the chef and owner of Good Girl Dinette in LA’s Highland Park, she is a vocal advocate for restaurant workers' rights, bringing her experiences and passion to her new venture.

Although my grandfather might not fully recognize it, there is a common goal that unites his generation with mine. While his generation focused on recreating familiar flavors from their homeland, mine is striving to forge a new path, representing the evolving Vietnamese-American experience. Perhaps on our next trip, we'll enjoy one of Good Girl Dinette’s renowned chicken curry potpies and finish with a Milky Bun from Afters, offering a glimpse into the future that might delight him.

Asian Garden Mall - Phuoc Loc Tho 9200 Bolsa Ave, Westminster, CA 92683 (714) 842-8018

Pho 79 9941 W Hazard Ave, Garden Grove, CA 92844 (714) 531-2490

Thanh My 9553 Bolsa Ave, Westminster, CA 92683 (714) 531-9540

Lien Hoa BBQ Deli 9311 Bolsa Ave, Westminster, CA 92683 (714) 894-1085

Tan Cang Newport Seafood 4411 W 1st St, Santa Ana, CA 92703 (714) 531-5146

Thach Che Hien Khanh 9639 Bolsa Ave A, Westminster, CA 92683 (714) 839-8143

Cathy Chaplin (@gastronomyblog) is the author of the Food Lovers’ Guide to Los Angeles. Her work has been featured in Saveur, the Los Angeles Times, and Bon Appétit. Verified by Dawn Orsak and copy edited by Rachel P. Kreiter