Annam revisited

I hadn't been back to Annam since the upscale Vietnamese spot and its gifted self-taught chef, Kaytee Nguyen, received a Michelin nod last year.

I actually gave a yip of joy when I saw that Annam had received a Bib Gourmand, signifying great food at good value—always a favorite category for me.

I suspected the Michelin inspectors would grasp the cool, quirky elegance of the room, with its pale tones and airy geometrics. They'd have to note the savoire faire of the gorgeous ceramics selected by partner Chris Kinjo—whose fine eye informs the whole operation. But I hadn't been sure the inspectors—don't get me started—would grasp the genius of Nguyen's cooking..

It's bold where it matters, quietly complex where you might not be expecting it to be, and—in one jaded critic's opinion—delicious always. "Delicious" being a word I confine myself to using maybe once or twice a year.

I've always loved Annam's bent toward small plates rather than whomping entrees, as I'm a grazer at heart. A champion browser, but a browser.

The menu here, originally planned to emphasize shareable smaller portions by co-owners Chris Kinjo (MF Sushi) and his front-of-the-house stalwart Dung "Lang" Nguyen, still retains that character. I always start with the shrimp-stuffed squash blossom, an airy wonderment that remains one of Houston's best bites. A whisper of ocean; a feathery, earthy husk of fried rice-flour batter; the tart/sweet lilt of Kaytee Nguyen's chile-flecked, gleaming nuoc cham sauce; the brisk shiver of micro cilantro.

This is the kind of dish I want to eat on my birthday.

"I could eat five of these and nothing else," declared the friend I brought for her first Annam visit a few Friday nights back. "That's my dream," I laughed. I've done the math, and a handful of blossoms would be $45 before tax and tip and the necessary glass of white wine.

But hey—that's about what you pay for a plate of oysters these days. Sometimes a woman has to treat herself.

Next up: a shareable plate of turmeric-tinted sea bass on a leafy green bed of herbs (cilantro, a cool feathery twinge of dill), with airy little shrimp chips and downy vermicelli noodles for textural contrast. Also on tap: Nguyen's shrimp sauce, a subtle marine brew that treads with graceful assurance (and a lift of fresh red chile) rather than clomping. Just right for the dewy, mild fish.

We went on to share two intensely savory, medium-rare little lamb chops, glazed with lemongrass rub and propped athwart a watercress salad. The lamb's big umami tang, buoyed by a glass of big, herbaceous French Rhone from an international list, convinced me that no one in Houston was eating better than we were right then.

One chop each, and we could still handle a garlicky tumble of wok-tossed water spinach, a stemmy and springy green vegetable that you don't see that often on Houston menus. That's a pity. To me, they beat the more common pea shoots.

We could have stopped there and probably should have. But there was just room for twin packets of Annam's betel-leaf-wrapped Wagyu—more umami intensity backed up by expansive green flavors, jumping with crushed peanut and scallion oil. Pow! Just right for that last sip of earthy red.

When Annam's Michelin honor was announced, I was just a few months out from a visit when the birthday-boy honoree had ordered every fish head on the menu. There were a clutch of them, too, back then, although some have since vanished.

Don't quail: fish heads, once you get to know them, hold the most delicious (there, I said it again) meat to those willing to prize it from the bony skull. The fish cheeks, for instance. Once you get a taste for fish cheek, with its tenderness and full burst of oceanic flavor, you will never go back. And the cheek is just the beginning.

That evening, my friends and I competed for the best morsels of grilled mackerel cheek and fished madly through a giant, fragrant vat of fish-head soup. During the course of events, Nguyen brought her mam nem sauce to the table, at which point my head kind of expanded. Mam nem is made from fermented anchovies, and it is both thicker and murkier than fish sauce. More riveting, too: as my palate grew accustomed to its grip, I wanted more and more.

Back home, I obsessed about it. I think about it still. I didn't get any during my most recent Annam foray, but I'm hoping I can wheedle some out of Kaytee Nguyen for one of the whole or grilled fish dishes still on the menu.

A small dream, but my own.

A tip, if you go: Annam has one of the nicest bars in the city at which to dine. It's cool, collected, great-looking, with a fine view of the restaurant comings and goings. (Autry Park, the ritzy development where Annam makes its home, offers some prime people watching, especially on weekends, when folks are putting on the dog.) Go for a bite or two, and see if you're hooked.

And a last word. I see commenters, some of them Vietnamese, complaining online that Annam is too expensive. To me, anyway, Annam is one of those restaurants where you really do get what you pay for, a long with a certain lift of spirit that money can't buy.

Annam, Autry Park, 811 Buffalo Park Dr., Suite 120. 346-571-7167,

(Left to right from top: Annam's stuffed squash blossom; garlic water spinach; lemongrass lamb chops with watercress salad; turmeric sea bass with herbs, shrimp chips and (at right) the house shrimp sauce. Photos by Alison Cook)