Hanoi Cooking Class & Market Tour with Garden Villa Lunch

4.99

(311 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

Someone handed me a woven basket before I even knew what was happening — turns out, that’s how you start the Rose Kitchen Hanoi cooking class. We followed our guide (she introduced herself as Linh, but said to call her “Li” because it’s easier) through the Old Quarter’s morning buzz. The air smelled like herbs and something smoky, and Li kept pointing out things I’d never have noticed: tiny piles of lime leaves, a vendor slicing banana flowers so fast her hands blurred. I tried to say “rau ram” (Vietnamese coriander) and Li laughed — probably butchered it, but she just grinned and showed me how to pick the freshest ones.

The drive to the villa was short but felt like leaving the city behind. Suddenly we were surrounded by green — two big garden villas tucked behind a wall of bamboo, all dappled sunlight and birdsong. Inside, everything was ready: aprons lined up, bowls shining, someone poured us herbal tea that tasted faintly sweet. It was quieter than I expected; you could actually hear people talking instead of traffic horns. We started with banana flower salad (I’d never tried it before — crunchy and tangy), then learned how to wrap spring rolls without tearing the rice paper. There was this moment when Li explained why certain herbs go together — something about balance and heat — and honestly, it made me think about food at home differently.

I picked Bun Cha for my main dish because Li said it’s what her grandma makes on Sundays. The kitchen smelled like grilled pork and charcoal by then; my hands got sticky shaping patties but no one seemed to mind. People swapped stories about where they were from while we cooked — someone from Melbourne, another from Seoul. Afterward we all sat outside under these big leafy trees and ate what we’d made together. They served us homemade fruit wine too (tasted better than I expected). The whole thing felt relaxed, not rushed or showy.

We finished with egg coffee — Li whisked the yolk so fast it looked like magic foam. I still think about that first sip: warm, creamy, almost dessert-like but somehow strong enough to wake you up after all that food. By then the afternoon light had shifted; people lingered over coffee or wandered through the garden taking photos of papaya trees. It wasn’t just about learning recipes or ticking off “cooking class hanoi” from some list — more like being let in on something real for a few hours.