After Ours starts, for us, in the hour after ours — the one where our parents finished their shifts, the kitchen came back to life, and the records came out.
we grew up vietnamese-american in kitchens that smelled like fish sauce caramel and cumin, and in cars that played everything from motown to bolero. we opened this place to make one room where all of that could sit down at the same table.
the food is what we cook for each other: sandos on sesame buns, slow-braised bo kho on tortillas, pho that holds up at 2am, fries under furikake. the bar works the way the kitchen does — fish sauce caramel in a glass, palm sugar, citrus, amaro. nothing on the list is trying to be authentic to somewhere else; it’s authentic to the people making it.
and then there are the records. our wall is a little self- portrait — cut up between curtis mayfield, bob marley, sade, and names you’ll have to flip through the crates to find. DJs come through most nights. bring your own request.
we are a business, but really we are a room. stay late. eat something. ask what’s on.
