If you ask a New Yorker what’s the most New York thing anyone could do, they would probably say: taking a leap of faith and making it happen. That’s exactly how Mắm came to be.
The story of Mắm—the first bún đậu mắm tôm restaurant in New York—started 12 years ago, when Jerald Head, then a line cook, heard a question from his coworkers: “Hey, wanna grab some Vietnamese food?”
Like a lot of Americans who had never set a foot to Asia, Jerald thought to himself: What on earth is Vietnamese food?
But if he had to try a new cuisine, why not go with the most adventurous thing on the menu: A dish that consists of coagulated blood and pork foot.
Gruesome to some, sure. But that dish was bún bò Huế—a bold, spicy signature from central Vietnam—and it blew his mind.
That single bowl sparked an obsession. He started devouring Vietnamese dishes, but the real turning point came when a friend gave him a Vietnamese cookbook. Flipping through its recipes and vivid images, Jerald knew what he had to do: save up $3,000 for a three-month trip to Vietnam.
What started as a solo adventure turned into the trip of a lifetime with many firsts: a 22-hour bus ride from Da Nang to Saigon, sweeping hostel floors to pay for his stay, and meeting Nhung—his wife and the co-founder of Mắm.
No question list, just plastic stools, a flaming hot stove, and the sounds of motorbikes honking in every direction—I sat down with Jerald Head and Nhung Dao Head at a bánh xèo joint tucked in a District 12 alley to hear their story.
So how did you two meet?
Nhung: The hostel Jerald was staying at in Saigon during his first trip to Vietnam happened to be right across the street from my office. He’d have breakfast at this little local eatery over there. One day, I came in late to the office, and as I walked by, there he was—just sitting there eating. I went into the shop and ordered an avocado smoothie to go. Apparently, I was a bit loud.
Jerald: She was really loud. I heard this loud woman’s voice behind me, so of course I turned around to see who it was. I told the lady running the shop that I thought the girl who just ordered was really pretty. She was like, “Go tell her! Go tell her!” So I actually did. I walked up to Nhung and told her. Then I just went right back to my breakfast like nothing happened. But eventually we kept in contact.
What started as a spark over a restaurant eventually blossomed into another restaurant in New York. “It was meant to be,” said Jerald.
There was a comment: ‘It's giving white man goes to Vietnam for a couple months, comes back and can't wait to share what he discovered.’ What are your thoughts on this?
Nhung: Mắm didn't happen because someone took a trip and decided to open a restaurant. It happened because of years of hard work, dedication, and a real connection to Vietnamese culture—both mine and his.
If you care about cultural respect, so do we. But dismissing someone's work just because of their identity without knowing their heart or their story is not fighting appropriation, that's just another kind of prejudice.
Jerald: Honestly, that person spoke without knowing anything about the work I've put in—or the work Nhung has put in. I mean, half of this business is Vietnamese. Nhung is Vietnamese.
My next thought is: if a white man did go to Vietnam for a couple of months, came back, and opened a restaurant like ours—where we’re making our own tofu, our own blood sausage, and bringing mắm tôm directly from Vietnam—then hats off to him. Because that’s not an easy thing to do.
When we first opened Mắm, criticism like that hit hard. Whether someone thought we were too expensive or questioned our authenticity—it stung. Because at the end of the day, we’re in hospitality. We want people to enjoy what we do, to feel something when they eat our food. We share this because we love it so much.
But the reality is, not everyone will see it that way. I just wish more people could look past assumptions and see the humans behind this. The work. The heart. Making food isn’t a perfect science. There are so many variables—especially where we are now. We’ve got a team of eight, and every one of them has a life outside of this kitchen. Maybe someone’s going through something hard and still shows up to work. Maybe we can’t source a specific ingredient that week. Maybe something burns. Things happen.
There’s so much that goes on behind the scenes, so much effort poured in every day, and most people never get to see that. But that’s what it takes to bring this to life.
For many Americans, Vietnamese food begins and ends with phở. And even among Vietnamese, bún đậu mắm tôm is a love-it-or-hate-it kind of dish. Did you feel it was a risky choice to start with?
Jerald: No. I remember I was working at Đi Ăn Đi at the time, and I was talking to the owner. I told him, “I went to Vietnam and had this dish—bún đậu mắm tôm—and I loved it. I want to put it on the menu.” And he goes, “I don’t think New Yorkers are ready for it.”
And I told him, “Dude, I’m American. And I love it.”
The first time I tried bún đậu mắm tôm, it totally blew me away. And that was in Saigon—it wasn’t even the OG from Hanoi. When I finally had it in Hanoi, it was next level. I knew that it’s my favorite Vietnamese dish.
When we first started Mắm, the goal wasn’t to be successful. We were just cooking it at home during the 2020 pandemic. It was a fun project, maybe a couple tables would show up. We really had no idea it would blow up into what it is today.
You guys bring everything from Vietnam to New York with you by plane—from tofu machines to plastic tables and stools. What are you bringing this time?
Jerald: This time I’m really excited. We’re about to open a bánh mì and coffee shop! We’re super excited to bring back the machinery for that. And over the years, we’ve had so many chances to learn how to make bánh mì right.
New Yorkers love sandwiches. And to be frank, I haven’t had good bánh mì in New York. So that’s gonna be our next baby—a space for bánh mì and coffee.
Nhung: It’s always about quality over quantity. Ever since we started Mắm, that’s kind of been the whole mantra. We have a small menu, we do just a few things—but we do them really well. Or at least we try to do them really well.
“The biggest thing we’re trying to do is to recreate the vibe, the energy—like you’re ordering and having this food right in Vietnam, as Vietnam as it can possibly be.”
And just like that, Mắm—and an upcoming concept—was born out of a deep connection to Vietnam and its culture, shaped by chances, coincidences, and a whole lot of love.