At lunchtime at the HCM City’s Vocational Education Centre for People with Disabilities and Orphans in Ba Diem Commune, the kitchen was unusually busy. Several young men stood over steaming pots, preparing bowls of noodles and carrying them out to tables where disabled trainees waited.
Most of those in charge of kitchen duties are young men (Photo: Moc Khai).
One trainee, struggling to speak clearly but beaming with excitement, held up a bowl and said: “The noodles is so good. I’m full. Thank you, thank you.”
The meal was provided by a volunteer group calling itself “Zero-dong noodle shop - the Hoc Mon boys”. Phan Quoc Bao, a representative of the group, said that because the centre has just over 60 trainees, the team cooked only what was needed. On other occasions, when serving the wider community, they can distribute more than 400 bowls in a single session.
Unlike many charity kitchens with a fixed location, this group has no permanent premises. They cook only one session a week, usually on Thursday evenings, and the venue changes constantly: a village communal house one week, a shrine the next, or a borrowed courtyard outside someone’s home or a local business.
Spacious locations such as Tan Thoi Nhat communal house, Tan Thoi Tam communal house and Ba Thien shrine provide enough room for both cooking and serving large crowds.
But the constant moving comes with challenges. Pots, gas stoves, tables and chairs must be loaded onto a truck, transported from storage to the cooking site and then hauled back again afterwards. “The hardest part is still the transport,” Bao said.
He said the idea began simply. In mid-2024, he and a few friends saw a model of a “zero-dong knock-knock noodle stall” in what was then District 12 and asked themselves: if others can do it, why not us?
At first, the group consisted of just three friends who played sports together, pooling their own money and buying ingredients themselves. All of them had kitchen experience, Bao said, so cooking was never the difficult part.
Their first meals were basic, mostly instant noodles with meat, eggs and vegetables. Later, as support grew, the bowls became more generous, with additions such as pork rolls, pork hock and chicken legs.
The group has kept one rule throughout: no cash donations. Anyone wanting to help is asked to contribute ingredients through a fixed supplier. “We don’t take money, only food to cook,” Bao said.
In the early days, few people knew about the project and some nights more than a hundred portions went uneaten. On other nights, they were still serving at 8.30 pm with food left over. But as word spread, crowds began to grow.
They adjusted their serving time earlier, around 6.30 pm to 7 pm, when many workers finish their shifts and lottery ticket sellers have been on their feet all day.
“Some nights we plan extra and still run short,” Bao said. “At the last minute, when food runs out, we have to ask people to come back the next day, or rush out to buy more instant noodles. We still try to serve the broth and vegetables.”
The “zero-dong noodle shop” now has more than a dozen regular volunteers.
For them, the only profit is seeing empty bowls, quiet smiles and nods of thanks in a crowded evening.
“One meal won’t keep someone full for life,” Bao said, “but at least in that moment, they feel happier and less exhausted.”