Why Egg Coffee Couldn’t Inspire My ‘Unsent Letters’ Series

It was one of those humid, bright Hanoi mornings where the sunshine felt thick and the streets were already a river of motorbikes and commerce. I was sitting at a tiny, low table, the kind that makes your knees touch your chin, near a bustling sidewalk. My mission: find the spark, the emotional core, for the next installment of my personal writing series, “5 Letters I Never Sent from Hanoi.”

The series is about all the words that got stuck; the admissions, the apologies, the goodbyes I couldn’t deliver. I was looking for a moment of sharp, melancholic clarity.

Instead, I found Cà Phê Trứng, or Egg Coffee.

☕️The Golden Cloud Experience

The coffee shop was tucked away, but once inside, the air was heavy with the rich smell of dark-roasted beans and something sweet. I ordered the local legend.

When the cup arrived, I was mesmerized. It wasn’t coffee; it was a dessert disguised as a morning ritual. Served in a small, stout glass, the bottom half was a layer of intensely strong, dark Vietnamese coffee (the kind brewed through a little phin filter). Resting on top was a thick, golden cloud of whipped egg yolk, sugar, and condensed milk.

It looked like velvet, topped with a dusting of cocoa powder. But to me, it looked like a calming relief, the unexpected joy you find when you stop searching for what you lost and simply accept what you’ve found.

I took the first sip. It was an immediate, overwhelming comfort. The cream was rich, airy, and surprisingly light, like drinking a melted meringue. The warmth of the dark coffee cut through the sweetness perfectly. As I stirred, the cream slowly folded down, turning the whole drink into a decadent, caramel-colored hug.

From my seat, I watched the world rush by: the motorbikes blurring into streaks of color, the street vendor in her conical hat and pink mask pushing a bicycle heavy with fruit. It was chaos and beauty, all filtered through the sweet, warm shield of my egg coffee.

☕️Why This Moment Didn’t Make the Cut

Unsent Letters from Hanoi did not grow out of calm days or perfect moments. It was born in the aftertaste of loss, in the distance between what was felt and what was said. Grief, longing, and that fragile tension between holding on and letting go, these are its ink and breath. My letters were never written to celebrate peace, but to make sense of its absence.

But the egg coffee? It was pure, unadulterated joy. It was a moment of complete sensory satisfaction, a comforting hug from a strange, beautiful culture. It required no complicated thought, no deep analysis, and certainly no sadness.

I realized: I couldn’t write a letter about loss and confusion while drinking something that tasted like a beautiful, simple solution. The egg coffee didn’t give me the melancholy I was seeking; it gave me the exact opposite. A feeling that, at this very moment, everything was absolutely right.

It was a beautiful distraction. It was a lovely, unforgettable letter to myself that morning, confirming that travel’s greatest gifts aren’t always profound revelations, but sometimes, they’re just pure, golden, delicious warmth.

So, yes, no unsent letter was written that day. Instead, I just finished my coffee, wiped the cream from my lip, and promised myself I’d find an egg coffee every time I needed a moment of uncomplicated happiness.

Love,

Ana 💋