nikholas 
Going in, I didn’t know what Chay (say “chai”) meant in Vietnamese. Going out — hard as it was to leave my first time without ordering one of everything — I knew it translated to “vegetarian.”
I also knew I couldn’t wait to return to the restaurant owned by wife and husband Lan Tran and Thi Le. She’s the self-taught chef, he helps out in the dining room when he gets off his shift at the printing plant for The Washington Post in Springfield, and together they’ve created a delightful celebration of Vietnamese flavors, hold the meat. (Le and I both work for Jeff Bezos, but I wasn’t aware of our connection until his sister, Thanny Young, who helps him with online communications, informed me after several visits.)
They say you can judge people by their associates. You should know the “clam” dip keeps good company. Other stars among the starters are steamed tapioca dumplings filled with earthy mushrooms, tofu, carrots and onions — translucent and haunting — and swaddled in banana leaves. Meanwhile, the “Royal” papaya salad lives up to the menu’s fanfare. Shaved green papaya coaxed into a little mountain with julienne carrot, green beans, fresh mint and peanuts, and splashed with lime juice, vegetarian fish sauce and Thai chiles, is about as princely as that southeast Asian staple gets. I all but bow when it’s set on the table.
Tran, 53, grew up in a farm family in central Vietnam, home to Hue, the country’s ancient imperial capital and therefore a source of dishes that played up sophistication. When she was 15, her mother died. As the eldest daughter of six children, it fell to her to raise them. In the 10th grade, she left school to cook in a local pho restaurant, eventually leaving to open a place of her own. According to Young, Tran grew uncomfortable with the suffering attached to cows and pigs and became a vegetarian before moving to the United States in 2015. After meeting and marrying Le 2½ years ago, she revived the idea of opening a restaurant, this time sans meat. A trip back to her mother country delayed the plan when Tran got stuck there during the pandemic. In a stroke of luck for all involved, she found temporary shelter in a Buddhist temple, where she helped with the cooking.
I haven’t always been a fan of chefs who try to replicate the flavor of steak or chicken with vegetables. Why not just coax the best performance possible from the ingredients instead (in the vein of chef Rob Rubba at Washington standard-bearer Oyster Oyster)?
Tran has me rethinking my stance. Shaky “beef,” for instance, is a dynamite stir-fry of what eats like marinated meat but is in fact nuggets of soy protein flavored with pineapple soy sauce and sesame oil. The dedicated carnivore I brought with me one visit insisted the leftovers go home with him. Just as convincing are tender bites of “chicken” with a light wash of sauce tweaked with lemongrass and Thai chile peppers. Another clay pot, another pleasure. The only reason I know I’m not eating slices of braised fish, sharpened with ginger, is because the fish comes in quotes on the menu.
Given that Tran ran a pho restaurant in Vietnam, noodle soup is nonnegotiable at Chay. Make my bowl “spicy Hue,” a gathering of soft carrots, supple tofu and slippery mushrooms in an annatto-reddened broth tingling with lemongrass. A plate of pho-friendly garnishes — lime, jalapeño and Thai basil — lets diners customize their soup and add to the excitement.
The chef’s daughter, Thao Phan, serves as general manager, but the owner is everywhere when he’s in residence. One moment, he’s suggesting you try the “Heavenly” rice. Another, Le volunteers that the hot sauce in the glass jar on the table is his, made with chiles from his home garden in Burke. (Go easy. The liquid fire is built with ghost pepper and Carolina Reaper, two of the hottest peppers on the planet. To taste even a droplet is to get an idea of eating lava. Dare ya!) One lunch I looked up to find Le escorting his wife to a table of diners, eager to meet the talent behind such eye-catching platters as the one centered with thin purple noodles, made from brown rice, and surrounded by squares of fried tofu, two-toned faux ham and a vivid lettuce and herbs for bundling. The combination is listed under “Chef’s Specialty,” and rightly so. The element that keeps my chopsticks moving fastest is a nubby mushroom patty, formed from the expected fungi along with grated sweet potato, mung bean vermicelli and tofu.
Like the regal papaya salad, the “Heavenly” fried rice surpasses expectations. The grease-free mound is so light it practically levitates, and the fluffy white grains are scattered with pungent cilantro and what look like wood shavings (dry tofu floss) for delightful contrast. Tran is a good fryer in general; her lovely spring rolls crackle like old parchment.
Flagging diners with green neon signage outside, the restaurant looks as inviting as it tastes. With just 50 seats, the lemongrass-colored interior packs in considerable style. There’s a small burbling fountain near the ever-opening door and walls alternately decorated with wicker baskets inscribed with cheerful words — “peace,” “love,” “happiness” — and outsize lotus flowers painted by a Vietnamese friend of the owners. Three painted ladies representing south, central and north Vietnam grace a niche column.
The small disappointments are more about policy than anything from the kitchen. I’d enjoy a beer with this exciting food, but no go. “We want to keep Chay wholesome,” says Le. Anyone coming from a distance might appreciate reservations; seating is first come, first served, however. Early on, says the owner, a few bad apples booked but never showed.
The word is out. The restaurant is a nonstop whirl of activity. But arrivals tend to be seated in short order, and the food comes out speedily. Chay is fast, friendly, fair — and oh so fine.
6351 Columbia Pike, Falls Church. 571-378-1771. chayrestaurant.com. Open for indoor dining and takeout 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily. Prices: appetizers $6 to $17, main courses $15 to $48 (for shareable hot pot). Sound check: 74 decibels/Must speak with raised voice. Accessibility: No barriers to entry, but the dining room is snug; ADA-compliant restrooms.
