If you listen carefully, New York City begins to hum differently in the weeks leading up to the Lunar New Year. Storefronts are papered with red envelopes, subway riders carry bags laden with fruit, and the multiple Chinatowns across the city’s boroughs have a renewed, bustling energy.
Photographer Anh Nguyen recently trailed six Vietnamese American creatives as they made arrangements for Tết, the Vietnamese Lunar New Year and the most important holiday in Vietnam. Between busy days, deadlines, shoots, and sets—not to mention Fashion Week this year—they build altars, steam sticky rice, phone family across time zones, and rehearse traditions learned at their parents’ elbows. About 23,000 New Yorkers are of Vietnamese descent, making it a relatively small community compared with those in San Jose, Orange County, or Houston. Plus, “the New York put-your-head-down-and-hustle mentality can be isolating,” as artist and actor Lynn Kim Đỗ puts it. “We re missing the community here, so we gotta make it our own.”
For these stylists, chefs, DJs, actors, and designers, Lunar New Year is not a pause from creative life but an extension of it: vibrant arrangements of fresh yellow blooms across a cozy apartment; an elaborate spread of food, and even some records, to celebrate with your ancestors; cherished memories of falling asleep in the kitchen next to your parents making bánh chưng. Preparation is less about spectacle than intention: a recalibration of space, spirit, and self. And with it the deep understanding that readying for the new year means honoring the old one—and making space, deliberately, for what comes next.
Thư Phạm Buser, culinary artist and stylist
I grew up in the back of my mom’s restaurant in Saigon in the ’90s, and she always took the time to carve cute shapes into fruits and veggies before serving. One year, I picked it up to do centerpieces for my Vietnamese banquet event called Ăn Cỗ, where I serve regional cuisine paired with stories about my homeland. When I host gatherings, I highlight some form of traditional Vietnamese art recontextualized into today’s world; this year, more than any other, it is important for immigrants to feel bold when sharing parts of their culture. I thought it would be fun to teach everyone how to carve. It, of course, happens after some drinks but before the gambling on the dice games, because that’s when we get rowdy.
I’m decorating my Bed-Stuy brownstone with fresh flowers for Tết, a ritual I’ve carried from childhood in Saigon. Growing up, fresh flowers were expensive, reserved for special moments; Tết was the most important. The holiday marks the arrival of spring in the Vietnamese calendar, and our house fills with yellow apricot blossoms, chrysanthemums, and marigolds. On New Year’s Eve, my dad and I would buy flowers together, and my brother and I would help my mom arrange them throughout the house.
Here in New York, winter still holds and we don’t have the same blooms, so I gather whatever yellow flowers I can find. The ritual remains: a simple pleasure, a reminder that spring is coming. The flowers bring life to the art objects and memories my partner, Michael, and I have collected for our home gallery, Speaklow, from places near and far. When everything is in place, the space feels ready to welcome friends. Last year was slow, recalibrating. This Year of the Fire Horse feels different—vibrant, ready for change.
Quentin Nguyen-duy and Lynn Kim Đỗ, founders of Viet Salon NYC
Today we’re buying decorations; flowers; bánh tét, a sticky rice cake filled with meat or sweet banana traditionally eaten on New Year’s; cha, a Vietnamese sausage, for canh kho qua (bitter melon soup); red envelopes for giving money to younger relatives; and banh bo nuong, or pandan loaf, for traditional desserts. The more generations of Vietnamese pass in America, the easier it becomes to lose these traditions. Every Tết I look forward to the moment everyone arrives at the dinner to celebrate—and the first cheers of the night: “Mot hai ba yo!” —Quentin Nguyen-duy
Lunar New Year is our biggest holiday, bigger than Christmas. It feels like the birthdays for all our ancestors. We literally put a spread out for them—they’re gonna eat, and we’re gonna eat. There’s this special moment when all the food is on the table for the altar and we all gather to light incense. It’s a feeling of unity to honor our ancestors. The smell of the smoke is powerful, and I’ll look over to my very American brother, and his head is bowed. It’s just really beautiful. —Lynn Kim Đỗ
Tina Le, graphic designer and DJ
When I was a kid, I watched my bà ngoại (maternal grandmother) tend to our family ancestral altar for Tết. Now when I make offerings to my altar, music is a huge part of this process; it feels like I’m partying with my ancestors. Lately, I’ve been listening to contemporary electronic songs by Vietnamese artists from around the world that feature field recordings from Vietnam, including tracks by JakoJako, Kim Dürbeck, and Maggie Tra. With this music, I like to think about blessing everyone with positive energy for the new year. I have so much reverence for those who came before me to pave the way for where I am now. Coming from a family of Vietnamese refugees, I’m incredibly proud of my family’s journey, where I came from, and who I am now.
Nhung Dao and Jerald Head, owners of Mắm
When I was a child, the moment I looked forward to most was staying up late to watch my parents cook bánh chưng (traditional sticky rice cake for Lunar New Year) through the night. I would fall asleep on a thick layer of rice straw in the kitchen just to keep warm and feel close to them. Tết was also the rare and special time when I got brand-new clothes, carefully chosen by my parents. I remember the sound of red firecrackers filling the yard, the sweet taste of mứt tết (the colorful traditional New Year candies and treats), and the excitement of receiving lì xì (lucky money). Those small moments felt magical and endless.
Now, as an adult with my own family, far from my relatives in Vietnam, I treasure most simply the joy of gathering. Nothing fancy, just everyone together, eating, drinking, talking, laughing loudly. Watching my children, Viam and Avin, experience Vietnamese culture not as something distant but alive, fun, and truly theirs. We had poached chicken, sticky rice with jackfruit, spring rolls, Chinese sausage, braised pork belly, fermented vegetables, head cheese, and bánh chưng.
Tết now feels less about returning home and more about creating home wherever we are. I feel incredibly lucky that Mắm is located in the heart of Chinatown in Manhattan. Being surrounded by the neighborhood’s energy allows me to feel the spirit of Tết so strongly. Even far from Vietnam, I feel deeply connected, as if a small piece of home is right here around me. —Nhung Dao
Beverly Nguyen, founder of Beverly 1975, living editor for Family Style, and stylist
Vietnamese people love a reason to celebrate! We’re having a small gathering at the Beverly 1975 store in the Lower East Side. There is a lot of cleansing, mentally and physically, preparing floral arrangements for home and gifts. We had sticky rice wrapped in lotus root; bánh chưng; and dumplings, including handmade dumplings from Hwa Yuan Szechuan, one of my favorite places in the city. (Chef Tang personally made these, with pork, shrimp, and chives.) My grandmother, who meant a lot to my family, passed away last year, and I’ve been reflecting on how quickly traditions can die if we don’t take time and care to pass them on and practice them in our everyday lives.
