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The Ho family may run Thy Thy, but Melbourne is the real proprietor. That’s what happens when a restaurant has been part of a city’s story for more than 40 years, carrying it along with warm welcomes, delicious meals and threads of experience that can be passed from generation to generation as surely as a necklace, a knick-knack or the painful passion for a particular football team.

When the original Thy Thy opened in 1980, a little further east on Victoria Street, it was one of the first Vietnamese restaurants on the strip. It became famous for its rickety staircase, convivial round tables and a cuisine that was new to most non-Vietnamese.

Along with Thy Thy 2, which opened nearby four years later, these cosy, inexpensive restaurants were where many people in Melbourne saw their first Vietnamese mint leaf. The formica tables were the first place they inhaled a faceful of pho.

The Ho family – mum Le Thi Trang and dad Ho Chi Van – saw scepticism turn to joy hundreds of times a week. “You’re saying I wrap this spring roll in a lettuce leaf with these herbs and then dip it into this fishy-smelling sauce? Okay. But … oh, yum! I get it. Wow. Let’s order more!”

Le and Ho, plus daughters Thy Thy and Thuy and son Tho, lived above Thy Thy 2 before selling the restaurants (one to a friend, one to an uncle) and opening Tho Tho in 1989 on the site of the current Thy Thy (stay with me).

When they renovated Tho Tho in 1991, newspaper articles reporting the $600,000 fitout celebrated it as Australia’s first Vietnamese bar-restaurant. The timbered interior represented a refugee boat and the family lived upstairs in an apartment with two spas and a vast living area. It was an immigrant success story made tangible. Customers and journalists flocked: one reviewer mentioned the riesling they sipped with their spring rolls and the sauvignon blanc poured alongside the pork and cashews.

In 2016, they sold up, and Le and Ho went back to Vietnam for a while. The new owners closed Tho Tho at the start of the pandemic and the Ho family resurrected it as Thy Thy Counter and Canteen in 2021, three weeks before our final, grinding lockdown.

Many rusted-on customers are only now discovering that their old favourite is back and – guess what? – the spring rolls ($12) are number one on the menu, just as they always were.

This iteration of Thy Thy is efficient, colourful and joyful, a 120-seat venue with polished concrete floors, group-friendly zones and counter seating that’s perfect for speedy $12 lunch deals.

The overall feel is modern, but red-and-blue canteen-style tables and paper menus bring retro energy and there’s a sense of legacy among the staff: workers from each of the three previous restaurants are on deck and your meal is likely to be carefully overseen by a Ho family member.

What else might you eat? Grilled beef is wrapped in betel leaf and served with floppy squares of rice vermicelli (banh hoi bo la lot, $24); make a wrap and dip it into a sweet-sour fermented sauce that includes pineapple.

Bun cha (DIY vermicelli wraps) come Hanoi-style with juicy grilled pork and piles of herbs ($16).

The bo bop thau beef salad ($25) is bright with lemongrass and tart with slices of fresh lemon and a tamarind dressing.

Fried dishes – tender squid ($29), perhaps, or salt-and-chilli strewn chicken ribs ($26) – arrive hot and crunchy, clearly cooked to order.

Chinese-style dishes like ginger fish or broccoli tumbled with oyster sauce ($25) are gleaming and generous.

Favourite dishes are bolted to the menu and regulars are greeted like old friends.

Restaurants are always balancing their own ideas with the desires of the customers who pay the bills. At Thy Thy, that means a mix of regional Vietnamese dishes, Chinese-influenced stir-fries, Viet-Naarm inventions, such as salmon rice-paper rolls, plus secret items such as banh xeo (turmeric-tinged stuffed rice pancake) and a rare beef salad with cucumber that you can ask for if you’re in the know (you are now).

How can you tell that the founders have handed their restaurant over to their adopted city? It’s in the fact that favourite dishes are bolted to the menu and regulars are greeted like old friends (some have even attended family weddings).

But there’s something more fundamental. Eldest daughter Thy Thy’s name is properly pronounced “tee tee” – and that’s really the name of the restaurant. But from the beginning, Melbourne diners overwhelmingly referred to it as “tie-tie”. “So we call it Tie-Tie now, too,” laughs middle child Thuy Lu. “This restaurant is owned by our customers.”

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine