How a Strip Mall Became a Vietnamese Market Powerhouse
In 1984, the parking lot was mostly empty. Grand Union had shut its doors, and Zayre wasn’t far behind.
Plaza Seven Shopping Center—once the go-to spot in Falls Church, Virginia—had lost its anchor and was starting to hollow out.
Then came the Metro. Just a few miles east, the Clarendon neighborhood in Arlington was changing fast.
Construction crews were digging out a new subway line, and in the process, dozens of Vietnamese-run businesses were displaced.
Their leases expired, and their buildings vanished, so the shop owners looked west for a place with storefronts, parking, and—most importantly—space.
They brought their restaurants, jewelry shops, video stores, and tailor services.
They also brought the name Eden. It came from the Eden Arcade in Saigon, a market complex known for hustle, neon, and imported French goods.
In Virginia, they hung a new sign—just “Eden” at first. Then, the name spread—first to a few storefronts, eventually to the whole complex.
By the early ’90s, the landlord—Capital Commercial Properties—leaned in. They added a clock tower and a gateway arch inspired by the Bến Thành Market in Ho Chi Minh City.
The entrance posted two stone lions. New tenants opened phở shops, herbal medicine counters, and seafood markets.
The retail layout remained mostly the same—single-floor shops lined up in a rectangle—but the vibe had changed completely.
This wasn’t just another suburban strip mall anymore. It was a commercial engine run by Vietnamese Americans, serving customers from across Virginia, Maryland, and D.C.
Today, Eden Center is listed among the top things to do west of Washington, D.C., but that didn’t happen overnight. It started with displacement, then relocation, and then growth.
Square Footage and Storefronts — The Real Estate Layout That Works
Walk through Eden Center today, and the layout still feels rooted in the ’80s strip mall playbook.
Most of the businesses sit at ground level, each with a glass front, metal sign, and direct sidewalk access.
But there’s more behind the main rows—three enclosed corridors that house about 65 smaller shops and eateries. They’re easy to miss if you don’t know where to look.
The whole complex covers more than 200,000 square feet. Around 900 parking spaces stretch across the front lot, with 300 more tucked behind the rear buildings.
There are no parking garages or valet service—just wide, open asphalt. It’s functional, not fancy, and it’s almost always packed on weekends.
Capital Commercial Properties still owns the site. They added the clock tower near Saigon East and installed the lions at the entrance.
That kind of real estate branding—concrete symbols of cultural identity—has helped the place stand out from other suburban centers.
The signage inside the complex isn’t uniform, either. Some shops use English, some Vietnamese, and a few do both. Others don’t use letters at all—just photos of food or gold jewelry in the windows.
There’s no traditional anchor store—no Target, no Macy’s. But one of the biggest draws sits at the back: Good Fortune Supermarket.
It opened in November 2014, taking over the former Ames department store. The 44,000-square-foot space is filled with Asian groceries, seafood tanks, and shelves of imported condiments.
The layout doesn’t try to funnel foot traffic. People come for one thing and end up wandering.
The nightclub in the rear stays open late. The phở places open early. It’s always shifting—quiet one minute, buzzing the next. The design lets that happen naturally.
Food Courts and Front Counters — What Sells at Eden Center
The smell hits you first: grilled lemongrass, fried shallots, and beef broth simmering in vats—sometimes all at once.
Eden Center is known for its food, and most of its 120 businesses are involved in it in some way.
Some sell full meals. Others are just snacks, drinks, or groceries.
There are restaurants like Rice Paper, known for its bánh cuốn and table service, and Huong Viet, a longtime staple offering family-style meals.
Song Que Deli, once a cornerstone of Eden Center and featured on Anthony Bourdain’s “No Reservations” in 2009, unfortunately closed its doors.
Known for its pork belly rice plates, spring rolls, and Vietnamese iced coffee (cà phê sữa đá), it often had lines stretching to the sidewalk.
Its closure left a void in the community, but other establishments continue to offer similar Vietnamese delicacies.
Thanh Son Tofu serves house-made bean curd and soy milk by the jug. Banh Mi So 1 sells dozens of baguette variations, including head cheese, sardine, and grilled chicken.
There are shops that only serve desserts, like Phuoc Loc Bakery & Deli, and counters selling chè, a cold, sweet, layered drink served in plastic cups.
Outside the food sector, you’ll find gold dealers and herbalists selling dried roots and ginseng.
There are travel agencies with faded posters of Nha Trang beaches, tailors offering same-day alterations, and phone stores advertising unlock services.
A few spots sell incense, jade figurines, and paper offerings for ancestral altars.
Every lease brings a different specialty. Some shops have been there for 20 years, while others cycle out quickly.
But turnover doesn’t seem to hurt the mix—it keeps it flexible and responsive. If one phở shop closes, another opens two doors down. Customers follow the flavor, not the logo.
Cultural Traffic Drivers — Events That Bring in Footfall
The busiest weekends don’t always come from shopping. They come from the festivals.
Each winter, Eden Center holds its annual Tết celebration. The Vietnamese New Year, depending on the lunar calendar, usually falls between late January and mid-February.
It’s loud, crowded, and full of food stands that pop up in front of regular storefronts.
Families walk in with shopping lists—walk out with armfuls of bánh chưng, lion dance photos, and paper envelopes stuffed with crisp bills.
Firecrackers rattle near the parking lot. Drums echo in the hallways.
In September, there’s the Moon Festival. Tables are set up for kids to paint lanterns, and lines form at every corner.
You’ll hear emcees shouting over music, and the smell of grilled pork and mung bean pastries hangs in the air.
Both events use the whole property—indoors and outdoors. Store owners bring speakers, and some restaurants cook off the menu.
Smaller events run year-round. The “Miss Vietnam DC” pageant happens in the fall. It’s held in a rented ballroom or restaurant space and sponsored by multiple tenants.
Scholarship funds are raised through food sales, raffles, and business promotions.
It’s more than a beauty contest—organizers treat it like a soft launch for young women looking to join local nonprofits or Vietnamese-American organizations.
Outside of holidays, Eden Center relies on marketing to keep things moving.
The complex runs a steady event calendar—summer sidewalk sales, food tastings, and giveaways—usually promoted through Facebook or laminated signs taped to doorways.
One bakery offered free chè for kids under 10 during the Mid-Autumn rush, and another hosted a mooncake contest judged by local chefs.
Everything is self-contained. There are no corporate planners or outside vendors. It’s all run by tenants, property managers, or longtime customers turned volunteers. That keeps the budget low and the crowds loyal.
Risk Management and Retail Survival — Crime, Enforcement, and Tenant Trust
In 1997, a fatal shooting shook the complex. Falls Church Police responded by opening a substation inside the center.
That station’s still there, tucked between storefronts, mostly quiet now. But back then, it sent a message: security would be visible.
Capital Commercial Properties added 48 security cameras. Tenants signed leases that included new safety clauses.
Business owners were told to keep lights on at night and report suspicious activity—even petty theft.
The police didn’t leave. They stayed on-site, which was rare for a suburban shopping plaza.
Then came 2011. On August 11, federal agents, Virginia State Police, and local law enforcement raided multiple businesses.
They seized gambling machines and over $1 million in cash. The press called it a crackdown on the Dragon Family, a Vietnamese-American gang.
Nineteen people were arrested. Some pleaded guilty to minor charges, others had their cases dismissed, and one went to trial and was found not guilty.
A second raid happened five months later. More arrests followed—this time, charges included money laundering and alcohol violations.
Community backlash was fast. Some business owners accused the police of racial profiling.
Others said the raids scared off customers who didn’t come back for months, deepening tension between Eden Center and the city.
Despite this, turnover stayed low, leases were renewed, events ran on schedule, and new businesses moved in.
The safety measures didn’t disappear, but neither did the questions. The substation and the cameras remained.
And the reputation stuck—a place that’s busy, that’s watched, and where a bad month could come from anything: a slow quarter, a street rumor, or a flash raid.
By 2022, the City of Falls Church approved a historical marker for Eden Center. It was installed near the main entrance—right next to where the raids had started.
New Names, Old Streets — What’s Changing at Eden Center in 2025
The street signs went up in January. Wilson Boulevard, which runs past Eden Center, now has a second name: Saigon Boulevard.
The change came after months of lobbying, public meetings, and a city vote. Falls Church officials called it a gesture of cultural respect.
For longtime tenants, it was more personal. The name brought something familiar back to the block.
The idea started in late 2023 when the city adopted a new small area plan for the Seven Corners neighborhood.
The plan covered traffic flow, zoning updates, and redevelopment guidelines. But the naming—adding “Saigon Boulevard” in bold type under the original sign—felt different. It wasn’t about infrastructure. It was about memory.
In August 2024, Eden Center made national headlines for an entirely different reason. Donald Trump, back on the campaign trail, showed up unannounced.
He ate lunch at Truong Tien, a small place known for central Vietnamese dishes—bún bò Huế, cơm hến, grilled shrimp skewers wrapped in sugarcane.
Secret Service agents cleared the aisles, and bystanders filmed on their phones. Afterward, the restaurant posted photos of the visit, which were still hanging by the register six months later.
That same week, another opening drew quieter attention. Mia & More Sugarcane Juicery launched its first East Coast location inside the center.
The owners brought the brand from Washington state, betting that foot traffic and loyal foodies would follow.
They weren’t wrong. The storefront stays busy, serving fresh-pressed mía đá and colorful fruit cups to Gen Z kids and older couples alike.
Old businesses haven’t gone away. But the storefronts keep shifting. New logos go up. Menus expand. And now, when people give directions, they say “Saigon Boulevard”—as if it’s always been there.
