An Ode To Pho

A Wednesday morning breakfast ritual in Forest Lawn.

Every Wednesday morning I bring my daughter to school, which for a 13 year old often involves listening to the more than 10 alarms she sets on her phone to wake her up every 5 minutes until finally getting ready a few frantic minutes before having to leave. After that, I have a ritual. As I have come to enjoy the simple pleasures that life has to give, I like to visit my favourite shop for a Vietnamese breakfast of steaming hot Pho Dac Biet. It is here where I am welcomed and seated at my usual table, amongst the morning banter of Vietnamese elders as they chat and slurp away. This, by the way, is the best telltale sign of a great Pho shop.

Pho, as you may know, is the ubiquitous Vietnamese rice noodle soup. The most common beef pho is made by the labour intensive process of boiling beef bones and brisket for hours with plenty of love and attention. It is then enhanced with aromatics in the form of roasted onions, ginger, and a blend of spices, each exclusive to one’s shop. What you get is a clear and flavourful broth that is light, savoury, with the subtle nuances of spice and char. The perfect way to start one’s day.

“Dac Biet” means “special”, as in the restaurant’s signature pho. It is often a deluxe South Vietnamese-style beef pho with brisket, beef balls, tendon, tripe, and thinly sliced raw beef that is placed on top and cooked instantly with the addition of the piping hot broth. This is typically served with a plate of fresh mung bean sprouts, lime, a chili or two, and a few sprigs of Thai basil. On the table, as you ready yourself, chopsticks, spoons, and small dishes are neatly stacked in a caddy next to the condiments which include hoisin sauce, sriracha, and fish sauce. 

When Uncle arrives he places this glorious steaming bowl before me. As with every week, I am already prepared. My chopsticks on the right, spoon on the left, and my tiny saucer filled half and half with hoisin and sriracha. Some shops even have a house satay sauce that they like to bring to the table as well, which is more like a modest version of Chinese XO sauce. Everything is arranged in its place (mise en place) and in front of me is a composition forming the epitome of Vietnamese sensibility, creativity, and resourcefulness.

Now I’m not gonna tell you how to eat your pho. Remember the debacle at Bon Appetit? I’m sure you can still find it somewhere on YouTube if you need a refresher. To be honest, as a chef, I couldn’t care less how you eat your food. Once you pay for it, it’s yours to do what you wish. You can squirt in your hoisin and sriracha, mix it all in, and slurp away before you taste anything. I mean, you do you, right? I’m not gonna call you out for enjoying a dish the way you want to. I’ve seen people dip maki rolls in ranch. In fact, when I was 11, I was at a family barbecue (we’re Filipino) and I saw for the first time, someone add ketchup to their pancit. Nothing phases me at this point. 

Now let’s get back to the bowl. The first thing that hits me is the aroma. The fresh steam hits my olfactory sensors and triggers this emotion that stops time, or at least slows down for me to appreciate the visual feast swimming below my eyes. Slices of just-cooked beef, tender simmered brisket, tendrils of chewy tripe, and generous chunks of collagen-rich tendon casually arranged atop a mound of fresh rice noodles (banh pho) and fresh sliced white onions. All of this in a sea of broth that brings all the components to life with its warmth and superb flavour, hours in the making.

As I dip my spoon in, I appreciate its clarity and unhindered honesty. Fine droplets of fat bejewel the surface, adding even more to this impressive feat of cookery. I take the first sip and just enjoy its purity. My cook mind tries to decipher what I’m processing. Star anise, white pepper, coriander. A myriad of tastes and signals bombard my senses in one simple sip of soup. The good shops make very good broth with a delicate balance of flavours, which is not an easy feat. For most, it’s a matter of instinct and muscle memory as a result of years of experience. This is why I’m a purist when it comes to pho. A good broth is the sign of a master chef, a justly deserved moniker, doing masterful techniques. This is pure skill and craftsmanship in a $12 bowl. Yes, I read the comments out there about the folks that swear by Pho Satay. I hear you, and perhaps I’ll write about that one day in the future, but Pho Dac Biet for me is where it’s at.

With my spoon in my left hand, I swirl the hoisin and sriracha together, making an impromptu umami spicy sauce that I carefully dab atop my first bite of noodles and beef. I am careful not to sully the tasty broth as I alternatively switch between a couple bites of noodles, and sips of broth, now accented with hints of herbaceous basil and fresh crunchy sprouts. I break the chilies in half and drop them into the soup, allowing them to gently steep and lend its spicy bite to the bowl. As I enjoy my bites, I listen to the morning banter and read any interesting articles on my phone. I imagine if this is the Vietnamese equivalent of a western diner as folks chat over a morning plate of trucker’s breakfast or a half stack of pancakes with bottomless cups of coffee, complete with servers that call you, “hon”.

By the time I’m halfway through my breakfast, uncle returns with a hot cup of cafe sua nong, a freshly brewed cup of strong Vietnamese coffee, rich, deep, and earthy in flavour and highly caffeinated. It is complemented by condensed milk which sweetens and brings this aggressive morning beverage to a level that can be savoured, capping off the beginning of what I hope will be another fine day.

J