Almost a year ago, I set off on a journey around the world to find the best food that I could. I limited my search to include street food, tasting menus, well, and everything in between—no reason to be overly limiting. My travels have taken me to six continents and twenty-nine countries and I visited a few of the countries more than once. I’ve tried to learn a few languages along the way to get a better take on the food where I was, but my ability to find delicious food far exceeded my ability to learn new languages. My goal was simple, to search for delicious food. The stories here are from my travels and highlight the great food, amazing people, and new ingredients I found along the way. I plan to add stories, photos, and recipes for each of the places I have been able to go to highlight the things that I thought were the best or most unique.
I didn’t start my journey in Vietnam, but I think this story is the most fitting place to start because it is exactly what I hoped I would find along the way, even though I had no idea what I was looking for.
Sometimes people tell you that the food at a certain restaurant is the best in town or even the best that they have had anywhere in the world. My ears always perk up whenever I hear either of those comments. Most of the time though, it sets the expectation too high and it doesn’t live up to the hype. So, you never know when you are going to hit the food experience lottery; the place where the food and the experience both live up to the recommendation. This is a story about the rare and magical time when it does.
I’ve had Phở Gà many times over the years. It wasn’t something that I always got very excited about. It is great, don’t get me wrong, but it just wasn’t ever the Vietnamese dish that held the most interest for me. There are so many other Vietnamese dishes I would seek out first: salt and pepper squid, rare lemon beef, lotus root salad, bun, grilled pork, spring rolls, and the list goes on. That is not to say I don’t enjoy Phở.
My journey to Vietnam was a long time in the making, but that is for other stories.
I went on a food tour in Ho Chi Minh City and at the end of it, I quizzed my knowledgeable food guide on where some of her favorite food spots were in the city. At the top of her list was a place for Phở Gà. She was adamant about it. Typically, when someone’s eyes light up and then sort of roll back into their head while they are telling you how much they ‘love the place’ and think ‘it is the best place you could ever go’ I either disregard it out of hand as impossible or err on the side of caution and decide that it is a good idea to go ahead and try the place out. She was happy to tell me the name of it, but said it was kind of far from where I was staying. I told her that I was only there to find delicious food, so the distance was inconsequential. She said that she would email me the information when she got home. I waited that evening, hopeful that she would be able to read my email address in spite of my terrible hand writing. As it got later in the evening, and no email had come, I wished I had better penmanship.
The next morning when I woke up, there was an email from her with the information. I looked it up online and couldn’t find anything about it in English: good. It wasn’t on TripAdvisor or any other site I could find that wasn’t in Vietnamese: perfect.
The thing that ruins you when you leave Vietnam, well one of the things, is that you can’t find many places that open up early enough to have Phở for breakfast; there is no better way to start your day. So, on that morning, right after I did a quick check, I got in a cab and headed to see if the Phở would live up to the recommendation. I was cautiously optimistic, but I was prepared for it to be just okay, or worse. I trusted her advice and judgement, but I’ve had Phở hundreds of times and didn’t imagine it would be vastly different.
After the ride across town, I got out of the cab and headed down a small street to the place that she told me about; it was already bustling with activity. I sat down where I was directed to and ordered the Phở Gà and a trà đá (Vietnamese iced tea).
There was an older lady sitting across the metal table from me who looked both wise and kind. She was quietly eating her breakfast Phở. I waited until she wasn’t taking a bite, as not to interrupt her, and said, in my best attempt, "xin chào" (hello). She looked up at me and very slowly she got a little smile in the corner of her mouth. Then, cautiously, said slowly back to me, “hello."
We both smiled, each proud of our pronunciations of words in a language that was foreign to us, neither of us sure if we had actually pronounced it correctly. We both smiled as if to indicate the other had pronounced it perfectly. New friends over a hello.
Before the soup even got to the table, she had decided that I needed some help in how to prepare the Phở. She was correct and I was happy for the education. She started showing me the right way to take the herbs off of the stems in preparation of the soup’s arrival. I watched intently not wanting to miss any subtle nuance.
When the Phở did arrive, she showed me exactly how many herbs of each kind to put in, then exactly how many bean sprouts; there was a distinct amount of what ingredients should be added, not just all of what was on your plate. Then she indicated that I was to add some chili, she motioned with her hands, I thought she was indicating I needed to add more chilis. Then I needed to add some pepper salt; she motioned with her eyes exactly how much. I must have added and subtracted salt from the spoon three times before I got it right. When I did get it right, she nodded that it was now acceptable to add it to the soup. She was as exact as you could be, all this without words. I would have never figured out the proper quantities without her guidance. After a dollop and a few stirs, I was ready to eat the soup how she would have it. Perfectly.
About halfway through I realized she had been cautioning me about the chilis, not telling me to add more, and when I started to fish some out because the heat was becoming overpowering, she looked at me and laughed. She knew that I had put too much in. Seeming pleased that my soup was now correct and her job educating me on Phở was over, she smiled, stood up, and waved goodbye. After she left, I kept eating the soup even though I was full. I couldn’t stop enjoying it, it was the perfect bowl of Phở. A perfect balance of sweet, salty, clean, rich, delicious; with just enough heat to keep you fascinated with the flavors and to make you overlook the fact that you were sweating from the intensity. For the first time, I finished an entire bowl of Phở. I even tipped the bowl up to get the last few drops.
Most of the time, when food is that great, it isn’t just because of the food. It is also because of something you didn’t expect about the experience. I am sure someone else could go to the exact same restaurant and not have the same feeling about the soup I had, but that is precisely the point. They would have not had the same experience that I did. When you share food with people, in their neighborhood, and see how proud they are of their food, and you let them show you the way you should eat it, the way they eat it, then you get to really experience it for the first time. The experience for me, not just the soup, was in rediscovering something I had many times before, but thanks to my breakfast friend, who I only shared a few words with, I was shown how to have it for the first time all over again. I will remember her every time I have soup. It’s amazing to think that sometimes after exchanging only two words with someone, that you just met, that you can have an experience that you won’t ever forget. That is the best part of traveling.
This is exactly what I went on the journey to find.
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