Pho: International Food Vietnam's Gift to the World
Nha Magazine, Commentary, Vu-Duc Vuong, Posted: Nov 05, 2005
It's now possible to find pho, the essence of Vietnamese cooking and the symbol of its food, on every habitable continent. From the tiny stalls in Ha Noi, the cradle of pho, to the shopping malls in America, to the Left Bank in Paris, one can now inhale the fragrant and distinctive flavor of pho. And it is no longer true that only Vietnamese eat pho, or that pho is breakfast food since it has now gained near universal acceptance, at any time of day or night.
Half a century ago, Nguyen Tuan, the famed writer and a gourmet, penned these words:
“Morning, noon, afternoon, evening, late night, anytime is a good time for a bowl of pho. During the day, having an additional bowl of pho is like brewing a second pot of tea when the company is enjoyable; almost nobody would turn down an invitation to a pho shop. And the beauty of it is that pho makes it possible for a poor man to treat his friends without breaking the bank.”—Nguyen Tuan, Canh Sac va Huong Vi Dat Nuoc (Scenery and Flavor of My Country)
What is this pho? Where did it come from? How to prepare it? And perhaps best of all in this age of jet travel, where to find the best pho?
Over the three months bridging 2004 and 2005, I had the unusual experience of sampling pho on three continents, talking with people who make and those who enjoy it, and looking into the origin of this signature dish from Viet Nam.
Pho: A New Vietnamese Specialty
Unlike the banh day and banh chung (rice cakes made from ground and whole grain, respectively), popular during the Teát season (Lunar New Year), which dates back to the legendary origin of the Viet people, some 4,000 years ago, pho came into being only at the start of the last century.
It is perhaps appropriate, as we approach the centennial of pho, to trace back briefly where it came from. Two schools of thoughts have emerged, both with influence from outside Viet Nam: China or France. Both theories, incidentally, are based on the pronunciation of the word pho.
Nguyen Tung, an anthropologist based in Paris who has researched Vietnamese food in all three regions, agreed with Georges Dumoutier that pho did not exist in 1907.(1)
Tung went on to suggest that pho derived from the Cantonese pronunciation of “fun” (noodle), and hence the source of pho probably came from the Chinese refugees flowing into Viet Nam in the late 19th Century and bringing with them a number of dishes which were later adopted by the Vietnamese: hu tieu, hoanh thanh, lap xuong, xa xíu, xì dau, pha lau, lau, ta pín lu, etc.(2)
R.W. Apple, Jr., a veteran New York Times journalist who covered Viet Nam during the war, and now occupies the enviable position of resident gourmet, advanced the theory that em>pho came from the French beef-based comfort food, pot au feu, brought to Viet Nam in the late 19th Century by the French colonial forces. (3)
To test this second theory, and no doubt to the chagrin of my dietician, I sampled a pot au feu at Tante Alice in Paris on the last day of 2004. It’s a huge dish, made with four types of meat and four types of vegetables, cooked in a broth for a long time. The dish I had contained ox tail, beef tongue, beef rib, and an end of a femur with plenty of marrow inside; along with cabbage, potato, carrot, leeks, and turnip. The portion would feed three people. I couldn’t finish it at lunch and did not eat for the rest of the day.
As of now, I’m still debating which theory comes closer. Each source lacks one of the key components of pho: Chinese noodle soup does not emphasize the quality of the broth while the pot au feu, with good broth, comes with vegetables rather than noodles. Can it be that the Vietnamese, once again, borrow something from each to create something new?
What Makes a Good pho
Four elements, in order of importance, make a good bowl of pho: the broth, the beef, the noodle, and the condiments.
The broth is the essence of pho. It must be clear, tasty, fragrant, and nutritious. And increasingly, without MSG (monosodium glutamate). That’s the gold standard of pho broth.
To make a good broth for pho, it takes time, lots of beef bones, some meat, and half a dozen spices. Choose the bones with marrow, some tendons, bring to a full boil and then let the pot simmer over medium heat. At home it takes easily four to six hours; for restaurants it would take close to ten hours, or virtually overnight.
The spices, often wrapped in cheesecloth to prevent them from floating all over the pot, usually contain: clove, star anise, cilantro seed, fennel, cinnamon, thao qua (tsao-kuo in Chinese), ginger and onion. Careful cooks often roast ginger and onion over an open fire for about a minute before adding them to the stock, to bring out their full flavor. They also skim off all the impurities that float to the top while cooking; this is the key to a clear broth. Salt, or preferably nuoc mam is added toward the end.
MSG in pho, by general consensus, was an aberration, particularly during the years of privation both during and after the war, when meat in general, and beef in particular, were in short supply. Essentially, MSG is a chemical that fools the brain into accepting the food as tasty. It also causes side effects in some people: headache, red face, hot flashes, thirst, and occasionally more severe allergies. As ingredients are now plentiful, even in Viet Nam, customers are demanding that restaurants reduce, even eliminate, MSG in their cooking.
Next is the meat. The original, and still the meat for pho is beef. And the true flavor of pho requires well-done beef (pho chin), not only because it does not cloud the broth but also, as Nguyen Tuan waxed poetic, “well-done beef is more flavorful than raw beef; and a well done slice even looks better than the raw one.” Tendons and beef stomach are later additions, as is the chicken pho.
Huu Ngoc, a writer and cultural commentator in Hai Noi, surmised that chicken was introduced to pho only during the Japanese occupation in the 1940’s, when beef, and practically everything else, was scarce. (4) Today, with worries about cholesterol, obesity, high blood pressure, diabetes, and even “mad cows,” chicken gained even more popularity, especially in the United States. However, customers are getting more demanding with chicken as well: many prefer dark meat for its flavor, and the majority would rather have free-range chicken than the standard supermarket fowl. One extra is the long trung non (gizzard, heart, liver, and embryonic eggs), which adds texture, if not flavor, to the bowl.
Banh pho (noodle) is just as tricky. It must be soft, but not mushy; must be fresh if at all possible; and it must be rice (white) noodle. The width of the noodle is generally thin, about 1/8 of an inch, but at least one very good pho shop, Thap Rua in San Francisco, Until ten years or so ago, most overseas pho restaurants used the imported dry noodle, the way most of us still make spaghetti. Now there are enough noodle companies to provide fresh noodles daily, and the quality clearly has improved. On the other hand, many shops try to save preparation time by putting noodles in bowls ahead of time, waiting for meat, herbs and broth to come later. Two problems with this practice: the noodle tends to stick together and gets cold while waiting, thus the bowl of pho loses its hot temperature.
Condiments now become the line of demarcation between the northern (Ha Noi) and southern (Sai Gon) styles of pho.
The Ha Noi style provides only lemon, fresh red pepper, and mint; in Sai Gon and in most of the Viet diaspora, pho requires, in addition, fresh cilantro, basil, ngo gai, and abundant bean sprouts. Thap Rua in San Francisco is the exception to this rule; as far as I can tell, it is the only restaurant that serves pho Ha Noi style in the United States. In the early days, according to the owners, it was tough; customers, accustomed to bean sprouts and basil, demanded it, even threatened to boycott. They held fast and the quality of their pho eventually prevailed. Most days now, Thap Rua is filled to capacity; visitors from Ha Noi tested its pho and declared it authentic; and in 2004, the San Francisco Chronicle featured Thap Rua in a long article as the best pho. Since then, tourists have been competing with loyal local customers for a seat.
Where to Find Good Pho
To some aficionados of pho, especially those living in Hai Noi, there is no possibility of good pho anywhere in the world. If it’s not the beef, it’s the noodle; if it’s not the broth, it’s the additional condiments; and if it’s not the pho itself, it’s the atmosphere, the seasons, even down to the master chefs that only Ha Noi can produce. And they say it with a straight face, without a hint of parochialism or exaggeration.
In reality, after sampling dozens of bowls of pho in the space of less than two months, from the streets of Ha Noi to the beach of the Cote d’Azur, from Pasteur Street in Sai Gon to Larkin Street in San Francisco, I concluded that although there are plenty of phôû that fall short of standard, it is possible to find phôû on par with the best in Ha Noi.
But first, a few rules of thumb. Excellent pho comes from shops that specialize in this dish. No exception. Whether in Ha Noi, Paris, Santa Ana or San Jose, the chances of finding a good bowl of pho decrease in direct proportion to the size of the menu. It has to do with the concentration the chef devotes to his or her main preoccupation. Bat Dan or Ly Quoc Su in Ha Noi, for instance, are the best pho shops, partly because they serve nothing else. Likewise, most of the better ones outside of Viet Nam, such as Thap Rua in San Francisco, Dac Phuc in San Jose, or Pho 14 in Paris, serve only a handful of additional dishes that either supplement or derive from pho: nem or cha gio (fried imperial rolls), banh cuon (steamed crepes), ga luoc chanh (steamed chicken with lemon leaves). Don’t look for ca kho to (catfish in claypot) or cua rang muoi(crab with salt and pepper) there.
By contrast, most of the Chinese or Vietnamese restaurants in the 13th Arrondissement of Paris (the so-called “Asian Town”) serve what may be called, charitably, an “across the board” menu. They usually include pho among the dozens or so other dishes, hailing not just from Viet Nam and China but also from Laos, Cambodia, Indonesia, Burma, and even India. In all fairness, I did try a few of these pho but they are little more than noodle soup with beef. goes against the grain by cutting its noodle at about half an inch. Anh chi Nghia, owners of Thap Rua, confided that one of the old techniques in Ha Noi was to mix in with the rice flour some day-old rice to give the noodle the right texture and consistency.
The second rule, somewhat more relaxed, is the name. For some reason, restaurants with names based on either location or number have a better chance of offering a decent bowl of pho. Thus, in Ha Noi, we can find Pho Nam Ngo, Pho Hang Bot, Pho Hang Muoi, or Pho Thìn Lo Duc, in addition to Bat Dan or Ly Quoc Su, all names of the streets on which they sit, except one. Or a series of numbers, either referring to their addresses, the years they opened or want to commemorate: Pho 14, Pho 54, Pho 75, Pho 84, Pho 2000, etc…
Lastly, do the chefs have to speak with a northern accent to make good pho? The general rule is that the best chefs come from Nam Dinh, a city to the south of Hai Noi known for its textile industry rather than gastronomy; however, Nam Dinh is poor, and many have to migrate to Ha Noi for employment. One of the best jobs they find for themselves and their subsequent families is making pho. So, the chefs do not need to have a Ha Noi accent, but a northern accent doesn't hurt.
How Best to Enjoy Pho?
Pho is a fast food par excellence. The ingredients may be prepared beforehand, but putting them together must be done only as ordered. And it must be eaten hot; this is not the food for lingering over. At Bat Dan, it takes just about one minute for the shop to heat up the noodle (about ten seconds in boiling water), put it in a bowl, add meat, onion, herbs, some black pepper, ladle the broth over all and take it to the table. And it takes, on the average, between five and seven minutes for a typical Hanoian to finish a regular size bowl. So, excluding waiting in line, one can have a meal in ten minutes. In 2004, a regular bowl cost 8,000 dong, and the special, 10,000 dong, or still under one dollar.
Then, if one has the time, or inclination for a coffee, waddle across the street for a leisurely ca phe nau (hot filtered coffee with condensed milk) appropriately served inside a larger bowl filled with hot water. It's low-tech, but the bowl of hot water keeps the coffee warm long enough for cigarettes and conversation.
Bat Dan also has on hand a kind of ruou thuoc (rice alcohol in marinated herbal medicine). Customers can order a shot glass for 1,000 dong, or the equivalent of less than a dime. It is invigorating morning, noon, or night.
At other times and places, especially overseas, a bowl of pho would go well with something cold: a beer, preferably Vietnamese like 33 or Saigon, or next in line, Beck's, Heineken or Kronenbourg, as the average American beers, such as Budweiser or Coors, prove to be too light. For teetotalers, iced tea seems to be a popular choice; but it is best made from regular Vietnamese tea diluted with ice, rather than the dark teas such as Lipton or Earl Grey whose bitterness detracts from the pho broth.
Naturally, as the poet and gourmet Tan Da said, it is best to eat in good company.
Pho Travels Well
At the end of this pho journey, it dawned on me that our beloved pho is Vietnamese to the core. Assuming that both the Chinese and French influences had something to do with the genesis of pho at the start of the last century, our ancestors synthesized, once again, the disparate strands that came across our land, added our Viet sense of balance with the various local herbs and spices, and made something nutritious, easy to eat, and elegant at the same time. That, in a nutshell, is the history of Viet Nam for over 4,000 years.
The propagation of pho across the globe also reflects quite accurately the history of our homeland in the 20th Century. It was born in poverty and under colonialism, was transported during World War II to France and subsequently to Africa and other islands by our fellow countrymen drafted into the colonial expeditionary forces, migrated from Ha Noi to Sai Gon in 1954 with the first massive wave of refugees, and after 1975, reached every corner of the earth as two million Vietnamese sought refuge in dozens of countries, from Denmark to New Zealand, from Japan to Israel. Few other books or tales can tell the story of our people more eloquently.
As it is welcomed all over the world, pho is an accepted term in both English and French now, just like spaghetti or croissant. This common dish is now truly Viet Nam's gift to the world. And as with any gift, the most useful ones are often small, deceptively simple, yet used day in and day out, to the point of becoming an integral part of a person's life. pho is such a gift.
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