Flavor Boulevard

Near our hotel is a shopping center, where we regrettably spent more time than we should have, eating overpriced fried rice (P.F. Chang’s, no less, T__T) and okonomiyaki. The reason is just that it was hot. Unbearably, relentlessly, suppressively hot. We couldn’t walk for five minutes without perspiring like the underside of the lid of a cheap rice cooker right after the rice is cooked. Being the indoor sloths we are, we ditched the inner foodie, became the very tourists lounging out at American chain restaurants while on vacation whom we cannot understand, and dined at the mall. It was actually satisfying.

Meatball pho at Pho Factory in Royal Hawaiian Center (9.10).

Oxtail pho at Pho Old Saigon (14.60). I haven’t seen oxtail pho in the mainland, but it’s strangely and pleasantly everywhere in Oahu’s pho menus. Pho Factory also serves it. The oxtail is meaty, softer (fattier) than the usual rare steak/brisket option.

Pho Old Saigon is your typical Vietnamese pho shop in the States: rectangular dining room with the cashier in the back, no frills, laminated menu, plastic chopsticks.

Pho was a light, easy-to-eat, good-at-all-time meal on those hot days.

Address: Pho Old Saigon Vietnamese Restaurant
2290 Kuhio Avenue
Honolulu, HI 96815

Every time I ride the bus on Telegraph, Kang Nam Pho stands out to me like a supernova. (There are these “sorta” cosmologically important exploded stars that have been on my mind for quite some time now, which is an excuse for the sparse blogging of late.) I’ve seen Chinese-owned pho places, but they never have a Chinese name. Pin Toh on Shattuck, which used to be Phở Hòa, has pho cooked by Chinese chefs, but it’s a Thai diner (talk about incognito). In my American pho encounters, Kang Nam Pho is the first instance of a Korean-owned Vietnamese diner with a Korean name. They even put the whole “Phở” with accents on their white-on-red sign, next to “강남 윌남국수” (Kang Nam Wilnam guksu, i.e., Kang Nam Vietnamese Noodle). I like this place already.

Their menu is also all in Vietnamese, again, with complete accents albeit some misspellings; there is English description under each name and very little Korean. I vaguely remember bibimbap and bulgogi at some bottom corner of a page, but Kang Nam has things that even a common pho joint wouldn’t always have, such as hủ tíu Nam Vang (kuy teav Phnom Penh) and mì bò kho (noodle with beef stew). The tables are even equipped with green chopsticks, hard-to-eat spoons and sauce bottles. If only the customers didn’t flock every table that day and keep the ladies moving like shuttles in a loom, I would have asked what inspired them to make the place even more Vietnamese than a Vietnamese would, for better and for worse (the spoons…).

After ordering the inevitables, gỏi cuốn to start and phở chín nạm gầu gân sách (brisket, tendon, tripe) to fill, I followed the usual practice of a lone diner: pull out a book and pretend to read while eavesdropping on my neighbors. However, just barely 3 minutes into opening the book, the summer rolls arrived. Casting aside my literate facade, I started rearranging the roll halves for a good pic when the noodle soup swiftly got placed in the way. They did it fast. That’s how pho should be: you got a pot o’ broth, cooked meat, and blanched noodle ready, an order comes, they all go into a bowl. It shouldn’t take more than one minute. The problem is with me: too little time for a good picture and unable to decide what to eat first. The pho won. The rolls wouldn’t get soggy waiting.

This is one of the best pho I’ve ever had (mom-made pho not included). Deep and subtly sweet broth, chewy noodles, lots of tripe and tendon. A clean aftertaste and a warm broth until the last morsel. Little Mom, a frequent pho craver albeit a picky patron, would like this pho. Why didn’t they struct their business a little closer to campus so that I could come here for lunch? Would they serve blanched beansprout or pickle onion if I ask for it? Next time…

Whenever I ride the bus on Telegraph, I contemplate pulling a stop request for a bowl. Perhaps I’ll go tonight in the name of celebrating Little Mom’s birthday. 😀 We’re Vietnamese, but just to go along with this post’s blending spirit: 생일축하해, 엄마! 🙂

Address: Kang Nam Pho House
4419 Telegraph Ave
Oakland, CA 94609
(510) 985-0900

UPDATE: A 5-second roaming on the ‘net reveals that the Koreans like pho (I’m not surprised, they have plenty of beef based noodle soups) enough to make Korean pho restaurants, and generally Korean pho broths are described as more bland (if disliked) or more clean and fresh (if liked) than Vietnamese pho. For Kang Nam, I side with the latter. Which reinforces the consistency of my pho style. Those who have eaten pho with me often shake their heads at my indifference toward the sauces and the herbs: I don’t put veggies into my pho (not a single leaf), and I don’t adulterate my broth with Sriracha or the black bean sauce. I like my pho pure: beef and noodle. More Korean pho samplings are necessary before I can confirm the difference. When the supernovae start making more sense, the new quest will start. But is this quest possible in the Bay Area?

This post is submitted to Delicious Vietnam #16, August edition, hosted by Chi Anh from Door to My Kitchen.

If you ask me a few weeks ago, which place has the best pho in the Bay Area outside of San Jose, I would not give a straight answer. I would instead say that the speediest pho is at Le petit Cheval on Bancroft, at most 5 minutes after ordering and a bowl is steaming up your nose; the most spacious pho restaurant is Phở Vỉ Hoa in Los Altos; the lowest price of a sliced beef number is about $6; and upon slurping you usually can’t escape a tightened, salty lingering at the back of the throat, reminiscence of the seasoning package that comes with your instant $1 pho.

If you ask me now, I’d say without hesitance: Le Regal has the best pho in the Bay, and possibly one of the best I’ve ever had I still don’t have the answer yet: UPDATE on October 15, 2011: Le Regal’s pho broth has become fatty and bland, it is now one of the worst pho I’ve ever had…

The following is but a beautiful memory: 🙂

The main reason for this definite conclusion is the lack of that post-slurping tightened, salty aftertaste. It does hurt my pocket a little paying $8-9 for a wad of thin, chewy noodle, a hefty plate of bean sprouts, and meat. But the broth is the deciding factor, and this broth is at least twice as good as any other broth outside San Jose.

Inside San Jose, I haven’t ordered any pho. Cuz if you’re already in Vietnamese town, shame on you for sticking to only that one dish.

Address: Le Regal
2126 Center Street
Berkeley, CA 94704
(510) 845-4020

Chain means reliability. Berkeley’s snobbish take against big franchise and corporations plays to my blogging advantage, but there always lies the uncertainty. It could be a very good looking, cozy little restaurant with quaint menus, and mediocre food. They could have a long line of people waiting in the cold to be seated, and mediocre food. Somehow people sitting about you are all hyped up by the new raw or vegan order, but you just can’t enjoy yours because it’s mediocre food. When a business is the only of its name, there’s just no guarantee that it’s palatable to everyone, no matter how many stars it gets on Yelp or votes by the locals. Franchise takes care of that. I don’t know how. But I haven’t met anyone who doesn’t objectively like Burger King, Subway, Yogurt Land, KFC, et cetera (I say “objectively” because taste buds can be clouded by health conscience, religious reasons and who knows what). Some Vietnamese businesses, though still in much smaller scale, have also established their chain names. For banh mi, we almost always go to Lee’s Sandwiches or Huong Lan. For cha lua, we trust Gio Cha Duc Huong. When we’re in Houston, we go to Phở Danh to slurp noodle soups.

All three locations in Houston have the same silvery ambiance: white walls, glass door, formica tables, simple chairs, bright lights, white melamine dishware. We always get the same things here: pho bo tai for Dad, pho bo chin for Mom and me.

Mom always asks for extra giá trụng, blanched bean sprouts. And Dad always asks for hành dấm, pickled onion. Both are free.

He never asks for hành dấm anywhere else, making me wonder if it’s some special thing of Pho Danh. Vinegar and sugar soften the onion’s pungent flares, but keep it crisp and clean. I submerge it into the steaming broth. Dad savors it alone, one ring at a time.

Pho Danh in Texas

3 locations in Houston:
– 11209 Bellaire Blvd – (281) 879-9940
– 13480 Veterans Memorial Drive‎ – (832) 484-9449
– 11049 FM 1960 Rd‎ – (281) 890-4011

1 location in Austin:
– 11220 North Lamar Boulevard, Austin, TX‎ – (512) 837-7800‎

It looks like one of those noodle houses on the roadside with plastic chairs, formica tables, laminated menu, and plain white neon lights. Actually, it is one, but with green cushion chairs. The atmosphere is so casual, the slurping scenes so familiar I could almost hear motorbike engines and vendors’ calls around Saigon. Everywhere I look, Berkeley brings back memories of Binh Thanh and Tan Binh Districts with its frameless mix of dashing modernity and forlorn architecture, damp narrow alleys separating discordantly colorful buildings, shoe mending stores tucked between pricey diners, Vespas, bicycles, cars, trucks, men in suit and men in rag, the only thing missing is a xich-lo. Like it or not, this world doesn’t stay outside noodle houses like Pho Hoa, you can eat while feeling life scurry on the pavement. The diners casually bring the commonest of life into their chatter. The kitchen brings the commonest of noodle soup onto the table.

But only they added a twist to it. Of course eighty percent of the menu is laminated with things every pho joint would have: pho. Pho of all varieties, Steak, Brisket, Chicken, Tendon, Flank, Tripe, Meatball.  Then at the very bottom of the page, estranged by all other pho’s, is Seafood Sour.

I first heard of sour pho a few months ago. The regional specialty of northern province Lạng Sơn sounds exciting: tamarind sauce, a ladle or two of chicken broth, a handful of chicken meat and innards, fried shallot and crushed peanuts, structurally somewhat like mỳ Quảng (Quảng Nam noodle) and cao lầu (Hội An noodle). So as soon as I saw “sour pho”, I leaped at the chance. Fifteen minutes later, the eight-dollar-and-ninety-five-cent chance looked me in the eye with fiery inquisition, “maybe it’s a little too much chili paste?” I sniffed and hawked, blew and gulped, a sip of water now and then between spoonfuls of the clear red broth. It is definitely not the sour pho of Lang Son. Not only copious amount of squid, shrimp and salmon replaces chicken gizzards, but the sourness comes from pineapple and tomato instead of tamarind, and your rice noodle gets lost in the sea. It is pho and canh chua entanglement, harmoniously with joy in crescendo.

But some part of me will forever crave meat. Big chunks. Marinated. Sauce dripping. A tad of fat to loosen the muscle. Bits of tendon to brighten the chew. Meat that is bold and brown. Like a beef stew.

We found it demoted to the menu’s bottom league with Seafood Sour.  Bò kho is Vietnamese beef stew with a complex wealth of tastes, a French-influenced Southerner’s display of abundance, and an ambrosial love of Mudpie. Star anise and cinnamon link bo kho with pho, annato seeds make it color-stricken like claypot fish, nuoc mam gives it the regional stamp. All for a mere $7.65. The quality doesn’t lie in the beef, but in every bite of baguette wholeheartedly dipped in that rich, peppery, daring juice. E V E R Y bite. Only found at:

Pho Hoa Noodle Soup
2272 Shattuck Avenue
Berkeley, CA 94704
(510) 540-9228

UPDATE: This location is now closed.

Other pho houses in Berkeley: Le Petit Cheval (student-pocket-friendly), Le Regal (big-pocket-friendly)

There is this McDonald’s pretty much right across the street from the old Physics building where I went to college. It made good business. College kids, tight pockets, tight schedule, empty stomach, of course. But good old days are no more. The Big M is nonexistent here, although all the above conditions still hold. The Physics building is inconveniently located in the middle of campus, which is at least 15 minutes strolling to the nearest food in any direction (on-campus diners don’t count). The shortest voyage if you’re facing south leads to the corner Durant-Bowditch. A yellow sign gently says “Le Cheval – Saigon Cuisine, Est. 1986”, with green vines, sunshine patio, and “cash only”.

The place is usually packed during lunch peak. (This picture was taken at 3 pm.) There are about a dozen dishes on the counter, you pay a fix price for a combo rice plate, and make your own. I haven’t tried those, because it would take more time than to order a bowl of pho. Actually I said “noodle soup”, and the white man at the cashier politely asked, in well-toned Vietnamese, “phở bò?” :-). I paid, poured myself a glass of water, sat down with a number. Two minutes later a guy, tray in hand, zigzagged from the back kitchen through numerous chairs and conversations. My pho was ready, snuggly next to the usual bountiful plate of bean sprouts and mints. I don’t recall my double cheeseburgers coming to me faster than that, especially when there are 50 customers around. Arguably, this phở is a more heart-warming encounter. What else would you expect from a big bowl with lotsa meat?

Speediness aside, Le Cheval has something else worth coming for: phở sans broth and all that steamy business. I haven’t seen this dish anywhere else. It appears under the name “stir-fried phở” on page 3 of the menu. It has the combined quality of pad thai and jap chae. A delicate yet enduring texture. It’s phở you can eat with a fork and ease. It’s phở you can take your time handling without making it disintegrate into the sea of broth. And take time you must, for it’s a big plate.

The veggies and shrimps are just makeup on a natural beauty, and probably for the health-conscious. The noodle is already savoury by itself.

Side note: the chopsticks here might be a little too short, and I always get loaded with guilt when putting my finished bowl (with broth) into the plastic bins for dirty dishes. Fatty liquid streaming out and coating the bowls isn’t a pretty sight. On the plus size, self-service saves you on tips, and all the more reason to order pho xao if you have time.

Address: Le Petit Cheval
2600 Bancroft Way (between Bowditch St and College Ave)
Berkeley, CA 94704
510-704-8018

Eight interesting facts about pho: (picked and translated from source)

1. During 1908-1909, steam boats were a popular means of transportation from Hanoi to other cities in the North, and pho started out as a vendor food sold in numbers at river ports. From 1930, pho was popular in the cities, some pho restaurant in Hanoi served until 4 AM.

2. Originally there was only pho with well-done beef. Rare beef was a latter innovation, and only became dominant after 1954.

3. Within the first decade when pho was popular, many cooks tried to add different twists and turns to the dish, however, not all could satisfy the public taste. A few variations that we don’t see today are pho in the Jean de Puis neighborhood (Hang Chieu, Hanoi) with sesame oil and tofu (1928), pho gio (rolls of sliced beef), pho Phu Doan with ca cuong extract(*).

4. Chicken pho first appeared in 1939, when beef was not sold on Wednesday and Friday, and there was no fridge.

5. Pho sot vang is a nice mix of Vietnamese and French cuisine: the chunks (not slices) of beef are seasoned and stewed in wine (vang), then added atop the pho. (This is the first time I’ve heard of this type of pho)

6. Pho did not migrate to the South until 1954 – when the Geneva treaty was signed and Northerners migrated to the South to escape the rule of Communists. This is the historical mark of pho spreading all over the country.

7. Southern pho, easy-going and generous like the Southern Vietnamese, have add-ons that its Northern brother didn’t think of: bean sprouts, fresh herbs, a little sugar in the broth, hoisin sauce and hot sauce.(**)

8. A few famous Pho restaurants in Vietnam (that I’ve seen in Houston and California, but I’m not sure if they are the real deal): pho Tàu Bay (“airplane”) (Hanoi, 1950)(***), pho Thìn (Hanoi, 1955), pho Hòa-Pasteur (Saigon, 1960).

* I had this extract once in a bowl of bun moc, just a drop, literally, and it’s so strong it killed the broth and my appetite. The only other time I had something to that effect was when I dunked sushi in wasabi.
** Pho shacks in the North still hesitate to serve all these condiments today, which in my opinion is quite understandable. The veggies only clutter the soup and get you full more quickly. The sauces only overpower the natural broth (which already has at least a dozen different ingredients), and distract you from the real taste of pho.
*** The first owner of pho Tau Bay did not name it so. A friend gave him a pilot helmet, which he really liked and wore often. Customers then started calling him “ong tau bay” (Mr. Airplane) (?!) and the name stuck.

It’s almost certain that outside the big Vietnamese communities any Vietnamese restaurant you see in America has the word pho in it. People must eventually have the impression that Vietnamese eat nothing but rice noodle soup. Of course, Japanese eat nothing but sushi and Americans have only hamburgers.

Mudpie found this place earlier in Los Altos, about 10-15 minutes car ride from SLAC. We strayed from the usual pho and ordered a gargantuan set of appetizers and main courses. Starting off was the familiar goi cuon, a salad wrap with some lettuce or garden herbs, some halved shrimps (mainly for decoration), a razor blade thin slice of boiled pork, some fresh bean sprout, and a little bundle of rice vermicelli. I took a bite by itself, and the meat couldn’t quite buff the plain veggie up, so a dip into the peanut sauce nearby was essential. It was a very light appetizer, and no matter how slowly you go you’re gonna finish the roll in at most 3 minutes. I don’t know what kind of sauce they serve with in Vietnam, but the peanut sauce here is just really good.

Next came the supposedly called cha gio (stated “in rice paper” on the menu). As I had lived in Vietnam for 17 years I believe I’m qualified to judge whether a roll of cha gio is actually made of rice paper (banh trang) or the fooling wheat sheet that makes the Vietnamese cha gio synonymous with the Chinese egg roll. So here goes: “rice paper” my foot. It’s not any more rice paper than the average mediocre egg roll you find at any Chinese buffet. Can you ever find a real cha gio in America anymore? I’d give them some credit for trying: the wrapper is indeed thin. But rice paper is translucent, this is as opaque as Venus’ atmosphere. Good egg roll, but honestly, I feel cheated.

Pictured above is goi ngo sen tom thit (lotus stem salad with shrimp and pork), which appeared suspiciously in the appetizer section, since we both ate some and even took the rest home for another meal. One thing to be noticed is Vietnamese salad is nothing like our usual American garden salad or Caesar salad. The waiter is not going to ask you what kind of dressing you’d like, and you need not innocuously remind “on the side, please”. There is no reason to fret over some little Ranch or bleu cheese dressing that will cause your calorie level to shoot up, or vinaigrette to make your taste buds sour. The salad is simply soaked in a mixture of salt, lemon juice, and sugar. Every piece of lotus stem, sliced carrot, sliced onion, cilantro, even the thin slices of boiled pork and the shrimp halves, has almost the same taste of that mixture, thoroughly and evenly. The lotus stem is a little crunchy, the pork is tender and mild, but not plain in the least, topped with crushed peanuts for some nuttiness. The salad is a meal in itself, so simple and elegant. And healthy.

But we didn’t stay healthy for long. For main course we had com tay cam (English name: clay pot) and old timer bun thit nuong (cold rice vermicelli with grilled pork).

The rice came with a small cup of pho broth, which I’m not sure what to do with. I’m pretty sure the rice wasn’t cooked in the pot, only served in it, because the pot wasn’t hot and the rice was almost flaming. The first spoon was excellent, the second revealed that it’s a rather oily combination of fried rice, fried shiitake mushroom, fried Chinese sausage, and fried chicken. The pot could be smaller than your cereal bowl, but it’s like the pot of Thach Sanh, it’s so filling you keep eating layer after layer but you just can’t finish it in one sitting.

Now this had been my craving for a long time. A bowl of chargrilled pork chops atop a soft bed of bún, some bean sprout and sliced cucumber at the bottom for a taste of freshness, sprinkled crushed peanuts and many a spoonful of nuoc mam pha (fish extract diluted in water, mixed with lemon juice, salt and sugar, and very little chopped garlic). I like the bun, the nuoc mam, and the veggie, but I would whisper *just* a little disappointment with the pork. It was definitely flavorful, but it was too thinly sliced. It wasn’t grilled long enough to bring out all the flavor. And it’s a little, just a little, dry. Beside, how are you supposed to cut that monstrously wide sheet of meat with chopsticks?

This is the closest one could get to Vietnamese food from Palo Alto, and unarguably a good find (a decent one, if you’re uncompromisingly picky about real cha gio). It’s cheap and takes credit card. We didn’t have to wait long for our food to arrive, but if you expect attentive service coming to ask “Is everything okay?” and refill your water every 10 minutes, don’t come here. Vietnamese restaurants respect privacy of their customers, so no need to worry about putting food in your mouth the correct way (as there is none). The only thing that bothered me about this place was the chatty nature of the hostesses. When the restaurant wasn’t packed after prime lunch time, our ladies comfortably spilled out to each other, across the counter and tables in Vietnamese with heavy Southern accent, numerous pieces about friends and relatives. Not that many could understand them, but some background music would be more pleasant I think. See menu.

Phở Vỉ Hoa Restaurant
4546 El Camino Real Suite A12
Los Altos, CA 94022
Lunch for two: $21.81

There is no Hong Kong Market or Bellaire (or 99 Ranch Market or Bolsa, if you are Californian) in College Station, but there is Vietnamese food here. Rosie’s Pho (noodle soup) opened about two years ago. We were among their first customers, and the owner of the place, Ms Hồng, even remembered me when I came back a few months later with my friends. Talk about hospitality. (Guess how we know she’s the owner: hồng means rose in Vietnamese.)

We came early for lunch. When we finished our meal at around 12:30, the place was a whole lot more crowded. It’s good to sit again at the familiar booth we always sit, close to the entrance and far away from the kitchen’s action. It’s also good to see the same ole expression on the cashier’s face, definitely not unfriendly, but so contemplative that makes me wonder if he has important exchange going on at the stock market or something of sort. It feels casual, and you don’t need to put up big smiles here for a show of warmth. The warmth comes to you in a bowl.

I ordered a the-more-the-merrier karnival of beef brisket, tendon, flank, and tripe phở. Large bowl. Huge mistake. No, WAIT. No. Don’t leave. Let me explain. The mistake is mine, not the pho’s or the cook’s. I had no idea what I was up against (I don’t remember it being like this before). For all its goodness and meatiness and brothiness, as you can see above, look at the size of the bowl! I could take a bath in there. And I would drown. But before I do, shall we take a minute to spot the white bundle at 4-5 o’clock of the bowl? It’s Tripe. Tendon and Flank were camera-shy and hidden under Brisket. If you are grossed out by the thought of eating anything animalia, muscle, but non-flesh, offensively commonly known as offals, and think that they taste gross, let me beg to differ that they are texture food, and they do have their unique charms. If you chew gum, why not give tripe a try?

The herb plate accompanying the USS Pho here has the basics: cilantro, rau hung, rau ram, bean sprout, interestingly-cut pieces of lime, and (the American substitution for cayenne pepper) jalapeno. I eat my pho without any condiments or herbs, but little mom likes the greens and the bean sprout…

… which makes her bowl look so much prettier than mine.

(To be continued)

Address: Rosie’s Phở – Asian noodle soup
2001 Texas Ave S #300
College Station, TX 77840