Pho Thin – Of War, Noodles, and a Great Man’s Legacy

Reposted from my old blog.

Sitting in one of the two benches inside a humble hole-in-the-wall joint just across the North-east side of Hoan Kiem Lake, this bowl of beef noodles is almost making me cry. This is what defines the famous noodle soup Hanoi is known for. We were the only people inside when we came in but we never doubted the fact that we were about to be served one of the most delicious  bowl of Pho Bo ( beef noodle) this side of Vietnam. A youthful guy placed a bowl of rice noodles topped with what looked like raw, thinly sliced beef in front of us. He went to one of the large vats and came back to fill it with steaming hot  beef broth. I was drooling with anticipation. My friend and I stopped whatever mundane conversation we were having and dove in, lost in the heavenly taste of the late Mr. Thin’s legacy to the world. I was content with slurping my noodles with just the beef and the soup, after all this broth took hours and hours to make, 8-10 hours if I’m not mistaken. It tasted so good I practically ignored the garnished and spices on the table. The friendly guy however wanted us to go about it as Hanoians do and pointed to the greens and lime and chili. Now, my attitude has always been, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. It’s the same with food. I love it as it is and I usually do not know how to garnish these local dishes ( I can remember my first bowl of buncha, I was totally clueless) I’d rather not risk it. I did put in some chili and lime though after the guy refilled my soup. Spice and herbs or none, just thinking about it makes me wanna book a flight to Hanoi this weekend and satisfy my craving already. People miss their boyfriend, friends, or pets, but man, I miss my Pho.

Now, I said the soup was making my cry. At least that’s how it felt inside. It’s not just the soup, it’s the story behind it. This stall has been at this address for almost 60 decades now. The late owner, Mr. Thin, went from working as an assistant at a pho shop to eventually selling his own version on boxes tied to a bamboo pole, then a cart, and eventually his own place at 61 Dinh Tien Hoang Street. He even went to prison during the war for continuing to sell Pho Ga despite the ban on beef. I don’t think I can word it better than it’s already written so I’m just gonna share with you a copy of the article published on an airline’s in-flight magazine that led us to this glorious place.

I will be in Vietnam again in January, I can hardly wait.