We went in for pho and walked out with a belly full of fish. After Wednesday's disappointing inaugural bowl of pho, several readers encouraged me to try again, so the very next day Mr. Food Musings and I set off for Turtle Tower in the area of the Tenderloin known as Little Saigon. It was lunchtime and when we arrived it was full; the owner (I think) stood guard at the doorway, matching up waiting diners with empty tables.
Even before we sat down, I knew what I wanted: pho ga (chicken pho). I was on a mission, and a reader who knows her stuff said it was some of the best in the city. I also wanted some crispy fried imperial rolls to roll up with vermicelli noodles, lettuce, mint and cilantro. Mr. FM, when asked, replied that he was eyeing the grilled fish with vermicelli. "Honey," I whispered, "you don't want to order fish in a place like this." Go ahead, say it: I'm a snob. But I have eaten enough fishy fish dishes in enough Thai and Chinese restaurants to know that the advice is sound. Just then our waitress appeared, and Mr. FM asked her what kind of fish they used. "Catfish," came the reply. He inquired next about the steamed chicken, and she promptly asked if he wanted white or dark meat, then hurried off. Okay...we'll take the steamed chicken, I guess.
As I sat sipping a guava juice, I contemplated pho. Was I disappointed yesterday because I had lame pho? Or was it because I was expecting something more than simple broth with rice noodles, meat and a few scallions? Ah yes, Grasshopper, it was the latter. Because everyone I know talks and writes about pho as though it is the best thing going, I had come to expect something full of wild flavors and slurpy deliciousness. I wanted bells and whistles, crunchy and salty and sour and sweet, slivers of this and sprinklings of that. By now, however, my expectations were considerably reset. I should be looking for a good, clean broth full of fresh cut slithery rice noodles and some tasty meat. Nothing less, nothing more.
My pho arrived, a big bowl that, just as promised, was full of steaming, clear broth, wide noodles, chunks of tender white meat chicken and chopped scallions and herbs. It was very simple, and very good. I don't know if I will ever crave it, but at least now I know what it's all about.
Mr. FM sat across from me, munching on a plate of steamed chicken. Nothing more, nothing less. We eyed each other and I could tell he was disappointed. "Well, that's what we get for being such ignoramuses," I said. He just chewed on his chicken. Just then, our waitress arrived with hands full of dishes. There was a bowl of peanuts, one piled high with scallions and lacy sprigs of dill, some vermicelli noodles, another with raw half-moons of onion and a bowl of mauve colored liquid. A burner came next. She set everything down and hurried away. Mr. FM and I eyed each other again. "Were we supposed to heat the chicken?" I whispered. I felt like I had a big sign spelling out L-O-S-E-R taped to my head. Why hadn't I read the Lonely Planet on Vietnam before we left for lunch? Or at least boned up with a few Wikipedia entries?
The owner materialized with a lighter and prepared to set our burner aflame. I sat there, slowly spooning pho into my mouth, happy not to have to figure out what the hell to do with all the stuff set in front of us. "Would you like me to explain?" he kindly offered. Oh God, yes please! We nodded our heads quickly.
The burner, it turns out, was topped by a pot full of bubbling oil and catfish. Catfish! The waitress had mistakenly ordered both dishes for Mr. FM. It was a happy mistake. The smiling bald man picked up the dill and scallions and dumped them into the hot oil. Then he picked up a small bowl. "First you put some noodles in your bowl," he said, collecting a large tangle of vermicelli with his chopsticks. "Then you add some onion, but not too much." As he chucked on a peanut or two, he explained that the onion was marinating in sugar and vanilla. He nabbed some wilted dill and a few scallions from the tiny cauldron, and then a chunk of golden catfish and put all of it into the bowl. "Then you put some of this on. It might be very strong for your taste, but it's good." He poured some of the pink liquid -- shrimp sauce, it turns out -- over top, and then prepared a second bowl for me. "Now you eat!" Mr. FM took a bite. His eyes lit up. I took a bite, too. "You like?" asked the owner. Oh yeah, we like. The catfish had crisped up in the oil, and the combination of mild fish with the sharp onions, fragrant dill and salty-sweet shrimp sauce was a wake-up call for the senses. I promised Mr. FM I would only have one more bite, but I couldn't keep my promise. It was killer. In the end, it was the best thing about lunch, and I am already calculating a second visit for my own kettle of fish
Sounds like you got to try cha ca! Now you have to get yourself to Hanoi, to check out the 136-year-old family restaurant (Cha Ca La Vong) that inspired a national dish. Cooking With Amy recently ran a post on this place, which was a family home and neighborhood delight decades before it became a popular tourist spot.
Posted by: Karen | February 03, 2007 at 09:43 PM
Good call, Karen, you're right -- the photo on Amy's blog is exactly what we had. Hyperbole aside, I am convinced I am already addicted to the stuff.
Posted by: Catherine | February 04, 2007 at 11:55 AM
Yay! I'm glad you at least tried it. Cool.
Posted by: Amanda B. | February 05, 2007 at 09:44 AM
Me too. Like I said, now I understand what pho is and when it's good. It may not be my favorite food, but at least I know I had some good stuff and can at least now properly judge. Thanks for the recommendation!
Posted by: Catherine | February 05, 2007 at 10:30 AM
No problem. There's a lot of really bad pho out there. I had to do an article once that had me eating over 40 bowls in three weeks and all I have to say is that if the meat is iridescent, run.
Posted by: Amanda B. | February 05, 2007 at 10:47 AM
I only crave Pho when I'm under the weather or hung over; it's a soul-cleanser of sorts, I'm convinced. Turtle Tower definitely does a mean Pho Ga but there are places down Polk St that are just as yummy, even if you're slightly skeptical about their hygiene! I've never been disappointed.
Posted by: patricia | February 05, 2007 at 07:33 PM
Aha! Sounds like there are two problems here.
1) You ordered chicken Pho. Forget it. Good yes, but not what people crave. Next time Beef Pho with sliced rare beef (it cooks up in the broth right away). This is the stuff of craving.
2) You got Northern Pho. If you're looking for basil and lime and bean sprouts, you're not gonna likely find it. Try out a Southern spot. Sadly Pho is lunch food for me, and I lunch in the South Bay, so no good SF recommendation for you. They're out there though, I'm sure of it.
And lucky find on the catfish! My favorite dish in Vietnam while I was there.
Posted by: Ben | February 06, 2007 at 12:56 PM
Ben, actually the first pho I had was beef. And it did come with bean sprouts (though no basil or lime). But I just spoke with a friend on the East Coast, who coincidentally also just tried pho -- and loved it. She said her favorite thing was all the condiments -- sliced hot peppers, limes, basil, bean sprouts, hot sauce, and on and on. Obviously if I'd had all those condiments maybe I would have at least had more fun playing with my phood.
Posted by: Catherine | February 06, 2007 at 05:49 PM