If done correctly, pho is not eaten. It's experienced.
It doesn’t sound like much. A Google search defines pho as “vietnamese noodle soup” which is like describing Queen as a British rock group. Accurate enough, but accompanied with a side of insulting nonchalance.
It’s remarkable how something so simple adds up to so much. When people say “it’s the little things in life that mean the most,” pho belongs on that list. It really does mean the most to me in terms of Vietnamese cuisine.
The best pho is served in any typical Vietnamese restaurant with metal tables and plastic chairs. The places where it costs only $1.50 and the restaurant doesn’t really care what you think of its appearance as long as it provides a good meal.
The proper pho experience is more than just eating, but creating your own masterpiece by using the garnishes delivered with the pho. The soup comes with a plate of herbs, bean sprouts, limes, and a beautiful abundance of spice and peppers. Make it as spicy, herby, garlicky as you desire.
Because of this, pho is more than just delicious; it’s fun. I feel like a child with an easy-bake oven as I use my mediocre cooking skills creating a broth fit for my mood. Whether I need something mellow or something to fire me up, I have that power.
(I’d like to note, however, that unlike a child using an easy-bake oven, I’m not sharing my pho with anyone else. I’m finishing this bowl - broth and all, my friends. Like a rabbit, I might even shamelessly polish off the mint that never made it in my broth.)
During my quest for understanding in this complex and chaotic world, I no longer question where my life lessons come from, I’m just grateful they present themselves at all. Even if that means they splash around in my bowl of pho.
Like the combination of herbs, limes, garlic, and peppers allows me to customize my pho, I, too, can customize my life.
The problem with having so many choices in front of me is that they can feel overwhelming.
How do I know when I’ve added enough mint? Likewise, how do I know I’ve made the right decision on virtually anything until it either blossoms or blows up in my face?
I spend much of my time in Vietnam watching with wonder at how differently people live life. It’s one of the things I’ve most appreciated about being here. Each day I glimpse life in a way I never realized it could be lived.
For example, despite how in love I am with pho, the one thing I cannot and will not bring myself to do is eat it for breakfast. I would rather not have that brothy, warm comfort baking in my stomach all day as I face the Vietnamese heat.
Yet, to my amazement, people here eat Pho for breakfast as casually as Americans eat cereal.
It serves as another example of how many possible ways life can be lived. It sounds silly, but I find great comfort in that obvious, but easy to forget, fact.
Say I ruin my pho by adding too much mint. I can balance it by adding peppers or cilantro.
If I add too much pepper, too much garlic, too much mint, I can try a different variation next time. There are thousands of ways to make and enjoy pho and thousands of ways to change my life if I decide I don’t like my current route.
Likewise when any decision I make in life does blow up in my face, it’s not final. If I don’t like my current route, I have the ingredients in front of me to change it.
There exists numerous ways of reaching my destination (a destination I’m still trying to figure out, to be fair). By being too strict with my life, thinking events must play out in a specific way in order for me to reach my destination, I’m only limiting myself.
The other day I noticed construction workers fixing a sidewalk while working barefoot. Something I would never see in the US and something anyone in a developed, Western country could easily judge as barbaric.
That’s not fair, though, because clearly it works. The job gets done and they begin the next project.
People drive their motorbikes here without any sort of pattern or logic. They drive on whatever side of the road they want, maybe even on the sidewalk. Everyone is just trying to make it to the next destination and sometimes that path doesn’t make sense to others- hell, it might not even make sense to us. Maybe it doesn’t need to.
Believing that my path doesn't need to make complete sense or travel in a straight line comes with a sense of freedom and calming.
When I get stressed that things aren’t going the way I planned, I remind myself there are plenty of other ways to reach my destination, just like there are plenty of ways of enjoying pho.
Eat it drowning in fish sauce, with too many herbs, with broth so hot your nose runs. Even eat it for breakfast. If I find I don’t like it, I hope I’m always brave enough to add a few more chili peppers.
And in life, I hope I’m always brave enough to change my route.
