Seacoast History Blog #115 
May 27, 2011

It took me 60 years, but I finally know what I want for dinner – and for lunch. I want pho. I’ve fallen for the perfect food, a Vietnamese blend of noodles, chicken, and herb broth sprinkled with fresh raw bean sprouts, lime, basil, cilantro, and maybe mint. I had a bowl in Lowell a decade ago and did not rediscover it until recently. Since then I’ve had four big bowls at four restaurants. I can tell you where the best pho is, and I am sad to report, it isn’t in the New Hampshire seacoast. Despite a cornucopia of top restaurants in Portsmouth, one must go South for the best of pho.  (Continued below)

Pho is the national fast food of Vietnam, usually served in the streets. Over here, I’m guessing, that the cook must be a native born Vietnamese. She must have pho (there pronounced more like “pha”) running in her veins. As simple as it looks, it is difficult to imitate. It appears to be a 20^th century blend of Vietnamese, French and Chinese traditions.

There’s a lot going on in the broth. Could be a fish base, often beef. It apparently takes hours to prepare the base and yet it tastes as fresh and clear as a running spring. There is no fat in pho. The chicken (I don’t do the beef version) is so white and clean it seems scrubbed. The basic ingredients, unlike our long-simmering New England soups and stews, seem to have come together in the big white bowl only seconds before it is served. The pho arrives very hot and stays hot. There may be onions, chives, or cut chilis on top. You add more fresh stuff yourself, by hand, from a little white heaping dish. Pho usually comes with a paste of hoisin sauce and Srirracha hot sauce that you mix into the broth to your own taste. I don’t like them, and stick only to a squeeze of fresh lime.

I am a pho novice. I only know what I have eaten and briefly read. The white rice noodles, especially for someone raised on canned American soups and dried Italian pasta, are like nothing I knew from childhood. The seasoning, according to Wikipedia, can include Saigon cinnamon, star anise, roasted ginger, roasted onion, black cardamom, coriander seed, fennel seed, and clove. But the blend, done right, is like a molecule in which you cannot tease out the individual atoms. The ingredients have become pho.

I took a shot at a local restaurant that promises foods from around the globe. I had my doubts that any one kitchen could produce a great taco, great Spanish cuisine, something from Africa -- and pho. They couldn’t. I called the result “faux pho.” Although the soup looked a lot like Vietnamese pho, it tasted like Bob’s broiled chicken in Campbell’s soup with a side of bean sprouts. Better just to go to Bob’s.

The closest good pho I’ve found comes from a Thai restaurant in Newburyport with the difficult-to-remember name of Andaman. I’ve been there three times and the pho always satisfies, although for the life of me, I can’t find pho on the menu. You can see by the photo that Andaman is an attractive dining spot with glass-covered tables and neat napkins. We will be back here often, but the search for pho continued.

Beyond that there is Lowell. There must be half a dozen Vietnamese eateries there, some even with “Pho” in the name. I lectured there last month and my wife and I set out afterwards to find the shop we had stumbled into 10 years ago when I had my pho conversion. Locals said we were likely looking for Viet Thai at 368 Merrimack Street, across from City Hall. It was good, authentic, and we ordered, thinking perhaps the place had undergone major renovations since our last visit. We were happy, satisfied with the soup, but not thrilled. The magic wasn’t quite there.

On a whim we wandered a few blocks further down to 478 Merrimack Street, and there it was. T&M Restaurant won’t win any fashion awards. The place is as plain as can be. The furniture is diner-style and battered. The walls are surrounded in mirrors. There is one tall counter and zero frills. One TV set bolted the wall was playing a Vietnamese version of Dance Fever. The waiter, in a short-sleeved shirt, sandals, and shorts, left his newspaper and poured us large cups of aromatic tea before we ordered. We had just eaten, but I ordered pho to go. A woman with dark hair went into the back and 15 minutes later returned with our packaged order. The next day I took it out of the refrigerator. Big chunks of chicken floated in an almost clear liquid in a large plastic container filled with perfect white noodles. All the add-ons -- the basil, bean sprouts, and lime -- had been neatly wrapped separately. I ate half the soup for lunch and the other half the following day and it remained, to the end, as refreshing and clean as if it had just been served.

I got momentarily excited about a pho soup chain store called Pho24 that hopes to expand soon to 200 stores. They are, however, stores in Vietnam, with a few in Japan, some in China, and one in California. The Web site is in Vietnamese, but I hit the Google “translate” button and wrote to ask how soon they will be coming to Seacoast, New Hampshire. So far, no response.

© 2011 J. Dennis Robinson / SeacaostNH.com

(c) 2011 photos by J. Dennis Robinson

CONTINUE PHO SOUP SEARCH