Phở

Upon arriving in Ho Chi Minh City, hungry after a thankfully uneventful bus ride across the border from Phnom Penh, we promptly set out in search of lunch. Wandering down the alley away from our hotel we took a couple of quick turns and ran into a crowded Pho stall. As two locals got up from their seats I nodded to the young boy working and scooted onto the small plastic stool behind the steel table. Alessandro joined me and asked why we were having soup on such a warm day. Apparently Vietnamese cuisine has yet to reach the small Mediterranean town of Positano.

We ordered a couple of local "333" beers and waited for our beef pho. A plate arrived overflowing with crunchy bean sprouts, fragrant Thai basil, vibrant mint and cilantro, green onion, colorful chili peppers and lime. Within minutes our steaming bowls were placed in front of us. As Alessandro looked on, I tore at the fresh herbs and tossed them into the bowl, adding the sprouts and green onions like they were sprinkles on a sundae.  I reached for the hoison and sriracha, making concentric circles with the red and brown sauces. Lastly, I squeezed the lime over top and began slowly stirring with my chopsticks. Alessandro followed my actions, though a little more sparingly, and hesitantly took his first bite, the rice noodles slipping out between his sticks and splashing back into his bowl. 

Pho to go. This woman, selling Pho in a park in Hue, gives new meaning to street food.

As the boy came around to check on us I held up my beer can to show I would like another and Alessandro did the same. However, he also held up his near empty bowl of soup and asked for another, flashing a smile and making the server laugh. Apparently it wasn't too warm out for two bowls of soup.