I finally purchased a GPS device and decided to give it a test run by having lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant on the Buford Hwy. A long section of the Buford Hwy., not far from I-285, is jam packed with a variety of Latino and Asian eateries, markets and bakeries.
Last night I was scouring the April issue of the Atlanta Magazine whose cover story was about good and cheap eats. There was a section listing the best places to get pho (fuh), a traditional Vietnamese noodle soup. I fell in love with this concoction after tasting it in Boulder for the first time in my life.
Around 10:30 this morning the gray skies let loose it's moisture and it began to rain. The weather forecast predicted a gray rainy day..........just perfect for making a trek out to Buford Hwy. and enjoying a bowl of noodle soup. I was ready with my new best friend and navigator, Samantha. This is the choice I made on my GPS of the 4 selections I could choose to "speak" turn by turn directions. It worked. Samantha delivered me right to the restaurant's door even though I did make a wrong turn but she quickly put me back on track.
Upon entering, I was immediately greeted by one of the uniformed wait staff holding up a single finger indicating that I needed a table for one. I nodded yes, realizing that communication would only be in two forms..........Vietnamese or hand gestures. I was seated at a table designed for four in a large open dining room reminiscent of a high school cafeteria with bright overhead fluorescent lighting. Not the perfect ambiance I was looking for but the place was crowded so the food must be as good as the review in Atlanta Magazine stated.
The waiter came over dressed in his appliance repairman looking uniform and I asked for an iced tea. He pointed to the menu at #19 ( I guess iced tea and nineteen sound similar for someone who doesn't understand American English. I pointed to the list of beverages and he responded sweet or unsweet in his broken English.............unsweet please.
As I waited for my Pho to arrive I glanced around the restaurant looking at the clientele, mostly Asian with some Americans scattered throughout. There was Asian music playing over a PA system drowned out by the chatter of Asian dialogue filling the dining room. I was feeling at home. I can't believe I lived in a yuppie, all white, Stepford wives community of over 100,000 people for almost 4 years........My God! Life is too short to surround yourself with your own kind as a permanent living situation. No offense Boulder.
Anyway, my bowl of Pho arrived. I realized I didn't have any utensils. Sitting in the middle of the table is an assortment of sauces.......soy, house made chile sauce, bottled Siracha and hoisin along with napkin dispensers, wrapped chopsticks and the ornate Asian soup spoons. I grabbed a spoon and took a sip of the broth. It was very warm having been slightly cooled by the thinly sliced pieces of raw steak they submerged before serving this delicate wonder which cooks the meat instantly. The only pieces to remain pink are the ones supported above the broth line by the thin and extremely long rice noodles hidden below. The broth was perfectly spiced. I could taste the ginger, star anise and green onions used to flavor this liquid from the Gods.
A garnish plate consisting of bean sprouts, green peppers, lemon, fresh mint sprigs and one other leafy herb which I didn't recognize but had a taste and look similar to that of a bold green leafy lettuce. I added bean sprouts and mint to my bowl and swished it around so the mint released it's oils and flavored the broth to an even higher level.
Another glance around the dining room showed that most patrons were drawn here for the Pho. As all were hunched over their bowls sipping the soothing broth and slurping up the noodles as I understand is the custom in Asian communities............never twirling the pasta around a fork as we Americans do. I joined in and did the same. It was a great experience. Good food and the right to eat it the way it was intended.........slurping!!
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