I sit in a Vietnamese restaurant in Los Feliz, and am feeling the after effects of good times at the company Halloween party last night. It is a new ritual of mine to seek out pho whenever I am dealing with after effects of good times. When I began this ritual a couple weeks ago, I was in San Francisco where I had a wonderful experience with beef pho, and even wrote a poem entitled “Broth of Life” that I will not be sharing here on my blog.
Today, I opted for chicken pho. This was a mistake. The broth was weak, quite like hot water with a bit of salt, and I had to supplement with copious amounts of Hoisin sauce and Sriracha. The texture of the rice noodles was the best part about this pho, and almost made up for the anemic chicken and lacking broth, but not quite.
Ah well. It sucks to order the wrong thing, but now I know to go with beef pho in the future.