Garden Grove Pho Story

Garden Grove Pho Story

Wednesday 11/29/06   2:04 pm

      I arrived early at the dentist and though the she could not pronounce my name, the friendly receptionist bumped up my appointment time 25 minutes. A cleaning that was supposed to take an hour took only half of that. That never happens! A dentist appointment ending early? So walking out of the dental office I somewhat questioned the actual thoroughness of my teeth cleaning but they tasted clean and was grateful to be out of there left with four hours until my next roll call.

      I got a text earlier that morning from Leslie “Jos! I'm SO bored of being sick!” It was a cry for help. How could I not respond? Providing a cure for Leslie's boredom also provided something for me to occupy my free time. So I suggested the absurd, that we go for tea, and then to the mall. She of course, declined. But she wanted pho. So that's where my adventure begins.

      In my twenty four trips around the sun, I think I have only had pho once. I knew pho, pronounced “fah”, was Vietnamese, consisted of some kind of noodle, some kind of vegetable and some kind of meat. Since those ingredients describe about 94 percent of the soups ever boiled, and Leslie wanted good pho, I began driving south on Euclid street to where I vaguely remembered a lot of Vietnamese stores. One of these would no doubt serve pho. No, good pho. I later discovered that these couple blocks between Westminister and Garden Grove is actually a community called “Little Saigon”.

        I pulled into a strip mall. There were three Vietnamese restaurants. All closed. I noticed a “cafe” at the far end. I thought to myself, surely they serve pho. Something, somewhere must have gotten lost in translation because this wasn't a cafe, this was a bar. A bar that had been transplanted from its original foundation in southeast Asian soil and relocated here with a gilding of southern california stucco. It came complete with three old guys smoking cigarettes at separate tables and one...