Vietnamese Pho Soup -- The Warmth We Keep in Cracked Clay Pots

Week two of Emma's workshop. She's barely sleeping. Not from stress — from excitement. She comes home, eats dinner, goes to her room, and works on her final project until I knock on her door at 10 PM and tell her to sleep. She says, "Five more minutes." She doesn't mean five more minutes. She let slip a detail about the project: it involves two cultures and a single dish. That's all she'd say. I'm guessing it's some kind of fusion — Vietnamese and something else. But with Emma, you never know. She thinks laterally. She makes connections I wouldn't make. Meanwhile, Ma's temple walks have become a fixture. Every Sunday, 7:30 AM, I show up at her house and we walk 1.2 miles to the temple and 1.2 miles back. She prays. I sit in the courtyard. We walk home. She makes congee. It's the simplest, most peaceful part of my week. This Sunday she was quieter than usual. I asked if she was okay. She said, "I was thinking about your father." I said, "What about him?" She said, "He would be embarrassed by the temple. He never liked going." She smiled. A real smile, not the polite one she gives strangers. The private smile she keeps for memories of Huy. I've never heard her talk about missing him. She doesn't use that word. Vietnamese women of her generation — at least the ones I know — don't say "I miss him." They say "I was thinking about him," which is the same thing wearing different clothes. I said, "He'd have liked the walking." She said, "He would have complained the entire time and then been glad he came." She knows this man. Forty years of marriage and she knows him the way she knows her own kitchen — every corner, every imperfection, every spot where the light falls. Made a comforting dinner: ca kho to — the caramelized catfish in clay pot. The dish that's warm and sweet and simple. I made it in Ma's clay pot, the one I inherited when her kitchen was redone. The pot has a crack in the lid that Ma sealed with a piece of rice paste in 1992. The rice paste is still there. Some repairs last longer than the thing they're fixing. Some repairs are the thing.

That night, stirring the caramel in Ma’s cracked clay pot, I kept thinking about what she said—“He would have complained the entire time and then been glad he came.” There’s a whole marriage in that sentence. When I want to sit with that kind of love, I cook something Vietnamese, something slow, something that asks you to pay attention. Pho isn’t what I made that night, but it’s what I’d make the next time Ma comes for dinner—the broth takes hours and you can’t rush it, which is maybe the point. Some things you just let simmer until they’re ready.

Vietnamese Pho Soup

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 3 hrs | Total Time: 3 hrs 20 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 lbs beef marrow bones, rinsed
1 lb beef brisket or chuck, whole piece
1 large yellow onion, halved
3-inch piece fresh ginger, halved lengthwise
4 whole star anise
3 whole cloves
1 cinnamon stick
1 teaspoon whole coriander seeds
1 tablespoon fish sauce, plus more to taste
1 teaspoon sugar
Salt to taste
12 oz dried flat rice noodles (banh pho)
1/2 lb beef sirloin or eye of round, thinly sliced (for raw topping)
3 green onions, thinly sliced
1/2 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
1 cup bean sprouts
1 lime, cut into wedges
Fresh Thai basil sprigs, for serving
Hoisin sauce and sriracha, for serving

Instructions

Char the aromatics. Place onion halves and ginger cut-side down in a dry skillet or directly over a gas flame. Cook over high heat, turning occasionally, until deeply charred and fragrant, about 5 minutes. Set aside.
Blanch the bones. Place beef bones in a large stockpot and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil over high heat and cook for 5 minutes. Drain, rinse the bones under cold water, and clean the pot.
Toast the spices. In a dry skillet over medium heat, toast star anise, cloves, cinnamon stick, and coriander seeds until fragrant, 1—2 minutes. Transfer to a cheesecloth sachet or mesh strainer insert.
Build the broth. Return the blanched bones to the clean pot along with the brisket, charred onion, charred ginger, and spice sachet. Add 3 quarts of cold water. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a gentle simmer. Skim any foam that rises to the surface during the first 30 minutes.
Simmer low and slow. Continue simmering uncovered for 2 1/2 to 3 hours, until the brisket is tender and the broth is deeply fragrant. Remove the brisket and set aside to cool slightly, then slice thin. Strain the broth through a fine-mesh sieve and discard solids. Season with fish sauce, sugar, and salt to taste.
Prepare the noodles. Cook rice noodles according to package directions until just tender. Drain and divide among six deep bowls.
Assemble the bowls. Arrange sliced cooked brisket and a few slices of raw sirloin over the noodles in each bowl. Ladle very hot broth over the top—the heat will gently cook the raw beef. Top with green onions and cilantro.
Serve immediately. Bring each bowl to the table with a plate of bean sprouts, Thai basil, lime wedges, hoisin, and sriracha on the side for guests to add as they like.

Nutrition (per serving)

Vietnamese Pho Soup -- The Warmth We Keep in Cracked Clay Pots