Ah, all the noodle soups I’ve had in my life! The hot, the savoury, the lukewarm and questionable.
When I’m feeling down, or bored, my thoughts often turn to noodle soup.
Where can I get some? Where must I go?
Beef Noodle Soup. Ramen. Phõ.
(Often pronounced, by some, in anguish, as a low, almost guttural, “P-OE” or “PO-HOE.” Sometimes “re-imagined” or “deconstructed” by others into a dish only very remotely resembling what could only very generously be called Phõ.)
I don’t begrudge them. It’s, frankly, not all that important (not really, not always). Just don’t mess the ingredients. More: don’t intrude on the scene expecting more than you give. Than you can give.
Don’t insist. You don’t even have to call it Phõ!
There’s more than enough for everyone, but not if you insist. Not in the way that you think.
The taste might be different each time, the experience. But not its standing. Consider the weight of the Thing, the ingress, the import. The majesty it imbues. Be mindful.
Do or do not do.
Some things in this world are not to be taken lightly.
The broth is key.
The broth is life.