Pho 75: The Taste of Remembering

SKYLER FOLEY // FLAT HAT MAGAZINE

Back home, whenever my family and I missed the taste of pho, we’d get into the car and make the 30-minute drive to Pho 75. Over the years, very little has changed in the restaurant. 

Today, the same rural photography lines the walls, the same traditional music plays behind the clatter of bowls, and the same hum of conversation rings as it did when my dad ate there weekly in college. There is nothing more familiar to me than seeing the pink rare beef, the pieces of cilantro floating in the broth, and the chopsticks tucked into the rice noodles.

While we eat pho frequently, we don’t enjoy it nearly as often as the inhabitants of pho’s country of origin. In Vietnam, locals eat the noodle soup at the many open restaurants that line the streets and spill out onto the sidewalks. Since it’s inexpensive and readily available, pho is eaten at any time throughout the day; historically, though, pho is a breakfast food. When pho originated in Northern Vietnam in the early 20th century, it provided a light but filling breakfast ideal for those working in rice fields and similarly physically demanding jobs.

Street vendors typically prepare broth either the night before or in the early morning around 2 a.m., open shop to customers around 6 a.m., sell out by 10 a.m., and then start over for the evening or the next day. Recently, however, with Vietnam’s work habits moving away from labor-intensive jobs and towards business, more street restaurants are staying open all day. Thus, at any meal, and even between meals, people can be seen eating pho on low tables and on stools, with storefronts and restaurants on one side and civilians on motorcycles and bikes rushing past on the other.

Le Thiep, the founder of Pho 75, recalls his own experiences with pho’s versatility. 

“Back home, before the war, I ate pho for breakfast, pho for dinner, pho for lunch, for snacks, for hangover,” Le Thiep said.

Before he was a pho entrepreneur, Thiep was a writer and journalist. During the Vietnam War, he worked as a correspondent for a war resistance newspaper and covered stories firsthand from the warzone. As a journalist, Thiep exposed the North’s atrocities and reported the truth to Southerners. After the war ended and almost all anti-North publications were shut down, many asked if he would continue writing.

Southern writers had to make a decision: write their own opinions and beliefs and face persecution from the North, or write in support of Communist values and be rewarded with employment opportunities, promotions, and security.

“A lot of people want me to keep writing, to see which way I’m inclined,” Thiep said with tears in his eyes. “I am inclined towards Vietnam.”

Pho has often reflected Vietnam’s history and culture, and political and geographic tensions are no exception, for the divide between North and South led to the development of two distinct styles of pho. Northern pho is known for being savory and simple in its ingredients while Southern pho is sweet and served with basil, bean sprouts, lime, hoisin sauce, and sriracha sauce. 

Most of the pho served in restaurants in the U.S. is a hybrid between the two: the broth is characteristically Northern because it is more savory than sweet, but the soup is eaten with all of the South’s herbs and adornments.

Pho restaurants began emerging in the U.S. after 1975 as hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese people immigrated to the country and introduced the dish to the states. When Pho 75 opened, it was one of the first of its kind in its area, and it helped pave the way for other similar restaurants that followed.

ANHTHU CUNG // FLAT HAT MAGAZINE

Many pho restaurants have followed suit with Pho 75’s naming technique. In the D.C. area alone, there is a Pho 54, Pho 301, Pho 50, Pho 24, and Pho 495, just to name a few. Like Pho 75, some restaurants’ names are historical — Pho 54 references 1954, the year Vietnam was divided into North and South. Other names are geographical — Pho 50 is located on Route 50 while Pho 495 is located near the beltway. 

ANHTHU CUNG // FLAT HAT MAGAZINE

The commonalities of the restaurants go beyond their names. Inside, one will generally find long Formica-topped tables accessorized with chopsticks, plastic soup spoons, paper napkin dispensers, and sriracha and hoisin bottles. 

Each restaurant, of course, has its own unique recipe for and way of serving pho. While other restaurants have experimented and made changes over time, Pho 75 has remained its original, authentic self. Pho 75 only accepts cash, doesn’t take reservations, and doesn’t offer appetizers or side dishes. There are some desserts and coffee on the menu, but the restaurant’s primary goal is to simply serve good pho.

This model may seem outdated and even uneconomical considering the greater convenience and options that other pho restaurants provide, but Pho 75 doesn’t need to change. Pho 75 has been able to remain the way it has always been — a second home to me and so many others. It’s a place where we know all the servers, where we can come in and order our regular dish without looking at the menu, where we can always expect a warm bowl of pho, no matter the time of day. 

Beyond finding comfort in the restaurant itself, pho brings back a forgotten time and place — it is a taste of nostalgia. For those like me who grew up in the U.S., pho is a way to connect with a past we may not have experienced. Thiep named Pho 75 to remember a part of history, and we eat pho to remember a part of ourselves.