It was my first day in Hanoi. I had just landed from the airport and gotten familiar with my hostel mates. Unfortunately, I was still shy and introverted and the solo travel friendly-bug hadn’t kicked in yet. I was starving! Of course being in Vietnam, I wanted to try pho. So there I was determined to walk the neighborhood to familiarize myself but I was still all alone. Although I knew my hostel mates, they weren’t people I befriended.
I was walking around for about 30 minutes until I found the spot. I can’t tell you the name but I knew it was good by the fresh ingredients hanging on the doorsteps. Literally there was a dead chicken hanging and the workers were prepping the veggies by the door. I knew I was gonna feast!
When I sat down, I quickly ordered the chicken pho then assessed who was in the restaurant. In addition to myself, there were a group of men who were speaking Mandarin and one of the people acted as their translator for Vietnamese. Other than us four, the joint was empty.
When the pho was placed, being the American that I was, quickly screwed it up. I tasted the broth (incredibly by itself) but was used to the topping; onions, like, jalapeño, basil, spice, lime and adding in the typical sauces. As the men saw what I was going to do, they immediately yelled to get my attention. None of them spoke English but I could tell they were trying to save me from a dangerous mistake.
The men proceeded to try and show me what I SHOULD be doing instead but still I didn’t get it. So the man who spoke Vietnamese flagged down the shop keeper and she looked mortified! She then grabbed some extra bowls, a pair of chopsticks, and went into MY bowl. She was breaking down the soup so I could eat it more authentically. Then, with the chopsticks, she began feeding me. That’s right, like a baby getting an airplane of food. She did it for the next five minutes. And man, I’m grateful she did because I still crave her pho.
And that’s the story of how I was fed pho like a baby by a Vietnamese lady at my ripe age of 22.