It was cold, so we ate phở and drank hot Sake. The end.
Phở (foe). Such a simple word—a word Carey spoke so confidently while we discussed the menu. “Remember when we had phở in Richmond?” “Fishballs, meatballs, or chicken for your phở?” I was so impressed by her confident Asian-ness. I even requested she place the order. But when our 90 pound, kimono clad server touched tip of pencil to tongue, the proud assurance slipped away. All was not lost though, and with a quakey finger and a flick of submissive eyes, Carey pointed to her formidable phở. Yum.
[Editor’s note. I am crying laughing right now reading this, Rob.]
[My embarrassment after watching Carey impersonate my smile with fits of laughter between shots. Inspiring confidence and emasculation avoidance were not part of Carey’s New Year’s resolution proposal this year, so all is well.]
[My phở-sides, or phở toppings. If phở=chili, then basil, sprouts, lime and hot peppers=sour cream, cheese, bacon bits, and hot peppers. Hot peppers being the common denominator.]
[Carey after losing an earring in my phở. Jk.]
[Lard Na with beef and brown.]
Finally checked out Phila Fusion in downtown ‘Toga. We recommend you do the same!