Pho Sure

The best Pho joint in Baltimore is housed in a ghost-town food court of the semi-abandoned Security shopping mall way out on Security Blvd. Just the act of walking into the mall immediately ends even the liveliest of conversations. Something about it makes you suddenly realize that you were speaking very loudly a moment ago. It feels cavernous with so many empty store fronts staring in desperation. Faded Big Sale! signs are still taped in windows, and they smirk knowingly at the one tiny hair salon and karate school still clinging to life. Gliding up the escalator affords you a deeper glimpse into the corpse itself: a dim food court that would offer a wide array of pan-asian treats...if it were open.

A cash register hunches at the centralized check-out stand, bookended by stacks of colorful plastic trays imprinted with pictures of bamboo. Delicate, ornate metal barriers decorated with cranes and tigers outline the court itself, separating it ridiculously from the shops that surround it, as if to keep out hoards of shoppers that do not exist.

In the far corner of this deserted place, one bright and lovely neon sign stands alone against the desolation. The Open sign is startling, unexpected. It is Pho Huong Moi. The first time C and I ate there, at chowhound's recommendation, we peered into the restaurant with worried expressions, as if expecting to walk in on a mafia drug deal or some other illicit transaction. What else could keep a soup place open in such an improbable environment? One meal quickly provided us with an answer: uh, the impeccable food.

Pho, in theory, is very simple. It's a big bowl of clear beef broth with long noodles and pieces of beef. And some onion. That's it. This is accompanied by a plate of Vietnamese fixin's one can add to taste: lime, Thai basil, jalapeno pepper slices, and fresh bean sprouts. In reality, however, it involves some kinda magic. Pho broth is light enough in color to see the noodles happily lounging at the bottom of the bowl. The added basil and lime juice blossom in the heat of the soup and perfume the dish with delicate bright and savory notes. So how does it manage to taste so...beefy? The flavor is tantalizingly full and complex. Tear up the basil and plunk in the peppers first so they can steep. The longer they steep, the more the broth evolves. Don't screw around with any soy or cock sauce; you'll ruin it.

Pho Huong Moi , our one true source for a good pho fix, boasts a wide menu of delicious meaty Pho options, from the classic "brisket and sliced rib-eye" to the more adventurous "soft tendon." All are delicious, especially when preceded by the fresh summer rolls, refreshing and perfectly accompanied by a sweet, rich peanut and hoisin sauce for dipping. They're too good to share. Be greedy and order your own.

C and I get cravings for both of these delights often enough to give home production the old school try. Rolling these bad boys takes some practice, and an organized assembly line of ingredients. The effort is well worth it, though, especially on a hot day. Even the funky-looking ones we made were still delicious, and looked quite impressive filled with shrimp, mint, Thai basil, crunchy lettuce and vermicelli noodles. We used this recipe, minus the carrot and coriander.

Last night, however, I would accept no substitutes. We drove the 25 minutes out to the mall, which had more people in it than I'd ever seen before....like five. And gorged ourselves on giant steaming bowls of heaven. Other than s'good and oh god, we didn't speak a word for twenty minutes. I don't even think we looked at each other. I only had eyes for Pho.

When the smoke had cleared, our bowls were empty and our bellies were distended. We were grinning from ear to ear.

Not in Baltimore? Find your city's pho fix here.