The story begins before dawn, when Hanoi still drools in its sleep and the air smells faintly of wet grass from rain. On a quiet street, a woman lights her charcoal stove. The flame lights up like Rapunzel's hair when she sings, she places a pot of bones on the charcoal and it begins to simmer, the sound is soft and rhythmic. The rising steam, the clinking bowls, the whispers of hungry people, is where Pho is born every morning. But the true story of Pho begins long before that pot of soup, it begins with loss, it was a food born out of nothing, a meal for the poor, crafted by hands that had nothing but hope and a desire to feed their children. In the late 1800's, Vietnam wasn't on its own. The French had come, with railways, soldiers and their love for beef. Back then, Vietnamese people didn't eat cows, cows worked on the rice fields, they were too precious and valuable to eat, so it was very strange that the French ate them. The French however wanted their stews, t...
Journeys through Asia’s heart, one story at a time.