Deer College Odyssey
The Buck Stops Here
| THREE PORTLANDS | FRIDAY, DECEMBER 1, 2023 | TAKE IT AND RUN |
PHO VU LAN: EVEN BETTER SOBER
THE LOTUS EATER REVIEWS
by The Lotus Eater (⁂yummylotus)
Perhaps the oldest question in the history of higher education is “Where can I get a meal at 4:00 AM?” From the Egyptian Per-ankh to the Athenian Lyceum (I summoned Plato’s immortal spirit as part of my research for this article, and he told me about an all night souvlaki cart he and Aristotle used to go to) to our own Deer, students getting smashed have been seeking out cheap, tasty food since at least the dawn of recorded history, and probably before.
That is why, on my quest to either become the greatest food critic slash necromancer in Portlands or graduate trying, I went to a classic all-night eatery, beloved of hungover students across our fair city, Pho Vu Lan. When the mayor turns the sun off for the evening, when the spirits of the departed roam the streets, when grad students emerge from their crypts hungry for the sodium, gluten, and fat of the innocent, the dread proprietor throws open the gates to his underworld of flavor, beckoning in the damned and the drunk alike.
Speaking of the proprietor, Nguyen Nya is perhaps the best-known example of a post-mortal potager — that’s a soup chef, for those of you who don’t speak and/or acknowledge French — an 18th-century Vietnamese ma đói summoned to our city by Prometheus Labs as part of a Vietnam war-era plot to haunt Vietcong field kitchens. Fortunately for us, the boys at PLabs got the Vietnamese ma đói — translated as hungry ghost, a type of spirit which has become malignant due to a lack of proper veneration, and roams the countryside as a brigand, metaphorically hungry for the valuables of the peasantry — mixed up with the identically-named Buddhist concept of a hungry ghost, which is a ghost that is literally hungry. I tell you all this not to increase your knowledge of necromancy, nor to broaden your minds and your palates, but because I had to write an entire Apparitional Summoning paper on this last month, so I might as well get an article out of it.
As a part of this — and I cannot emphasize this enough — phenomenally botched ritual, Nguyen was granted knowledge of all cuisine in the Vietnamese cultural zeitgeist as of 1970. Since escaping captivity, he has haunted the same former fax machine repair shop in the Jurassic District - on Brachiosaurus Boulevard - which he has remodeled into an homage to his native Lê dynasty Hanoi, with wooden beams supporting yellow roof tiles, and stone bas-reliefs straight out of the Dinh Bang communal house on the walls. Open from dusk to dawn, the eatery is kept in perpetual mood lighting by handmade paper lanterns, and the vivid green scent of herbs and the bass notes of bone broth from the kitchen mix with the woody, earthy smell of incense sticks to immediately transport the patron to a world of wonder — at least, if they’re sober enough to appreciate it.
When I sat down, at midnight on a Tuesday, both earlier and more sober than most of his clients, Chef Nguyen presented me with an appetiser - chạo tôm, or sugar cane shrimp. One of the best remedies for a hangover that doesn’t involve sweating ethanol, chạo tôm is made by rolling shrimp paste around a stick of sugar cane and deep-frying it. Done right, it is a golden-brown stick with a perfectly crunchy outer layer and mealy interior around a chewable core. The experience of eating one is unique — as you first taste the savory, fishy notes of the shrimp and fryer oil before getting a subtle current of sweetness from the sugar cane itself as you bite in. This combination of savory and sweet is perfect for cutting through the fog of an evening, made even better when paired with Nguyen’s homemade spicy fish sauce, which adds a pleasant heat to the entire dish, along with more of that savory-sweet dance of flavors so emblematic of Vietnamese cooking.
Delicious as the chạo tôm were, they were just the opening act to the real star of the show — Nguyen’s Pho. He offers a dozen different options, each a mixture of protein — beef, chicken, or tofu — served in a golden-brown broth with white rice noodles. I went with thin-sliced flank steak, tendon, and tripe, though from what I remember of my many other less sober visits, I’ve enjoyed just about every option. When he served me the soup, it was in a bowl about the size of my head, steaming hot and heaping with noodles and meat, accompanied by a plate of bean sprouts, fresh basil, and green chilis to be mixed in at my pleasure. My recommendation — take a sip of the broth before adding anything. Nguyen’s broth is a perpetual stew, with more ingredients added as it is used, and as such the flavor is both incredibly deep — with a unique, almost nutty flavor that I haven’t experienced anywhere else, combined with more overt savory notes from the bone broth, and a mixture of semi-sweet and herbal notes from limes and herbs — and ever changing, as the ingredients shift and interact with each other.
After the first sip, I added in some basil, chili and a healthy dash of Sriracha, one of the few sauces served at Pho Vu Lan that isn’t homemade. (When I asked Nguyen about this, he told me that the climate in Portlands means he can’t dry the chilis for the sauce himself.) The red spice of the sriracha and the chilis, combined with the crunch and nasal greenery of the basil, the toothsome bite of the noodles and the savory chew of the beef, all against the savory-sweet backdrop of the broth, harmonizing and mellowing the disparate flavors into a symphony of satiation. Not only did I finish all of the meat and noodles, but I drank down every last drop of the leftover broth.
To put it plainly, Pho Vu Lan is even better sober than it is drunk or hungover, and it’s one of the best places in Portlands to eat on a student’s budget. Also, if you’re a necromancer and you think you can break Pentagram wards, Nguyen will give you unlimited free Pho for life if you can summon up the spirit of Henry Kissinger for him to punch in the face. The last twelve necromancers to try have failed — myself included — but maybe thirteen's the charm.
Atmosphere: 5/5 (History trip to pre-colonial Vietnam)
Food: 5/5 (To die for)
Price: 5/5 (Like, $10)