Pho Dau Bo (Finch W and Rumike)
Crammed onto
the 36 Eastbound,
A short bus
ride never hurt anyone.
Only 8
minutes to Finch and Rumike,
Not too far
from Jane and the city’s
Most
infamous of intersections.
Tucked
behind the Vietnamese supermarket,
Lies a strip
mall, typical of North York.
Our
destination today is Pho Dau Bo.
A pho joint
unlike no other, in a city full of them.
The smiling
cashier greets us hello,
As does the
unexplained laughing cow,
Of the same-named
cheese product.
Portions are
big here, prices small.
Each table
is adorned with containers of
Chopsticks
and Chinese soup spoons,
Paired with
the traditional condiments
Like
sriracha, hoisin, and nước mắm.
Never a long wait, our
warm bounty arrives.
Bowls of gossamer
noodles,
Tangled amongst the
well-done brisket,
Rare and paper-thin flank
steak,
And gelatinous morsels of
beef tendon
Drifting in a rich and
scalding hot broth.
Pleasant
smells waft through the restaurant.
Sweet and
aromatic star anise,
Perfume
every delightful slurp of noodle and broth,
The plate of
accoutrements,
Sawtooth and
cilantro and basil,
Provides its
own olfactory symphony.
The
predominantly Vietnamese clientele
Speak in
their mother tongue.
Though
whispers of Spanish are heard, too.
Unashamed
slurping is a universal dialect.
The sounds
one does not hear
Are equally,
if not more, important.
Unlike the
trendier ramen shops of the south,
There aren’t
any cameras flashing,
No inquires
of the inclusion of MSG
Nor
condescending attempts at broken English.
We are at a
strip mall in North York,
No walkable
subway stops nearby.
No overhead
streetcar wires
Visible
through the storefront window.
Yet it’s
still more Toronto than Saigon.
