Pho Sweet Pho

For the last year I’ve cultivated a full-blown addiction to Pho, proudly pronounced  “Fah” by elitist Silver Lake thumbring  wearing  hipsters.  I know, I know it’s fucking “fah”! ‘ I’m on it. Once I got over the pronunciation issue, it seriously became one of my favorite things to eat and sadly I order it from the same restaurant no less than 3 times a week. I’ve grown close to the wait staff at Gingergrass  in Silver Lake. So much so that I ate there for my birthday and was given complimentary drinks and cookies.  The waitresses smirk when I come in and sheepishly order the same bowl of butt-astrophe each time. And there’s the problem, every time I eat a bowl of Pho,  there is profound suffering afterwards. It’s an exercise in masochism yet I continue to do it.  To quote Lauren Hill “Why’s something feel so good when it hurts so bad?”  I’m not like this in my personal relationships. Confrontation and drama gives me endless anxiety. So why do I allow this demon Pho to ruin my sphincter and my general sense of well being?

I’ve been mentally flogging myself all last night when I stumbled across this Anthony Bourdain clip and apparently he shares my insane love of Pho. This has helped me quite a bit.  Thank you, Anthony for coming clean about your problem, its helped me conquer my own pho demons. And thank you, Vietnam for my tri-weekly steaming bowl of bowl distress.