I’d been burdened with this stupid head cold going around. As soon as the symptoms (I’ll spare you the unattractive details) lifted enough for me to taste again, I wanted some soothing sustanence. So, I Googled the best pho in Long Beach, and Pho Hong Phat won on Yelp by a long shot.
My friend Angela and I walked in around noon to a crowded room filled with hungry comrades. We were sat at the only available table, which was adorned with worn, tattered chairs and the morning’s paper crumpled on the floor. The menu was in a little plastic display case usually used by restaurants for special drink or dessert selections. It was gummy to the touch. This ain’t no fancy-dancy establishment.
Pho Hong Phat’s minimalistic approach offers one solitary item, pho. Though, there are 19 different ways to procure it.
The server came over immediately, silently waiting as we eyed our options. We ordered iced coffee, and I had to ask for a moment to decide. I was feeling rushed. He wasn’t really rude; he was just ready for us to be ready. Our drinks arrived with seemingly equal parts condensed milk and coffee. After one sweet and scrumptious sip, I knew it would pack a punch—more sugar rush than caffeine.
Our server came back and stood over us with his pad in hand and pen standing at attention. He didn’t say anything. He just nodded. Come to think of it, I don’t think he said a word throughout the entire transaction.
I ordered the #1 pho tai–rare steak. Angela, being quasi-vegetarian, went with the only non-meat option of #19: seafood noodle soup. There are small, medium, large, or extra large portions. We both went with medium.
Not a moment after our less-than-articulate server had turned his heel, our ammunition of fresh ingredients showed up: bean sprouts, jalapenos, limes, and basil. There were a couple of tiny bowls that Angela filled up with every sauce available on the table. Spring green chopsticks and stacks of white soupspoons with friendly pandas on them were stocked and ready to go. I was starved; I armed myself in anticipation for attack.
I saw some sort of rolls being marched to another table and stared inquisitively. The bearer of the plate saw my longing look and came back to our table with two pieces of fried bread that looked like a cousin to churros without the cinnamon. He instructed us to dip it into our iced coffee. “It’s good,” he ensured us, and it was.
I’d only had like three bites of bread when our steaming bowls of beautiful broth and noodles were placed in front of us. The service was Blitzkrieg (German for “lightning war”) quick.
Half the fun of pho is adding all of your own ingredients to season it up just right. You are the general that knows the perfect amount of rooster sauce or basil for your personal food victory. Thank God I went with medium; any more would have been insurmountable.
The thin-sliced rare beef was delicious, and after adding all of my embellishments to the soup, I was as content as a post-war soldier. Angela happily devoured her seafood version (made with shrimp and imitation crab).
I love little dive spots like this that are no frills and don’t pander to a bunch of fussy requests. And though this wasn’t the most amazing pho experience I’ve ever had (it’s hard to compete with my pho de-virginization in Chinatown, NYC), it was fantastic, and just what the doctor ordered.
Pho Hong Phat is located at 3243 E Anaheim St., (562) 498-3754
Hours: Mon-Tue, Thu-Sun 8AM to 5PM
{FG_GEOMAP [33.7827087,-118.15364690000001] FG_GEOMAP}