Phở Saigon (Southern Vietnamese Beef Noodle Soup)

Phở has become a culinary icon in recent years, but its existence is relatively new, when one considers Vietnam’s long history. While most historians agree that phở was invented some time between the late 19th century and the early 20th century in northern Vietnam under the French occupation, its origin is quite contentious. Graphical evidence of phở can be traced back to 1910, when Henri J. Oger, a colonial administrator, commissioned artisans and wood-carvers to document life in Hanoi and the countryside in Technique du Peuple Annamite (Mechanics and Crafts of the Vietnamese People), with two images of phở vendors included in the issue. The birthplace of phở was thought to originate in Van Cu, a rural village in Nam Dinh province, about 90 kilometers southeast of Hanoi in Northern Vietnam.

Contrary to popular belief, phở has no relation with the French pot-au-feu, the one-pot beef and vegetable stew, although feu and phở do sound similar. The common denominators that they share are slow-cooked beef, onion, and cloves. Vietnamese scholar and human rights activist Nguyen Ngoc Bich theorized that the initial idea for phở originated in China’s Yunnan Province where many Vietnamese nationalists fled during the French occupation at the end of the 19th century. Living near the Vietnamese-Chinese border, they may have learned to cook many local Chinese dishes, including a popular goat-meat noodle soup. After returning to northern Vietnam, it's possible they substituted beef for goat meat. 

At the same time, the French’s love for steak led to an increased slaughtering of cows in Hanoi. Leftover bones and other beef scraps were salvaged by Hanoi butchers and sold to street soup vendors. Many Chinese vendors in Hanoi were selling a noodle soup called xáo trâu or ngưu nhục phấn, a popular dish with slices of water buffalo meat cooked in broth and rice vermicelli, and they began switching to beef. As street vendors hawked their soups around town, they called out “fen,” which means rice noodles in Cantonese. When Hanoians adopted this dish, they avoided calling it “fen” because it sounds like “phân,” or excrement in Vietnamese. They dropped the “n” and created phở. 

The phở scene exploded in the city, with vendors roaming the street carrying two boxes slung at the two ends of a bamboo pole and pushcarts to hawk their specialities. By 1930, phở was added to the Vietnamese dictionary, defined as a dish of thinly sliced noodles and beef. Phở stands for both the noodle soup and the rice noodles themselves, bánh phở.  

When I asked Andrea Nguyen, the food writer and  James Beard Award winner of The Pho Cookbook about the origin of phở, she shared her take: “The creation of phở is all about cultures rubbing shoulders in a particular place at a particular time. The French didn’t introduce eating beef to Vietnam, they just happened to like eating a lot of beef. So the colonialists harvested a lot of cows. The noodle soup vendors, many of whom were Chinese, used the leftover cuts and bones to create a noodle soup that they were already kind of making out of water buffalo. So phở happened on Vietnamese soil by combining a lot of creative forces under a particular set of unique circumstances. Who knows when the first bowl of phở as we know it today was made or served.”

Phở made its way to Saigon following the fall of the French Indochina and the Geneva Accords in 1954 when Vietnam was divided in two and southern Vietnam experienced an influx of northerners escaping the communist takeover. Much to the horror of northern Vietnamese, southerners took the humble phở of the north and altered its flavor profile to fit their palate. The broth became much sweeter, and fancy cuts of beef and embellishments like fresh herbs, chile sauce, hoisin, bean sprouts, lime, and other add-ons were more frequent inclusions. Northern phở takes a minimalist approach with emphasis on the quality of the broth, leaning toward a savory profile from plenty of beef bones and meats. The broth tends to be balanced, served with rare beef slices, flat rice noodles, and garnishes consisting of sliced green scallion, mint, sliced chile and quẩy—fried dough sticks, or Chinese doughnuts.

Growing up near Saigon, all I ever knew was the southern version. Phở was not something people cooked at home because it was ubiquitous at street stalls and restaurants. With the humid weather and lack of refrigeration, the broth would spoil if not consumed within a day. After the fall of Saigon in 1975, phở made its way across the Pacific Ocean when the influx of Vietnamese refugees dispersed from the aftermath of the war. Missing their favorite bowl of beef noodle soup, they began cooking phở at home. Realizing the economic potential of this humble dish, they set up phở shops across America, Australia, and Europe, anywhere that Vietnamese enclaves congregated. The phở in America resembles the hearty southern version. On a typical restaurant menu, you might see more than twenty options for phở with different combinations of meats. My favorite bowl of phở Saigon contains beef shank, tendon, tripe, slices of rare beef round, and meatballs. Phở is deeply personal and all about customization, so use your favorite cuts of beef.

My Phở: How I Like to Make This Recipe

For a deeply flavored phở broth, I use a combination of beef neck bones, leg bones with marrow, and another cut of beef, usually shank or oxtail, simmered for hours, amalgamated harmoniously with charred ginger, onion, star anise, cloves, black cardamom, cinnamon, coriander seeds, and fennel seeds. Sea salt, rock sugar, and fish sauce are my go-to seasonings.

Regarding the building of flavor, Nguyen advises, “I season my phở broth during the cooking process with spices, salt, aromatics, a touch of sweetness, and sometimes dried seafood. The fish sauce and maybe MSG at the end produce an umami burst to send things over the top.” A good broth should be clear, slightly sweet from the bones with marrow that have been simmering for hours, and richness balanced by a harmonious yet nuanced note of spices.

Essential Tips for Making Phở Broth

Choose Beef Bones and Meats Thoughtfully

The bones and marrow form the foundation of phở broth. The basic phở broth can be made with the bare minimum of beef neck bones and leg bones with marrow, along with any other flavorful and gelatin-rich cuts like oxtail or knuckles. After you bring the whole pot to a boil, maintain the broth at a gentle simmer to draw out the flavors from the bones, marrow, and meat. For a flavorful stock, you need at least four hours of gentle simmering, but I find six hours even better. The longer the broth simmers, the more intense and robust the flavor will be. The longest that I have done is 8 hours when I’m doubling the recipe for a big gathering—the liquid in a bigger pot has less surface area relative to its volume, so evaporation, and thus flavor concentration, is slower.

Achieving a clear broth requires a few steps. Parboiling the bones briefly and rinsing them removes proteins and impurities that can otherwise cloud the broth. It's also important to keep an eye on your broth while it’s simmering, and frequently skim off the scum and foam that rises to the surface so that it doesn't get churned back into the broth. Finally, straining the broth with a fine-mesh sieve lined with muslin or cheesecloth removes additional solids at the end.

Build Layers of Flavor

While the bones and marrow form the foundation of the broth, the aromatics, spices, and seasonings add character, complexity, and nuance to the broth. Key steps include:

• Charring the onion and ginger and toasting the spices: This brings out their flavor and fragrance and develops them.
• Skimming the fat: This should be done occasionally during simmering, but make sure not to remove all of it because the fat molecules help deliver the aroma of the spices.
• Adding salt and umami in stages: Start the broth with sea salt, then add fish sauce about 3 1/2 hours into cooking, as it tends to lose its flavor if added at the beginning.
• Adjusting for evaporation: Add 1/2 cup of water at a time if too much liquid has evaporated. Generally, the broth should cook at an almost imperceptible simmer; if it cooks more rapidly, more water will evaporate and the solids will begin to emerge from the broth, a telltale sign that you may need to top it up.
• Dialing in the seasoning: Towards the end of cooking, taste and adjust the seasoning using salt, fish sauce, sugar, and/or MSG (which of these you use is a matter of personal preference, but I tend to lean towards the extra umami of fish sauce compared to plain salt as a finishing seasoning). Aim for a broth a bit saltier than your liking because the noodles, meat, and garnishes will dilute its intensity.

Phở Saigon Ingredients: A Closer Look

Phở Saigon Beef Cuts

• Beef neck bones (xương cổ): require long and slow cooking to tenderize the dense muscles. 
• Bone marrow (xương tủy): The long, straight femur bones contain the most marrow. They add flavor and sweetness to the broth. They are sold in both crosswise and lengthwise sections (or you can ask your butcher to cut the bones for you). Either works, but it can be nice to have the bones cut vertically for easier access to scoop out the marrow if you want to eat it.
• Brisket (gầu): Brisket comes from the chest of the cow and has alternating layers of meat and fat, which enriches the broth. Brisket tends to be pricier than many other beef cuts.
• Flank steak (nạm): This cut comes from the underside of the cow near the hind legs. It is a lean cut with very tough, striated muscles full of beefy flavor. Simmer the flank in the broth until tender but not falling apart, for at least an hour.
• Shank (bắp bò): Beef shank comes from the front leg, which contains lean meat, muscle strands, and tendons surrounding a bone with marrow at the center. It needs to simmer for at least 3 hours for the meat to become tender.
• Oxtail (đuôi bò): Oxtail is often sold in individual vertebrae with the bone, muscle, and cartilage attached. Both the bones and connective tissue enrich the broth with a deep flavor and velvety texture. They need to simmer for at least 3 hours for the meat to become tender. 
• Tendon (gân): Tendon is connective tissue that connects muscle to bone. It starts out extremely tough and chewy (you'd be too if you were trying to hold a cow together), but with a few hours of simmering that rubbery collagen melts into tender gelatin. The tendons sold at the butcher tend to be those running down the back of the shank. To serve, slice the tendon against the grain 1/4-inch thick.
• Tripe (sách): Tripe is the edible lining of the cow’s stomach. While its flavor can be mild, it brings a nice textural contrast to your bowl of phở. Rinse the tripe well before cooking—most tripe sold today comes pre-cleaned, but this is one cut it never hurts to rinse again. Simmer it for one hour to make it just tender enough to slice through while maintaining its bounce.
• Rare beef (bò tái): This can come from tenderloin, eye of round, or rib eye. For a fancier cut, try filet mignon or Wagyu. Ask your butcher for paper-thin cuts of your preferred beef. If slicing your own meat, freeze it for 30 minutes, then use a sharp knife to cut 1/8-inch slices.
• Meatballs (bò viên): Beef meatballs are made from shank and dotted with tendon. They come precooked and only need about 5 minutes in the broth to warm up. You can find them in the refrigerated section.

Phở Spices

Spices are important to getting phở's flavor right, so make sure they’re fresh and of good quality. Toast them in the pan to release their oils, and cook them whole in the broth. I use muslin cloth to make a small pouch for the smaller spices like star anise, cloves, fennel seeds, and coriander seeds so that they're easier to fish out later. 

• Black cardamom (thảo quả đen): Black cardamom comes in pods that have a tough, dried, wrinkly skin. They have a pungent aroma with a citrus, menthol, and smoky flavor due to the way they are dried. Crush the pods slightly to reveal the seeds and bring flavor to the broth. Green cardamom cannot be substituted for black cardamom because they have different flavor profiles.
• Cinnamon sticks or cassia bark (quế): These two spices are interchangeable when making phở, although they are quite different from one another. Cassia, also called “Chinese cinnamon,” is what most Americans have in the cinnamon jar in their spice racks, but it differs from true cinnamon. Cassia brings a sweet, aromatic, and pungent note compared to true cinnamon’s delicate flavor. Real cinnamon is known as Ceylon cinnamon. The sticks curl in an almost perfect circle, while cassia sticks curl inward from both sides, appearing like a scroll. Ceylon cinnamon has a delicate, nuanced flavor that works well in both sweet and savory recipes.
• Cloves (dinh hương): Cloves lend a strong sweet-and-spicy note.
• Coriander seeds (hạt ngò): Coriander seeds bring a lemony flavor and floral aroma to the broth. 
• Fennel seeds (tiểu hồi): Fennel seeds have a sweet and light licorice flavor.
• Star anise (đại hồi): Star anise lends its strong, distinct flavor that is warm, sweet, and spicy to the broth.

The Aromatics

The goal of charring the onion, shallot, and ginger is to burn them a bit to release their fragrant, sweet juices and add a subtle hint of complex char, which enhances the flavor of the broth (just don't go too far, or you'll overwhelm the broth with a burnt flavor). In Vietnam, home cooks char the aromatics over an open flame; I do the same on my gas stove. If you don’t have a gas stove, you can use your grill, cast iron pan, or broil them in the oven.  

• Ginger: Smash fresh ginger to release its oils before charring. Avoid adding more ginger than what the recipe states or the spicy note will overwhelm the rest of the spices.
• Onion/shallot: Use either onion or shallot. Quarter the larger onions and halve the smaller ones. Shallots are pricier, so I lean toward onion. Don’t overdo the onions, as I and others have found they can sour a broth when used in too-high quantities, although the effect won’t always emerge until two to three days after cooking the broth.

The Seasonings

• Salt: Salt is the broth's seasoning foundation. It augments flavor, lessens bitter elements, and enhances sweetness. I use sea salt and add it at the beginning. Depending on your favorite brand, the saltiness might vary.
• Fish sauce: Similar to salt, fish sauce adds not only saltiness but a generous dose of umami and a subtle savory depth to the broth. Fish sauce comes in different grades; make sure to pick a good-quality brand like Flying Lion Fish, Three Crabs, and Red Boat.
• Rock sugar: Sugar is used in phở as the main sweetener. Look for yellow rock sugar, not white. The yellow rock sugars bring a subtle sweetness whereas the white rock sugars taste similar to granulated sugar and can be cloyingly sweet. Some home cooks use daikon or apples instead of the rock sugar to sweeten their broth. If you want to experiment, add a pound of daikon or two small Fuji apples to the broth (I'm not a huge fan of the daikon, though, as its sweetness is very mild but its turnip-like daikon flavor is not). 
• MSG: The use of monosodium glutamate is contentious among home cooks and phở masters. It is a flavor enhancer, which brings that umami boost that Nguyen values so much. Many phở restaurants use MSG because it’s a cheap ingredient to flavor the broth. There's not necessarily anything inherently wrong with MSG, but I prefer to build umami with more complex ingredients, including fish sauce, quality beef bones, and the marrow itself. If you want to experiment, though, start with 1/2 teaspoon of MSG, and taste the broth before adding any more.

The Noodles (Bánh Phở)

Three types of phở noodles exist: fresh, semi-fresh, and dried. Fresh bánh phở is not widely available, generally costs more, and requires refrigeration. Dry bánh phở is widely available, inexpensive, and can be stored at room temperature for a very long time, but it takes much longer to cook (about seven to ten minutes, depending on the brand and size). My go-to is semi-fresh bánh phở that you can find in the refrigerated noodle section at the Asian grocery stores. They only need about 30 seconds of blanching in boiling water. Avoid overcooking; otherwise, you risk getting mushy noodles from the residual heat of the broth.

The Garnishes

Vietnamese cuisine emphasizes fresh herbs, and phở is no exception. 

• Thai basil (húng quế): Thai basil is synonymous with phở. It has a distinctive liquorice or sweet anise note that adds a complex flavor to your phở. 
• Sawtooth herb (ngò gai): Also known as Mexican cilantro or culantro, sawtooth is a small, compact herb consisting of long and serrated, lanceolate leaves arranged in a rosette pattern around a central stem. They have intense herbal, citrusy, and grassy notes well suited for phở.
• Mint (húng lủi): Also known as spearmint, this is a common herb that northern Vietnamese use to garnish their phở. It is not as popular as Thai basil or sawtooth herb.
• Cilantro (ngò) is an essential garnish for phở, bringing a bright flavor.
• Bean sprouts (giá): Bean sprouts served alongside phở come from sprouted mung beans. In a restaurant, you can order them raw or lightly cooked. Their crunch adds another layer of texture.
• Bird’s eye chile (ớt): The heat factor from bird’s eye chile is quite high depending on the variety you use.  Most American phở restaurants serve sliced jalapeño instead of bird’s eye chile.

How to Assemble and Eat a Bowl of Phở

Arrange the cooked noodles in the bowl, then layer with different types of meat. Top with cilantro, scallion, and thinly sliced onion before gently ladling the broth over the ingredients without disturbing them.

Everyone enjoys their phở differently. When my bowl of phở comes to the table, I like to taste the broth first and appreciate its delicateness, experiencing the different notes from the spices and aromatics. Soon after, I tear the Thai basil and sawtooth herbs into small pieces and drop them directly into my bowl, along with the lightly blanched bean sprouts, and give it a quick stir. Then I fill my spoon with some noodles, meat, and herbs, and a bit of broth, and enjoy everything in one bite. 

With everyone’s taste being different, fish sauce, hoisin sauce, and sriracha are often served alongside, meant to enhance the broth by adding just a touch. I advise using those condiments with caution. While there's no right or wrong way, I don't really understand why one would invest so much time creating a complex yet delicate broth and then overpowering it with generous doses of hoisin and sriracha. Instead, I like to keep the condiments separate from my broth and have a small plate where I mix the hoisin sauce, sriracha, and a squeeze of lime juice to dip the meat in. If a broth strikes me as bland, I might stir in just a drop of hoisin to it, but that's about it.

Over the years, phở has experienced a tsunami of popularity and international fame. For many Vietnamese from the diaspora, phở is more than nostalgia, a comfort food, and reminder of home. Nguyen’s words perfectly capture this sentiment: “Phở has a beautiful history and reflects the experience of the Vietnamese people in the 21st century. We’re talking not just cooking technique and flavor, but also the colonial, war time, and diaspora experience. Phở is modern Vietnam bundled up in a bowl of rice noodle soup and the flat rice noodles themselves.”

Now that you know the ins and outs of homemade phở, be ready for a pho-nomenal bowl of your own.