November Was Vietnam and Vietnam Was Pho

I was reminded recently about my delinquent blogging and another dear friend said that N is much better at chronicling the world that [I] am, which is, without a doubt, true.
I can only give the same old excuses, but I will refrain, and more importantly, post.
In November, I went to Hanoi to cover the APEC summit. It's basically a bunch of countries who say they agree on a bunch of stuff and then leave and never do anything about it. This time it was more exciting than usual (???) since the 5 countries from the six party talks were meeting for the first time after the North Korean nuclear test. So, umm, yeah, glad that problem's solved...

Anyhow, that isn't to say I didn't do some excellent stuff there. I explored the art scene (booming), visited a pottery village and drank snake's blood and ate 8 courses of snake cooked in various ways with my friend, producer and Hanoi native, LA. But most of the time, I was face down in a bowl of pho, the ubiquitous, ethereal beef noodle soup. I have been a fan for a long time, both at home, thanks to a brilliant Cook's Illustrated article, as well as my previous proximity to Baxter Street in Manhattan and its row of VN restaurants. I wasn't that close, but I would make the balled fist, shivering march from East Broadway station anytime.

Pho, anytime, anywhere. It's what's for breakfast, though the hotel pho was bad. No matter-- the other specimens I had were sublime-- broth to make you weep, noodles soft yet firm, lovely frilly slices of pink beef, shreds of fresh herbs and onions giving up their essence to the steam rising from bowl to nose. It truly was transcendent.