PROVedge: Phô Kit (In a Bucket)

The instructions were simple – make six quarts of your choice of soup, pair with a six-pack of beer and then trade it with approximately 15 or so privileged, mostly super-Caucasian 30-somethings with nothing better to do on a chilly winter’s eve. This is a soup swap.

As has been tradition for the past nine years, prior to swapping, each “chef” pitches their concoction to the crowd in order to entice the others into taking theirs first.

My number is called and the lecture begins, “The national dish of Vietnam is a soup, spelled phô, but pronounced fuh.” The eyes immediately began their ascension as I laboriously detailed technique and listed every ingredient contained within my veganized version.

This year, deciding on the soup to make was rather simple – it was the same one I have been consuming pretty much non-stop (see my most recent piece for details on where I usually get mine). The primary concern, however, was that I had never made it before and didn’t quite know how or where to begin.

That was until I recalled a mom-and-pop speciality store that an acquaintance of southeast persuasion had mentioned. Only, this shop was way up in Woonsocket.

Fortunately, I have a trusted companion to rely on for such missions – one who is perpetually filled with culinary curiosity.

My father, whom I affectionately refer to as “Bobby Pastrami” – due to his affinity for cured meats – is very retired (and a war veteran).  So it safe to say that this soon-to-be-70-year-old has as much proclivity for freely putting strange things into his mouth as he does for not being able to control what comes out of it.

“Sawadee!” my father bellowed to no one in particular as we entered the former motorcycle repair shop that now houses Friendly Market. “Dad … why? Must you assume that anyone here speaks Vietnamese?” My discomfort, along with his little spectacle, were soon eclipsed by the scores of foodie distractions before us. From the cartons of blackened eggs stacked neatly on a folding table by the entrance, it was safe to assume we were in for some authenticity here.

A self-misting shelf enticed us with an array of Asian produce, from pre-packed Thai basil, to king mushrooms and tamarind bulbs, to carrots that were just about the size of a toddler’s arm and their greatest deal of all – four limes for a dollar.

Their long meat case features two white buckets – one containing some form of bloodied organ, and the other, cubed tofu (both of which not only appeared to be floating in a similar milky liquid, but also shared the same slotted spoon), cured sausages, duck heads (complete with staring eyes) and the touchdown-scoring offering, pork belly.

Aisles stocked with chili powders, brownish liquids of fish and soy, dry noodles, canned mackerel in tomato sauce, various teas and sweets featuring neon packaging with poorly designed mascots make up the grocery section. Eventually I found what I was after, the only-in-my-dreams item, a spice kit packaged specifically for preparing phô (“fuh”).

On one end of the store are freshly prepared delicacies, on the other, a freezer section featuring what may be considered standard Asian market fare – cry-o-packs brimming with plump silk worms and Bobby’s highly-celebrated, frozen chicken feet.

Upon checkout, Pierre, a jovial Thai fellow, who appropriately lives up to the market’s namesake, struck up excellent small talk with the two of us. This, of course, was before my father became too comfortable and in an effort to show how worldly he was, asked Pierre if he “greets people like this,” while bowing with his hands clasped, palm-to-chubby-palm before him. Pierre took it in stride. “Sometimes. You ever been to Asia?”

“I spent a little bit of time there.”

“Were you in the war?”

Pastrami used the durian-flavored wafers in my basket as an opportunity to change the subject, “These any good?”

I was just pleased that things were diffused before anyone’s feelings really got hurt. Then again, nothing could stop my joy for being able to get all that I needed for the swap, in one stop.

Despite every effort to prepare my soup in the most traditional manner (and the $13 spent on Vietnamese beer that I had to go to Westboro, Mass., to get, because apparently there is some sort of embargo on beer exported from Vietnam to RI), sadly, my soup didn’t get swapped out first. The gathering did, however, force me to venture to a tidy, inexpensive and above all else, friendly little store. And that journey provided me with fodder for this article – while allowing me to put together a creative accompaniment to my savory mushroom and white pepper broth.

For each of the six twist-top Rubbermaids, I also prepared a small DIY package containing a bundle of dry noodles, a jalapeño pepper (garnish), a Hue beer and a phô (“fuh”) spice packet. I stuffed this all into dollar store pails and stacked them on top of a fine soup that swappers were not soon to forget… and I called it, phô-kit (in a bucket).

Friendly Market, 415 Arnold St, Woonsocket, 401.597.0400