Time to Sit at the Kiddies Table

Imagine you are sitting at an 18 inch red plastic table on a 12 inch red plastic chair in an alley way at 7 am while motorbikes race by. The kitchen is to your right, which looks like a version of a moveable NYC hot dog stand. At the table, four other random individuals quietly enjoy their lovely bowl of pho. On your tabletop sits a mini spool of thin toilet paper, a nice bin containing chopsticks and spoons, fish sauce bottle, hot sauce bottle, hoisen sauce bottle, and a container of toothpicks.

Then an eleven year old kid drops by wipes off the excess food from the last person onto the street floor and plops down a moist cold towel sealed in a plastic bag. You grab one end of the plastic bag with your left hand, squeeze that end to force the formation of firm air bubble on the other end, and then swing your right hand around bluntly onto the air bubble in order to burst open the plastic. You take out the towel and refreshingly smother your face and neck with its tinge of coolness.

You tear a piece of toilet paper and begin to wipe down your set of chopsticks and spoon before your bowl comes out. A server brings out a small hot bowl of pho filled with fresh noodles, intestines and liver of some animal, and beef strips bathing in beef broth. The aroma and heat of the pho strikes your face with more humidity, but brings forth uncontrollable salivation. Then a plate of various unknown greens and bean sprouts await entrance into your bowl of pho. You squeeze a quarter of lime, throw a small spoonful of hoisen sauce, and scoop up hot sauce into the mix to your satisfaction.

Then your order of cold soybean drink comes out. The glass is filled with 60% chunks of ice, but the drink is perfectly cold and sweet. However you only sip the drink and leave the majority of the drinking after the meal. Back to the pho, you use the chopstick in your right hand to pick up the noodles and the spoon in your left to bring the broth up to the heavens.

During mid-chew, a 14 year old girl stands next to you trying to push lottery tickets into your face. You shake your head no, but she continues to stand there for two more minutes in silence hoping you change your mind. Again you shake your head no and apologetically continue to eat your pho.

Instantly later the bowl is empty and you are full, but not disgustingly American full. You gulp the rest of your drink and take a toothpick to clean out the crevasses between your teeth. Then you shout, “My bill” in Vietnamese. The server comes and says, “That’s 8,000 VN dong for the pho, 5,000 VN dong for the soybean drink, and 2,000 VN dong for the towel. So 15,000 dong.” To your usually delight you shovel out slightly less than $1 and zoom off on your motorbike filled with Vietnam’s national pride, pho.