I love phở. I usually pack a lunch to work, but when I go out, I like to have things I can’t get at home, so phở is usually at the top of my list. Naturally, I assumed my foodie wife would be all over it, too.
We met at Phở Hoa for lunch today. All three kids came along. I just assumed that the younger two would have no interest, so we ordered egg rolls for them. I also assumed that my ten-year-old, whose favorite food is sushi, would like the phở.
I gave the waitress our order. When I got done, I looked over at my daughter, and she had tears in her eyes. I asked what was wrong. “I saw the picture in the menu and it just didn’t look that good to me.” I gave her a little pep talk and told her we’d order more egg rolls if she didn’t like it.
My wife and daughter started out fine, perhaps in response to my own enthusiasm, which always seems to leave a splatter or two of chili-laced broth on my shirt. As the meal went on, though, both were just fishing out the rice noodles and leaving everything else.
When I was finished, they were both sitting with at least half a bowl left. Rachel’s verdict? “I think I’ll let you just go out for phở with your friends.” At least they both like sushi.