Our little house has recently been struck with a nasty bout of gastro-intestinal sickness that left us weak and without appetites. Rarely does it happen that I can’t stand the thought of food, but day after day of cleaning up vomit and other stuff has its effects; I could barely open the fridge without my stomach churning.
Yesterday, Day 6 of being sick dawned on our household and as we munched some more plain crackers and sipped some Gatorade, I had a craving.
Of course. I needed Pho.
A Vietnamese staple consisting of gentle beef broth simmered for hours and infused with tummy-soothing spices like cloves and ginger, bland yet comforting rice noodles, a few tender cuts of beef, a shredding of basil, some bean sprouts and a squeeze of lime to awaken my disinterested palate.
At least, that is one version of it as it comes in many ways.
I got dressed and left the house for the first time in almost a week in search of pho.(pronounced‘fuh’) I wasn’t about to make it myself as I had no energy and the only thing I had cooked all week was some scrambled eggs (bad idea). The best pho in
Danny and I lapped it up at home and reminisced about the last time I had desperately needed a helping of pho: in the hospital after giving birth to Noah. I remember pushing aside the hospital ‘food’ and requesting Danny go out in search of some pho ….and chocolate.
I guess I know what my comfort foods are.