Taste memories can sometimes be frustratingly unspecific but my memory of this pho is perfect the moment I taste it.
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I’m not sure if it’s the taste that comes first when the memory hits me or the sense of place. I do know that it usually happens when there’s a threat of rain and especially when I’m walking. Suddenly I feel for a moment as if I’m walking on a damp Hong Kong sidewalk and am about to eat the best bowl of pho in the world.
Flavor memories can be maddeningly unspecific. Sometimes it’s the flavor itself that’s cloudy; other times the flavor is clear but the context is hazy. For years I’ve been in doubt about the location of a superlative meatloaf masquerading as a burger I ate in the summer of 2000 somewhere less than an hour’s drive from Amherst Massachusetts. But my memory of that pho is impeccable the moment it hits me.
There’s a hint of clove the musk of black cardamom and the distinct scent of star anise and cinnamon at the top of my mouth toward the back of my throat; there’s of course a bit of that raw beef minerality a bit of rock sugar sweetness a bit of fish sauce and MSG tang. Think of the scent of slivered onion and coriander wilting in hot broth; think too of the dark caramel notes of charred ginger and onion skins. Think of the best pho you’ve ever had but imagine it better much better. Then imagine eating that bowl for 25 years. Then imagine never eating it again.
