There is nothing better than Phở. It's

There is nothing better than Phở. It's a steaming hot bowl of redemption. I devoted my life to making the best Phở, though, honestly I had no clue, but I booked a flight to Saigon

and as soon as I got there the air was full of Pho. You could smell its sourness in every corner. The moisture of the river was coming straight in as a stream of deep consciousness

invaded my thoughts. Specifically, I was deeply conscious of those beefy brothy noodles in my bowl. Phi-Phi-Pho-Phum, I thought happily, lifting the bowl to my lips. OH, Pho...it

s smell reminded me of the blood of an Englishman. And OMG, there phloating in my pho was a phum. Probably English because of the small callous formed from years of holding a pint

. British phum pho was my absolute favorite, an exotic fusion of sweet-n-sour Vietnamese cuisine combined with hearty English sweetmeats. Then I crushed some Doritos into my pho.

My husband looked at me in disgust. "How could you ever consider eating something like that?" he yelled, throwing the newspaper down. He stormed out of the room then. I hated him

and his lack of tolerance. What right did my husband have to turn up his nose at a lovely olive loaf or hearty head cheese sandwich? Next I'd be lamenting my love for lutefisk

sour cream smoothies. My husband is such a finicky eater that he walks around with stringcheese in his front pocket.

He used to carry a salami in his back pocket but got into too many fist fights on the subway. Anyway, my husband will only eat pocket-warmed string cheese, or a few other dairy

farms when his appetite is strong. "My son is special" his mother used to say. A special man who can fit a whole barn into his mouth. A swallower of farms, a loving man.