Ironic that while I proudly boast of my figurative white trashiness, the literal reality of it is one of my greatest fears. Poor, obese, saddled with a half-dozen kids, a car buried in the lawn… you know the drill. Now I love burning money about as much as I hate burning calories, so I’m in no way claiming to be rich or thin. As for the kids and the car, I tied my tubes at half of a half-dozen kids (so suck it, biology) and the HOA won’t let me grow my grass that high. The point is that none of us wants to struggle through life. After all, no one on their deathbed ever rebuked “if only I hadn’t done so well.” Yes, some of us are handed better deals than others, but if you are reading this in its original English, chances are good that doors are still open to you, irrespective of your socioeconomic status.
Does that sound indelicate? It’s not. I understand shit happens and have nothing but respect for anyone having to work that much harder to make ends meet. (Hell, as a single mom of three, plowing through an eternal divorce, still renting at forty, I better have nothing but respect for such people.) However, I also believe that we try very hard to twist laziness into a mission statement. Whether it’s a lack of money, society’s lack of moral fiber or any lack of whatever else we say is holding us back, there’s always an excellent reason to not try. For example, if you’re waiting for the right time to have children, you always will be. Stability matters, sure, but at some point you just have to roll up your sleeves, go heels to Jesus and procreate. You probably won’t regret it. Probably.
Those were some of the musings I had while we were at the restaurant for tonight’s ReKimmendation: I Love Pho, in Oceanside. Perhaps it was the wonderful food that’s gotten me all sanctimonious, or maybe this is just a reaction to the conversation in the adjacent booth I couldn’t help but overhear (naughty eavesdropper that I am). It was between two men likely going through the crisis that comes free in every box of midlife cereal. They were endlessly bitching about the minutia of everything, from politics, to the environment and all the morons in the middle that don’t get it the way they do. Plenty of good thought wasted on way too much hollow anger. I’ll spare you the details, but all I could think throughout their whole diatribe was “life is not that complicated, fellas. Relax and get out of your own way.”
I realize how jarring this reads compared to my previous posts. It’ll always be my intention to keep this blog a fun, easygoing place, but, wow, it annoys me when age is no indicator of wisdom or decorum. I’ll start the review now, I swear. Actually, hold on. Let me climb down from my high horse first (I’m not very tall, this could take a second). There. All better. Boobies.
Alright. I Love Pho (I couldn’t find an official website or online menu). Perfectly named and priced even better. It isn’t a newly unearthed treasure, however, as my weird little family unit and I are frequent flyers there. All of us, save for my nine-year-old, are mutually in love with the titular pho. I like to go with the well-done and rare beef. The beefier the better, I always say (I really do say that). Yet, sitting in the midst of the kvetch-a-thon last night, I ventured outside of my comfort zone and got the pho with rare beef and tendon. I only tried tendon on the recommendation (their name isn’t Kim, so no fancy pun for them) of a friend, as it falls into my Three Ts of Not in My Mouth You Don’t. Before your dirty wheels start spinning stupid guesses, I’m talking about tendon, tapioca and tripe. And wouldn’t you know it? I Love Pho copiously serves all three.
I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: I HATE TRIPE. It’s not a mental blockade about where it comes from. I’ll eat any part of a cow, except for the parts that taste like tripe. But, feeling particularly adventurous, I tried the tendon and Hey Mikey! I liked it (loved it in fact, just like their name says)! We’ve never had any issues with taste or quality at this joint, so maybe I shouldn’t have been that surprised. As for tapioca… well, let me first tell you about Vietnamese iced coffee. Their traditional drip method of making it, while slow, results in the most amazingly sweet and rich blend you’ve ever had. Knowing that, how bad could adding tapioca be? Not bad at all, it seems, as I now covet those little black balls (hey, hey, hey… remember what I said about your dirty wheels). I Love Pho got two of the three Ts in my mouth in a single night. That’s pretty special.
I’ve tried Vietnamese food before, but I Love Pho is as good as I’ve ever had it. That’s probably why we go there weekly, passing by about a dozen other similar establishments and buffets. Oh, and the best part? Dirt cheap. The bill to feed Russell and myself, fancy coffees, tax and tip included? Just under twenty-five bucks. My type of place.