Roll on Up to Phớ: Vietnamese Specialty House Will Give You Squiggles of Satisfaction

The strip mall on Fletcher Parkway north of Dallas Street is a mini-mecca of East Asian food. Cuisines include Japanese (at Shizuoka), Chinese (at ) and Thai (at Bangkok Orchid). But way at the north end, almost as if isolated, is a less well-known fare: Vietnamese pho.

That’s what you’ll find at the V-House Phở & Grill, a modest but meritorious place to broaden your palate—and get a hot, satisfying lunch for a low price.

So what’s “pho”? A scale of model train? The opposite of “phriend”? The sound of one hand phlapping?

Turns out “pho” isn’t even pronounced “pho,” and that “o” at the end is actually an “ở.” This is terrific for those of us who, bored by the regular alphabet, feel that vowels ought to be spruced up with extra squiggles. (For the purposes of this review, I’m going to use an ordinary “o.” Sorry, lexicographers.)

So here’s how “pho” should be spoken: “Fuh.” Better yet: “Fuhhh.” (Note to Italian-Americans especially from New Jersey: You can safely leave off the “-getaboutit” part.) Oddly enough, “pho” reminds me of an old and quite nerdy friend who was fond of repeating lesser-known Internet memes such as “feh” and “buh” in chat rooms. I’m still not sure what the latter word means, but it’s fun to say.  (Try it: “Buh!”)

Anyway, the word “pho” derives from cuisine developed in northern Vietnam about a century ago, when savvy Hanoi-area cooks were marketing to both Chinese noodleheads and French meatheads. Pho is all-purpose, fill-you-up food you can eat again and again—with just enough meat to attract diners who scoff at anything that seems too darned vegetably.

V-House Phở & Grill does a fine job of representing the pho style. I’ll admit, I was afraid it would be too weird, but it’s not. Amost all the dishes are completely approachable and palatable, just a couple shades different from Thai food. A few of the dishes do have unusual meat options such as tendon—and my novice, wimpsville reaction is that I’m “tendon” to choose chicken, beef or shrimp instead.

At whatever level you get to know pho, V-House makes it easy: Lunch items run from $4 to $7, with a whopping bowl of steaming hot pho noodles and meat costing a mere $5. This place is primed for repeat customers. Based on the quality of the food, it deserves it.

Upon entering V-House Phở & Grill, my friend and I bypassed a large aquarium containing a few pink fishies, ambled across a clean tiled floor, and found a black-cushioned booth underneath a bamboo picture of a happy woman riding an oxen. Momentarily distracted by a nearby busser with the sniffles, we perused the sharp-looking, easy-to-understand menu and ordered two Spring Rolls, aka Goi Cuon, ($3) as an appetizer.

I could live the rest of my life on spring rolls alone. In this case the rice paper is filled with both shrimp and pork. It also includes lettuce, bean sprouts, vermicelli noodles and a brashly pungent cut of mint leaves. We were given two separate bowls of spicy peanut sauce (thus avoiding the threat of an awkward double-dip situation), which had a hot aftertaste—appreciably moreso than most restaurants’ peanut sauces.

This being a pho restaurant, naturally I ordered the Pho dish—the aforementioned $5 bowl o’ noodles and meat. One of the cool things about V-House is they layer ingredients and then you mix them yourself. Unfortunately, I didn’t immediately understand that my small plate of supercrunchy bean sprouts, basil and jalapeno peppers was meant to be stirred into my steaming bowl of beef broth and rice noodles.

My mistake: I simply dug into what was already in the bowl (which included my choice of meat, in this case the rare thin-sliced steak, which resembled tiny elephant ears). It was delightful as it was, but next time I’m going for the full concoction.

Note to the efficient but quiet waiter, whose name is Vu: You might consider explaining how things work a little more for perpetually knuckleheaded patrons like myself.

Maybe next time I’ll try the fish balls, or the well-done brisket, or the imitation crab. But I’ll work my way up to tripe, thank you very much.

Whatever the meat choice, what I really like about this kind of lunch are the feelings afterward: A sense of well-hydrated healthfulness. It’s the opposite of the heavy, sedated feeling you get from eating a burger.

My friend chose a different style of lunch, a Bun (rice vermicelli) bowl, for $7. Like the Pho bowls, it’s served with the ingredients layered, so you can mix them yourself. In addition to noodles, this perfect little lunch includes shredded lettuce, cucumbers, mint, bean sprouts, pickled carrots and daikon, crushed peanuts and fish sauce. For the meat, he chose the char-grilled chicken, which was tasty and tender.

Superb as it was, my friend felt some more spice was needed, so he grabbed the nearby bottle of Sriracha, a hot chili sauce. It did the trick; it’s a sinus-clearer to be sure. Table condiments also include bottles of hoisin sauce, which is thicker, sweeter and milder—sort of like teriyaki molasses.

For drinks, my friend had (and very much enjoyed) the Hot Tea With Condensed Milk ($2),  served in a stylish tall glass. I opted to try something weirder, so I ordered the Egg Yolk With Condensed Milk ($2). Though mixed with club soda, the taste unmistakably eggy. I imagine this must be what Rocky Balboa drinks while training for kickboxing matches. The drink is actually not bad at all, though I’ll probably skip it next time in favor of the Salted Preserved Plum or Fresh Lemonade With Tea.

We had considered ordering one of the menu’s beers or wines with our lunch, but V-House’s alcholic-beverage license has expired. The owner, Bill Lee, explained that the restaurant has struggled through a tough economy since opening in November  2009 (the location had previously been a Chinese buffet).

In July 2010, V-House closed for a couple months while Lee pulled together finances to pay the electric bill. A family operation, Lee runs the restaurant along with his brother and his uncle—Vietnam natives who moved to the United States in 1991.

Lee says building a customer base has been challenging. He can’t afford to advertise, and Vietnamese food isn’t an established niche like other East Asian cuisines. Nonetheless, Lee says: “We get lots of walk-in customers who don’t know Vietnamese food, and they end up really liking it.”