December 2007, 8:00 a.m., Luang Prabang, Laos.
During my short time in Laos two years ago, I grew to love pho in the morning. Granted, in southern Laos, there wasn't much of a choice, but even in touristy Luang Prabang, where eggs and toast were easy to find, I chose to eat noodles and broth for breakfast. Pho gently eased me into the day in a way that silver-trayed Continental breakfasts cannot: Each morning, I'd take a seat at some roadside shop, and in five minutes, a bowl of supple rice noodles and sometimes chicken or beef swimming in a warm, light broth was plunked before me. With it came a heaping plate of lettuce, mint, cilantro, and bean sprouts to scatter as I saw fit. And of course, chili, sugar, vinegar, fish sauce, and lime wedges were on the table at all times for broth doctoring. I'd sit in pleasant company but also in pleasant silence, slurping my way to 8:30 a.m. Click after the jump for a closer look.
During my short time in Laos two years ago, I grew to love pho in the morning. Granted, in southern Laos, there wasn't much of a choice, but even in touristy Luang Prabang, where eggs and toast were easy to find, I chose to eat noodles and broth for breakfast. Pho gently eased me into the day in a way that silver-trayed Continental breakfasts cannot: Each morning, I'd take a seat at some roadside shop, and in five minutes, a bowl of supple rice noodles and sometimes chicken or beef swimming in a warm, light broth was plunked before me. With it came a heaping plate of lettuce, mint, cilantro, and bean sprouts to scatter as I saw fit. And of course, chili, sugar, vinegar, fish sauce, and lime wedges were on the table at all times for broth doctoring. I'd sit in pleasant company but also in pleasant silence, slurping my way to 8:30 a.m. Click after the jump for a closer look.
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