30. Phở Tái / Rare Beef Steak ................. ($11.45)
If you ask me, “Do you want to go to Miss Saigon?”
I will say yes. Every time.
I respond, “Who’s driving? Me or you?”
In the car ride on the way to the restaurant, we will talk about our days. I’ll tell you about the class that is stressing me out, and about my current relationship drama. You’ll tell me about the new shirt you just thrifted, and how you and your roommate watched the craziest video essay last night. We’ll talk about how excited we are to eat non-dining hall food, and discuss what we’re going to order once we get there.
At this point, we could probably order for each other, having gone to the same spot so many times. We’re consistent, but sometimes the desires change. Different cravings emerge. Usually, we both order a serving of Phở Tái / Rare Beef Steak, number thirty on the menu. But sometimes, you get number thirty seven: Bún Bò Huế / Middle Vietnam. In which case, I go for number thirty eight: Bún Bò Kho / Vietnamese Beef Stew. This way, we both get to try the other’s respective soups (we know what they taste like already, but we want to share anyway). In the patient waiting between ordering and receiving our food, we continue to talk about nothing, and everything, and bounce between topics, exploring our interpersonal galaxy.
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If you ask me, “Do you want to go to Miss Saigon?”
I will say yes, every time.
Before the soups arrive, we get to work crafting the perfect dipping sauce: in a sauce dish or on a small plate intended for appetizers, mix preferred ratios of hoisin and sriracha. When the dishes finally arrive, we start a new conversation crafting the perfect bites: pile the rice noodles onto the soup spoon, coat the thin beef flanks in the sauce and add it to the soup soon, and dip the entire thing into the beautiful broth. There is a rhythm to this, crafting the perfect bite, one we dance to again and again until our bowls are empty, our bellies full, and our hearts warmed. In the sweet silence of enjoying wonderful food, each sigh of satisfaction, each head nod whilst chewing, and each blissful expression communicates more than words ever could. Here, food is one of the many love languages we are extremely fluent in.
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When you ask me, “Do you want to go to Miss Saigon?”
I tell you that you don’t even need to ask. Just tell me when we’re leaving, because I’ve already cleared my schedule for you. Because pho is your favorite food, and you are my favorite person. Because I won’t ever pass up the chance to spend time with you, won’t ever say no to venturing out to our favorite spot: a small and crowded restaurant thirty minutes away from campus where the meaning of life can always be rediscovered. In a vitalizing bowl of soup, in your presence. The brightest star in my network of constellations. Because I love you, and want to eat pho with you forever. You know I have no spice tolerance. Take all of the jalapeños from the garnish plate. They’re all yours. I am all yours.
So please, never stop asking me the question, “Do you want to go to Miss Saigon?”
No matter how many times you ask, it is yes. Always, yes.
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Let’s go get some pho.
Thank you for inviting me.
I’ll drive, and we can split the bill.