Noms and the City: Pho at Viet, Soho

Despite being damned by the world and separated by society, my nephew, Mr Carrot, and I occasionally manage to elude our guards and meet up to wreak our vengeance on the Capital.  Last weekend was just such a weekend.

Now, my darling Julian sees part of his role as a notable lavenderist about town to educate me on aspects of society I may miss during my life of pious contemplation in the Midlands. (More on this later when we review Molly Houses of London: RVT)

In this instance Julian, citing prudence and taste, encouraged me to into a Vietnamese establishment, Viet (34 Greek Street, Soho), where I tried Pho for the first time.

It is testament to the trust I have in my darling boy that I tried this. Pho, for those of you who do not know, are noodles in a spiced broth and I, for those of you who have not occasioned to meet me, am not fond of noodles or broth.

Gentle reader, I do not hesitate to admit I was wrong in these prejudices.

Fairly unassuming from the outside, unlike Miss Peas

The tender beef, the slippery noodles, the deep, clean flavours of the broth (cinnamon was used, but didn’t overpower), the pleasurable heat of the chilli and the spice of the basil that I added at the table, the overwhelming sense of health... Pho was a pleasure to eat and served it’s purpose admirably, leaving me full and protected against the worst ravages of drink but without being stuffed into a sleepy food coma that would have made it difficult to dance.

Mr Carrot says he might consider the noodles to be a little overdone, but for the price and satisfaction of the soup it's a minor trifle.

I should also note how reasonable it was. Dinner for five came to £45 (including six summer rolls to be shared amongst the party), and being allowed to bring in our own beer made it a very reasonable choice.  The queue outside the door as we left would suggest that this is a place to visit, and I would certainly endorse that. Well chosen nephew Julian. Well chosen indeed.