Vietnam greets the early riser with open arms and, more importantly, a steaming bowl of pho. Venture out before 9 a.m., and you’ll witness the bustling streets of Vietnam’s major cities in a rare state of tranquility. You’ll also find pho.
Pho, Vietnam’s most celebrated dish, fundamentally comprised of clear broth (beef or chicken), rice noodles, aromatic herbs, and thinly sliced meat, reigns supreme as the nation’s preferred breakfast. From the northernmost provinces to the vibrant metropolis of Ho Chi Minh City in the south, seasoned vendors awaken before dawn to meticulously prepare their slow-simmering broths. Arrive after 9 a.m., and you might find that hole-in-the-wall spot everyone’s been raving about is already sold out.
But is pho strictly a breakfast item? While mornings hold a special significance for pho in Vietnam, you can now increasingly find this iconic noodle soup at any time of day as shop owners extend their operating hours across the country. How did pho attain its status as a quintessential breakfast dish, and where is that role heading?
The origins of pho are shrouded in some uncertainty. Experts and enthusiasts have proposed various theories tracing the soup’s initial creation. Some contend that pho originated on the streets of Hanoi, while others suggest it emerged roughly 90 kilometers to the northwest in the Nam Dinh province.
What remains undisputed, however, is that pho was initially a northern creation dating back to the early 20th century. Initially, street vendors would often sell pho, carrying bowls of broth on shoulder poles. Tracey Lister, chef and director of the Hanoi Cooking Centre, emphasizes that pho was an ideal breakfast choice for individuals engaged in physically demanding tasks, such as working in rice fields. Pho offered sufficient sustenance to sustain them throughout the morning without causing sluggishness. “A lot of Vietnamese don’t feel [pho] is substantial enough for lunch or for dinner,” Lister notes.
Throughout its history, pho has reflected the cultural, political, and socioeconomic shifts within Vietnam. Andrea Nguyen, author of Into the Vietnamese Kitchen and The Pho Cookbook, points out that Vietnam has two distinct pho cultures, shaped by the nation’s tumultuous history. In the 1950s and 1960s, the traditional northern recipe journeyed to Saigon, when the country was divided, and approximately a million Vietnamese migrated south to escape the communist north.
Upon its arrival in Saigon, pho underwent a transformation. “The southern Vietnamese palate is sweeter, spicier,” explains Chad Kubanoff, chef/owner and co-owner of Back of the Bike street food tour company in Ho Chi Minh City. While pho in the north retained a purity and rusticity mirroring Hanoi’s sensibilities, Nguyen notes that its broth acquired a more intense flavor profile in Saigon. It also became more customizable with sauces and an abundance of herbs. Shops evolved to be more polished, colorful, and reflective of the capitalist southern city. “The soup itself tells you so much about Vietnamese culture,” Nguyen remarks.
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Today, pho is predominantly sold from open-air storefronts lining city streets, especially in Hanoi. These establishments frequently spill onto sidewalks with low tables and milk crates for seating, essentially operating as street food restaurants. They typically lack walk-in or storage areas; ingredients are purchased fresh each morning. “Vendors sort of know that they can sell 300 bowls that morning and that’s what they prepare,” Lister explains. Once they sell out, there isn’t a second shift until a new batch of broth can be prepared.
Vietnam’s culinary rhythm unfolds in this manner: Vendors wake up early to obtain their ingredients and commence broth preparation around 2 a.m. (if it hasn’t been simmering since the previous night), open shop around 6 a.m., sell out by approximately 10 a.m., and begin preparations for that evening or the following morning. Perhaps not coincidentally, Kubanoff observes that these hours coincide with the coolest times of day. Given Vietnam’s largely tropical climate, consuming hot soups like pho and bún bò Huế in the mornings and evenings makes perfect sense. Moreover, in northern cities like Hanoi, where temperatures can be quite cool, a bowl of pho in the morning provides warmth.
But there’s an undeniable allure to pho in the morning. “Long before there was bone broth, there was this soup,” Nguyen states. People crave pho when they’re unwell or hungover because it offers a sense of restoration. It’s hard to define, Nguyen admits, but there’s something inherently comforting about the combination of rice noodles and flavorful broth in a bowl of pho. “It grounds you,” she says. “That’s what it does for me emotionally and physically. It gets me into the groove of what the country is about. It’s a morning country.”
In bustling cities like Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, the early hours offer a more relaxed atmosphere. “You feel very comfortable in the morning, so having pho for breakfast just fits right in there,” Nguyen explains. “It’s like this ritual thing.” As a result, even though pho is now also enjoyed at night, you’ll still find traditional shops and carts that exclusively operate in the early mornings.
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However, even in traditional Hanoi, you can find pho available almost any time. When Lister relocated to Hanoi from Australia about 15 years ago, pho shops typically closed by 10 a.m. or earlier. While some would reopen in the evenings, pho was generally most popular for breakfast. Now, that’s only characteristic of the older, more traditional shops, Lister clarifies. Newer establishments remain open throughout the day. Meanwhile, Kubanoff notes that pho shop hours in Ho Chi Minh City have traditionally been slightly longer but are now extending as vendors seek to cover their expensive rent payments.
The rise of the Vietnamese middle class may be contributing to the increasing availability of lunchtime pho.
“The Vietnamese are really good business people. They’re entrepreneurial,” Nguyen says. While it’s challenging to pinpoint precisely why or when pho became more widely available for lunch, several factors may be at play. Vietnam’s economy has experienced steady growth, and there’s growing opportunity for business, and Nguyen suggests that the country’s pho vendors are among those capitalizing on this opportunity.
Lister also speculates that the rise of the middle class may be connected to the phenomenon of lunchtime pho. Evolving working habits necessitate adjustments to the culinary rhythm. For the many Vietnamese now working in offices, there’s no longer a need for a heavy post-labor meal. Additionally, if that office is air-conditioned, the prospect of eating hot soup in the middle of a tropical day becomes more appealing.
Tourism from Western countries could also contribute to pho’s expanded all-day availability. However, Nguyen points out that the reverse is equally likely: Vietnamese people are now traveling the world and bringing back ideas, cultures, and business acumen.
Yet, habits change slowly. Although the pho shop across the street from the Hanoi Cooking Centre is now open all day, Lister notes that they still sell more than half of their 400 daily bowls before 10 a.m.
Pho – particularly the bolder southern style – arrived in America following the fall of Saigon in 1975, as hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese people fled their country. In recent years, it has become a legitimate food trend in cities across the nation. But mornings that begin over a bowl of pho while seated on a low stool in a crowded open-air shop are still distinctively Vietnamese.
When Kubanoff opened Same Same in Philadelphia’s Northern Liberties neighborhood in 2015, he aimed to replicate the Saigon experience, including a Sunday brunch that began at 8:30 a.m. and featured pho on its menu. However, no one arrived for brunch until 11:30 a.m. — and, when they did, they weren’t there for the pho. “There was no reaction, no interest, nothing,” Kubanoff recalls. He eventually discontinued brunch altogether.
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Yet across town, a South Philly enclave brimming with Vietnamese restaurants, bakeries, and grocers, known as Little Saigon, thrives. Pho 75 stands out as one of its most popular destinations, boasting a beef broth widely regarded as the best in the city and opening its doors daily at 9 a.m. On a snowy morning, customers filed in for breakfast. Many were Vietnamese-American, but not all. Most dined alone. Jacey Cao and Kenny Lam opted for pho instead of their usual Chinatown dim sum breakfast because it was cold, and they craved soup.
Victoria Vo awaited her takeout order. She eats pho to warm up on a cold day and for its health benefits. But she also eats pho for breakfast because it’s a cherished tradition from home.
In conclusion, while pho is deeply rooted in Vietnamese breakfast culture, its accessibility throughout the day is growing, reflecting the country’s evolving economy and cultural landscape. Whether enjoyed as a morning ritual or a comforting meal at any hour, pho remains an iconic and beloved dish, both in Vietnam and around the world.
