After two months traveling in Asia, the first thing I made when I came home to Canada was Vietnamese chicken pho’ ga—a clear, sweet and savoury rice noodle soup flavoured with ginger, shallots, rock sugar and fish sauce. I wasn’t planning to make it, as it’s a fairly lengthy recipe, and I just wanted a simple chicken soup. But really it’s easy, and as I started boiling the whole chicken, I figured why not broil some ginger and shallots?
The original recipe I have for this comes from a very petite Vietnamese lady in Ho Chi Minh City. I got an entry visa (you can get one in advance from iVisa – yes, I’m an affiliate, but I do think it’s a good service), stayed in the city for two weeks and rented an apartment through Airbnb. She and her husband owned the five-floor building in District 3, a mostly Vietnamese neighbourhood. It was a great choice for where to live as it avoided the backpacker’s district and the hotel-drowned District 1, but was within walking distance of each as well as many other districts and (food) attractions.
Ms. Xuan lived with her husband and daughter in the apartment one floor above me, but she didn’t have a kitchen in her actual apartment. Instead, the building had a kitchen on the top floor, which I was welcome to use. This was better than most rental apartment kitchens as it was fully stocked. Ms. Xuan’s family ate three meals a day there, sometimes inside but often on the rooftop terrace, where Ms. Xuan diligently maintained with a fish pond, kaffir lime trees and a Secret Garden of plants and vines. From there, the sounds of Ho Chi Minh—the constant honking, the blaring motorbike engines, and the loud repeated recordings played from speakers on top of bikes (of what I’m not sure—advertising?)—were muted. It was an oasis in the city, which stood in contrast to Ms. Xuan’s husband’s chosen oasis: a street-side coffee shop on a main road where he surely couldn’t converse with friends, but went every day for iced coffee and people-watching. “Why would I own a coffee machine?” he asked. “Then I wouldn’t have a reason to come here,” he told me as we sat in our royal blue kids-sized plastic beach chairs, our respective black coffee and papaya smoothies on a flimsy plastic table in front of us, but set back far enough from the curb that motorbikes wouldn’t hit us.
Ms. Xuan told me to make myself at home in the kitchen, which I clearly did. But she also offered to teach me how to make chicken pho’ ga. That’s an offer I don’t refuse. She, her husband, and their housekeeper walked me to the local market, shopping list in hand, in search of pork and chicken bones, a whole chicken, sawtooth herb, rice paddy herb, green onions, small chili peppers, limes, and fresh pho’ rice noodles. The kaffir lime leaves she would pick from her garden.
And thank goodness she took me because none of the vendors spoke a word of English beyond “hello,” and I admit my Vietnamese leaves more than a little to be desired. In the following weeks I would be consistently ripped off by vendors charging me three times as much for the same items, and me with no way to argue back. But I feel I can’t complain when the 30,000 dong difference is $1.50 Canadian.
We wound through the market alleys, Ms. Xuan looking for the best prices and stopping to point out an herb. Though she didn’t speak much English, with her husband as translator she’d managed to walk me through the ingredient list and the general recipe. I’d made pho’ several times before with a wonderful recipe from Andrea Nguyen of Vietworldkitchen.com but once returned to Ms. Xuan’s kitchen, I began to take notes and pictures furiously. She seemed tickled by my interest and went about explaining each step to me as she did it. To do it properly is long and involved and requires near constant vigilance and multi-tasking. But the perfectly clear, light broth is…well, there’s nothing like it. Deep and rich but without greasiness and weight. A little sweet from the shallots and sugar, but just salty enough from the fish sauce and salt, and just sour enough from a side dipping sauce for the chicken of lime juice with shredded kaffir lime and salt.
It took three hours to make a perfect broth. My had two bowls each to compare freshly made market rice noodles with dry noodles, and in the twenty minutes between the bowls the broth got even better, reducing just a little more. The trick for this recipe? Patience: repeated skimming and sufficient reducing. The reward will be worth it.
Ms. Xuan’s Vietnamese Pho Ga Chicken Noodle Soup
serves 4-6
1 kg whole chicken (ideally with neck, feet, and organs, either attached or just packaged together. If it’s a regular grocery store chicken, that’s fine)
1/2 kg chicken pieces and bones (Ms. Xuan bought an extra thigh and a wing and drumstick combo, plus two carcasses, some bones and some feet. But you can also use large thigh and drumstick bones. They’re less expensive but there’s less meat this way. Sometimes butchers just have bags of prepackaged bones, so take what you can get. If you buy extra pieces, they can be skin-on)
1/2 kg pork bones/pieces (or more chicken bones/pieces. Vietnam sure loves pork in soup, though. Please buy organic here if possible. Pigs and chickens are generally both unhygienic creatures so think about what you’re putting in your body. Also, Ms. Xuan bought bones with a fair bit of meat still attached, and the pork bones looked almost like an osso buco cut, with the inner bone marrow exposed)
2 four-inch knobs of ginger (approximate)
5 shallots (it really needs to be shallots, not white onions, for sweetness, but it’ll be okay with small red onions, and still works with white or vidalia)
1/4 cup fish sauce, or more to taste (look for one that’s just anchovy and salt. There shouldn’t be any MSG, colorants, caramel, wheat, or preservatives. If it says “Phu Quoc” on it, then it’s from an island in Vietnam known for its fish sauce, but you still need to check the ingredients)
1/4 cup rock sugar (large white rocks of translucent sugar crystals the size of dice but that often form strange shapes with other rock sugar pieces in a kind of abstract art-y way. Palm sugar is supposedly too flavourful, but I’d use it over white sugar in a pinch. Next best would be cane sugar, but use about half as much of any granulated sugar and then adjust to taste)
1 tsp salt
10 spring onions
8 leaves fresh kaffir lime (or 1 tbsp organic lime zest)
2 limes, cut in wedges
20 leaves sweet basil
Sawtooth herb, optional
Rice paddy herb, optional
1 small white onion
1 small bunch cilantro
Freshly ground black or white pepper
8 cups fresh pho’ rice noodles if available, or 1 package dry pho’ noodles (the package should say pho’. IT’s a kind of rice noodle, thinner than a pad thai noodle, but also flat and long. It should not contain wheat or gluten, though it’s also sometimes called rice vermicelli). I used both and commpared the two. The fresh noodles are more delicate and softer without being mushier. The dry noodles are chewier when softened and feel less like food and more like texture. But the different is subtle, and it depends on the fresh noodles (type of rice used, freshness. Fresh noodles can be very hard to make well)
You’ll need: two large pots, and three cheesecloths, though the cheesecloths aren’t mandatory
Directions
Heat a pot of water large enough to cover the chicken and pork bones. Blanch for 1 minute to remove impurities. Remove to an ice bath (or a bowl. Vietnam doesn’t have an abundance of ice…or baths for that matter). Dump the water and place the blanched pieces back in the pot. Cover with fresh water and bring the pot to a boil. Skim any scum that comes to the top. Simmer uncovered for 1 1/2 hours, topping up with water as needed to keep the bones covered.
Rinse the whole chicken. Cut off the head if it’s still attached and add it to the bone pot. Chop it in half lengthwise and season with a teaspoon of salt and large dash of fish sauce. Leave to marinate.
Blacken the ginger (leave the skin on) and unpeeled shallots in the oven or over a gas flame. I do this by placing them in a baking dish and placing them under the oven broiler set to low, but as most Vietnamese don’t have ovens, and Ms. Xuan had a convection stove, she roasted the ginger and shallots in a handy counter-top electric cooker at 400°F for about 20 minutes. 
If you’re broiling them, set the timer for 5 minutes and rotate them so they blacken evenly. Repeat every 5 minutes. They’re done when they’re softened to the touch, and the shallots start releasing sweet juices.
The ginger may take longer than the shallots. If you do this with a gas stove or kitchen torch, it won’t take as long but you still need to be patient so the inside cooks instead of just burning the outside.
Remove from the oven or flame and rinse the shallots in cool water to remove the outer skin. When cool enough to handle, whack the ginger with the blunt side of a cleaver of chef’s knife. Slice in half lengthwise, then into 1/4″ slices widthwise (like thick quarters). Divide between two cheesecloths and add half the peeled shallots to each.
Heat a second pot of water large enough to cover the whole chicken. Add the lightly marinated whole chicken halves and rock sugar. Don’t cover it. You can do this before the water comes to a boil.
Skim the scum from the bone pot with a fine-mesh sieve. This keeps the broth clear. When the pot with the whole chicken comes to a boil skim the scum that rises. Tie cheesecloths closed and add one to each pot. Reduce whole chicken pot to a simmer and cook uncovered for 25 minutes, or until a chopstick inserted in the underside of the thigh goes in easily (or use a meat thermometre).
Meanwhile, remove cilantro leaves from stems. Snip leaves in half with scissors and then set aside for garnish. Add stems to a third cheesecloth. Place this cheesecloth in the pot of bones I’m pretty sure you could add these stems in the same cheesecloth as the shallots and ginger when you add them above, if you want to save a cheesecloth. In Vietnam the cheesecloths come in little sachets, perfect for soup. Someone should market that in North America…but who makes soup here? You use the cheesecloths so you’re not skimming pieces of ginger, cilantro stems, and shallot when you clean the broth. You can do it without the cheesecloths but you have to be more careful when skimming)
To the pot of simmering whole chicken add the fish sauce and salt. I tried to ask Ms. Xuan why you need both but she didn’t understand. My guess is it’s to not make the soup so fishy. I also stopped her from adding MSG. She frowned and said the soup wouldn’t taste as good without it, but gave in. I thanked her and smiled because I wouldn’t have a headache later. MSG is basically traditional at this point in Vietnam. It’s used in place of, rather than in addition to, salt. It’s featured higher on grocery store aisle signs than salt. It is, in fact, difficult to find salt in Vietnam, with more people using fish sauce as a condiment. If you see what you think is salt on a table or in a dipping bowl, it is probably straight-up MSG. With pho’ soups it’s often combined with minced kaffir lime leaf and black or white pepper. You squeeze in the juice of a wedge of lime and then dip pieces of chicken from the soup into it. It’s pure umami—an explosion of flavour. But a high-mineral salt would work just as well…and be much better for you.
Skim the broths with the fine-meshed sieve. Any time you’re wondering what you should be doing, in fact, skim the scum from the broths.
Separate the spring onions into bottom white and pale green parts, and upper dark green parts. Slice the dark green parts into 1-inch lenghts and set aside. Then chop the white and pale green parts into 2-inch pieces before cutting them lengthwise (but not all the way to the root) and then shredding the thin slices by hand into the absolute thinnest slices you can make. you can also just slice these very thinly, but you have time now as the broth reduces. So sit with friends and shred green onions by hand. Wash the sawtooth herb and rice paddy herb (you may not be able to get them in North America, but they’re strongly flavoured, thin, long greens. Rice paddy herb has small, rounded leaves that taste like pungent cilantro. They make pho’ great in my opinion, as they hold up to the heat of the soup much better than regular cilantro leaves. Sawtooth herb is tougher, so you serve the whole length of the green on a plate and let everyone tear off the bottom and then tear their piece into smaller pieces that they place in their soup to soften. Traditionally there’s a big plate of herbs (sawtooth, rice paddy, basil on the stem) in the middle of the table for everyone to share. In restaurants there will be garbages under the table for the stems so you don’t have to put them back on the plates. The restaurant will give the leftover herbs to the next people that come in (after re-stocking the plate), so you’re expected to keep your plate hygienic. No touching other herbs you don’t eat or placing things back on the plate. Better to place them on the table (or floor…this is still done, though it’s going out of favour) if there’s no garbage, but there usually is.
When the chicken is done, remove it to a bowl to cool. When cool enough to handle, separate into large pieces by hand and remove skin. Some people keep the skin, slice it thinly, and serve it in the soup as a delicacy. You can discard it if you don’t like gelatinous skin. It’s an acquired taste.
Remove the meat from the bones and tear into bite-size pieces, or thicker slices if desired. It should tear fairly easily if it’s cooked properly. Add the bones to the bone broth.
Simmer the broth for anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour. The more it simmers, the more intense the flavour will become. Keep testing the broth. Either add more fish sauce, sugar or salt or let it reduce more if the flavour isn’t rich enough for you. Usually time solves the problem, but you do need a fair amount of sweetness and salt to bring out of the flavour.
The Home Stretch
If using dry noodles, bring to a boil in a pot of water. Simmer 4 minutes. Strain and rinse under room temperature water (there’s really no such thing as cold water in Ho Chi Minh City, so room temp works. If you’re in a cold place, place the strainer on top of the hot pot to keep them from cooling too much and drying out while you sieve the broth).
Slice the white onion in half and then finely slice into slivers.
Strain the bone broth through a sieve lined with cheesecloth directly into the pot of broth from the whole chicken. (Or sieve it into something else and then transfer). Sieve it back into the first pot.
Keep the bones if there’s meat on them. Some people throw them out but many Vietnamese wouldn’t waste them. Remove chicken neck and heart and slice thinly if a) you haven’t already removed them, and b) you want to eat them. They, too, are a delicacy. Return broth to simmer over low heat. Skim it again if necessary. Taste again and adjust seasoning before serving. This is the most important part!!
Lay the kaffir lime leaves one on top the other and roll up into a cigar. Slice thinly (chiffonade them) with a knife or scissors into thin slices. Snip the small red chili peppers into tiny pieces with scissors and arrange all the garnishes together on plates.
To assemble the bowls, place a cup or so of noodles in each.
Then add some of the chicken, raw white onion, cilantro leaves, and kaffir lime slices.
Finally, top with the broth. There should be some fat in the top of the broth. If you let the broth sit in the fridge overnight much of it rises to the top and you can skim it off, but it adds a lot of flavour and a little is good for what ails you.
Make little soy sauce bowls of kaffir lime, pepper and salt and serve with lime wedges to make a dipping sauce for the chicken pieces. Let each person take basil, sawtooth herb and rice paddy herb and tear it into their soup while the broth is steaming hot. You can also serve with chili sauce, and everyone can add the sliced chilies to their own bowl if desired. Also serve with fish sauce. Normally individuals add more fish sauce directly to the broth, but hot sauce stays in the side dipping bowl so you don’t spoil the light sweetness of the broth. Kind of like adding ketchup to filet mignon. But you do see Vietnamese people adding chili sauce (sriracha sauce or other chili pastes) directly to broths.
Eat the soup with chopsticks in your right hand and a spoon in your left. Traditionally there “were” no left-handed people in Vietnam so everyone learned to eat with their right hands. Use the chopsticks to pick up the noodles ad to dip the chicken pieces in the lime dipping sauce. Then use the spoon to scoop up the broth.
Die happy.
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