Editor’s note: This is part of The Know’s series, Staff Favorites. Each week, we offer our opinions on the best that Colorado has to offer for dining, shopping, entertainment, outdoor activities and more. (We’ll also let you in on some hidden gems).
Denver is in the midst of an Asian food renaissance, with nationally vaunted names such as Yuan Wonton, Sắp Sửa and Q House joining Star Kitchen, Imperial Chinese, Tommy’s Thai and dozens of other metro-area stalwarts.
This has not always translated to more or better pho — that Vietnamese beef noodle soup that heats souls and stomachs year-round. The rich broth, its cirrus clouds of steam perfumed with star anise and cloves, is a necessary part of my winters, whether I’m making a pilgrimage to my favorite Denver pho restaurant (Pho Duy) or discovering and becoming loyal to unassuming eateries like Pho 15 (just north of The Denver Post newsroom, don’t you know).
Good pho has gotten easier to find over the last decade, with suburban and highway-exit restaurants like Phở 4 U in Sheridan joining upscale spots such as Pho & Bar east of downtown. But you don’t have to cling to Michelin Guide recs and James Beard noms to find one near you — even if the heaping bowls have gotten more expensive since the pandemic hit.
That usually means at least $16 for a small-sized bowl of broth with rare steak or brisket, which are my go-to meats, and up to $20 or more for a large size. If you want to add Vietnamese pork eggrolls or a boba tea, apologize in advance to your wallet.
I eat a bit less pho as a result, and savor the meaty broth even more. But since I’m not skillful or, let’s be honest, motivated enough to try making it at home, I still require a prepared infusion.
The beauty, as devotees know, is in the customization. At many joints you can get it with standard or spicy broth, from cloudy to deep red in color. Every kitchen includes a platter (or to-go box) of basil, bean sprouts, jalapenos, limes, scallions, hoisin sauce, and siracha, so staking one’s claim in broth is vital. I sip the soup and chopstick-slurp the noodles, but also dredge the meat in a ramekin of hoisin and sriracha, i.e. a mixture of soy and wasabi at a sushi bar.
There are so many more pho styles, all smiled upon by the food gods, from chicken to vegetarian and seafood. With its toothsome rice noodles anchoring the dish, pho exerts an inescapable pull on my palate. Especially when I’m able to meet the costs and locations halfway.
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