I went home last night because I hadn't seen my parents in a while and because I was really craving my dad's cooking. (I also needed to get some laundry done....so I guess my reasons for going home weren't entirely selfless, ha.) Luckily for me, my dad had just cooked a fresh batch of pho, and it was delicious. I always like going out for Vietnamese food, especially now because I never get to eat it as regularly as I did when I lived at home, but no pho has ever compared to my dad's. I don't even know what exactly makes it so good, but it's all in the broth. My dad's broth is deeper, richer, and more complex than any broth I've ever tasted at the Vietnamese restaurants I've been to, and rightfully so as he cooks it for more than 24 hours.
My dad's pho just symbolizes so many aspects of home for me. It's warm, it's delicious, and most of all, it's comforting.
