Pho of our own

I had put all my spices in a giant stockpot to move. They arrived to their destination six hours later. The final drive to our new town was long and grueling. I put the blame on a very late start. They sat in the pot, on our new counter for three weeks. I finally took them out today to use the stockpot.

We have been melancholic lately. We miss our old city, mostly because the drive to our new school has bits and pieces that remind us of our old homes. It's like a dream where both places exist as they are. That is not the case. Beyond the round about we do not see The Thinkery, if only we did, the pond is not at Mueller, the highway isn't South 183 leading out of the city, if only we could have the best of both places in one place. 

We found alocal pho place and excitedly sat down but soon found out that MSG was used and no MSG is used at all our old pho places in the city. I sat there feeling obnoxious that we were about to just ask for a drink and not order. My child started crying and through her tears said," I miss Korea House, I miss Pho Saigon, I miss the sushi and Chinese food, I miss the Japanese place, I'm tired of Mexican food."  I wanted to cry with her. We are in a food desert and all you find here is Tex-Mex and chain restaurants. We went straight to the grocery store where I bought neck bones and oxtails and started on pho as soon as we got home.

Out came the stockpot and I finally unpacked my spices. One by one and with each glass jar in my hand I felt better and better. I reminded myself why we were here. It was not to go to restaurants but to cook for us and spend as much time together as possible. I thought of where we would be had we not moved. I would be working and she would be at daycare and there would be no pho when we got home, not until the weekend. So I kept the cloves, star anise, cinnamon sticks out and started on our first pho in a new place.

As the scents fill the house and warm our space, I am no longer feeling so homesick, I start to think of how we have been together all day, enjoying our memories and missing our city but together. My sweet perfect walks into the kitchen and asks if the soup is ready, I tell her it's dinner not lunch, she tells me she is so excited about our very own pho. I know it will taste just like it did in the city. I remember those flavors so well, the images of every spice and the onions, ginger and herbs popping into my head with every spoonful. It is made patiently, not rushed, it is made with love and today we want to taste some of the past so I know we will find it in our bowls.