Ruminating Twaddle

     I think my gradual defection from the social caste of those who gather for suppah came from the feeling that I was unworthy. It was my father’s explanation to my query as to why we were going to “dinner” when the sun had already set. It upended my birthright as a Mainer and my ancestral claim to the language of supper’s etymological origins.

    It seems that supper (the word) has several ingredients. Generally thought of as having derived from the old French souper, it is also related to soup, the Scandinavian soppa, and the German Suppe. If its origins seem diffused and obscure, it is no less so with its definition. Generally accepted as the last meal of the day, supper at the farmer’s table is not the light snack in the evening as understood in some regions.

    Dad explained that supper (as it pronounced elsewhere in America) was a product of our agrarian heritage. Well he might have said, “farmers work hard, up early, have a big breakfast and toil ‘til noon, dinner time. Haying in the afternoon brought them hungry to the supper table.” Of course, the industrial revolution was more of an evolution with heavy work aplenty and long hours, brought home the hungry. Supper endured.

     But how could I, an urbanite lay claim to supper? Complicating my conundrum even more over the years was the fact that I, as a chef. I had prepared many a meal, and oft had written menus for same. I have written breakfast menus, luncheon menus, brunch menus, buffet menus, dinner menus. But never once, no not a single time, have I ever written a supper menu.

     It is all very complicated. Can anybody tell me when the dinner-bell rings at the cookhouse, setting wranglers on the run for grub? Dinner or supper? It seems to defy definition. But once again we must return to the French of 1300 and the word disner, meaning to dine. Evolving over time it has come to mean the heavy main meal of the day. But what and when is dining done and by whom? This just maybe the next front in the struggle for egalitarian society.

     There is a danger of shunning. One octogenarian resident of a nursing home where I once worked told me that she had left home to work for Owens-Corning in Connecticut. Returning to the homestead for a visit, she had the audacity to inquire as to dinner in the evening. She was roundly accused of “putting on airs.”

     “The divide between different meanings of “dinner” is not cut-and-dried based on either geographic of socioeconomic class. However, the use of the term dinner for the midday meal is strongest among the working class. Among others dinner has come to mean a meal out of the ordinary, denoting celebration or special significance.”  So says Wikipedia.

      Supper, too, has its snobbish adherents. Among the elite, and perhaps involving a secret knock upon the door, can be found members of the “Supper Club.” These underground (often illegal) speakeasies of epicure, so I am led to believe, feature the most exotic (and suspected of being endangered) fare.

     The interloper causing such chaos is most likely an upstart birthed in the language around 1580 and grown to its maturity and common use by 1823. Lunch! Actually, an abbreviation of luncheon whose etymology hearkens to the Anglo-Saxon nuncheon or nunchin, meaning noon drink. In medieval Germany luncentach, a noon draught.

     This staggering accommodation to sustenance seems to have evolved as days lengthened by the advent of artificial light. Heretofore dinner arrived after a long morning of labor and advantaged by a profusion of daylight. Supper, a lighter meal in the gloom of evening. The longer gap between meals, moving from liquid to solids made necessary by longer hours of labor.

      The most stable of meal times is breakfast. Regardless of the time of day, be it cold pizza or ham and eggs, breakfast is just what it says it is. And what mother said it is: the most important meal of the day.

     I have no idea why I let rumination devolve to twaddle, but I do. For me dinner is an evening meal, enhanced as much as possible by conversation and conviviality. But I will hold steadfastly to Maineah roots, perhaps march in protest, should I have the misfortune to see a sign announcing.

Bean Dinner

Twaddle

Pho, a love affair

Author's rendition of pho ga,
chicken phofully dressed

My love affair with pho started as a long-distance fling. There was a pretty woman involved, but we never go to that "would you like to meet for coffee" moment. She did, however, send a video and a list of expectations. Mai Pham, a celebrated Vietnamese chef living in California, where all things trendy start, had put together a training of Vietnamese cuisine. I was a chef for a multi-national foodservice company, and I was hooked.

Pho, (pronounced pha, rhymes with duh) is the ubiquitous soup of Vietnam. Often consumed at breakfast, it is doled out from floating craft along the Mekong and in street-stalls all over Vietnam. Rice noodles and piping hot broth of beef or chicken are the base ingredients.

In America, pho is becoming as prolific as pizza. While it is as far from tomato adn cheese on the flavor spectrum as Italy is from Vietnam, its genesis in American culture is in a way a story twice-told. Both are conflict foods, each coming to America with her returning soldiers and diaspora of nations shattered by war. In Westbrook, Maine it made its first public appearance about four years ago when PhoverMaine opened its doors on Main Street.

Pho, according to gastronomic historians, began its enigmatic evolution in the northern provinces of Vietnam, the epicenter being in what was then Hanoi. Fans of the original dish eschew the plethora of herbs that garnish the Southern rendition that's so popular in the States. "It's about the broth," they say, an axiom ultimately true with or without the condiments.

The culinary rhizomes of Chinese cuisine may have earlier spread to Vietnam, but the evidence points to the colonial occupation by the French in the 1880's as having given birth to pho. One does not have to look any further than the first step of pho preparation to detect its foreign accent. Onion Brule (charring) is a long-used French technique for enhancing soups and consommes, Pho starts with charred onion and ginger. And, too, the similarities to pot au feu, quintessential French beef-stew, are unmistakable. In fact, the word "pho" is thought by some to be a corruption of the "pot au feu" of "pot on the fire."

Pho is a harmony of flavors, each fresh herb a independent voice singing a part in a rich melody of vibrant beef or chicken broth. Ginger and fish sauce and star-anise add a salty warmth. Americanized versions are some thirty percent larger than what is traditionally offered along the Mekong, with many more options, including raw beef, meatball, tripe and tendon, and even seafood. At prices around ten dollars a bowl, it is a bargain.

Westbrook's first purveyor of pho

Jen Huynh, whose family operates PHOever Maine,is a bit rankled by the assertion of pho's northern origins, Admittedly a foodie of the highest order, she is quick to point out Southern Vietnam's contribution to the national dish and her family's strenuous adherence to authentic ingredients.

Rendered is fifteen-gallon pots, the roasted bones are simmered up to eighteen hours to extract deep flavors. In a similar process, pho ga (chicken pho) is rendered from Cornish game hens, which according to Ms. Huynh give a richer and more authentic flavor than everyday chicken.

Bamboo Bistro features
pho of several varieties

A short drive down the road, Bamboo Bistro, a Thai-Vietnamese restaurant, offers beef, chicken and seafood versions, a testimony to American wealth. While Bamboo Bistro's menu is extensive, heralding its many creations, a yellow and red banner in front of the restaurant celebrates their offering of pho. Stymied by my lack of facility with Asian languages, I was unable to engage my server in conversation, but found my pho delicious and warming against the cold of a January day. I spent my time contemplating the debate over pho's origin and evolution.

In part, the differences in pho's preparation from North to South are as much about politics as they are about creative expression. Under the 1954 Geneva accords, Vietnam was split in two. According an article written by Andrea Nguyen, many northerners migrate southward to avoid the coming communist rule, bringing pho with them. In the more affluent and culinarily adventurous south, pho began to take on embellishments.

"Pho bac" (northern pho) had become adulterated with bean sprouts, Thai basil, and Asian cilantro. Purists of the north reacted in horror, decrying the loss of authenticity. I have come to appreciate the opposing positions and have since begun each consumption sans the condiments. While the debate raged within me, I not-so-patiently awaited spring and  the opening of  Veranda Kitchen & Bar, the newest purveyor of pho along Westbrook's streets.  I had been a long-time fan of their  Veranda Street Noodle Shop in Portland..

Westbrook's newest  provider of pho

Within twenty-four hours of Veranda's opening I had completed the trifecta of pho purveyors in Westbrook. Because I like it so much, and in the spirit of fairness, I consumed only chicken pho (pho ga). There was not one that failed to please. There were subtle differences, even between Portland Veranda and it sister restaurant, if you paid attention to the broth. For me the level of ginger is a defining element. After taking some minutes to contemplate the broth, I added condiments: a squeeze of lime, a couple of leaves of basil, a dash of Hoisin sauce...and yes, a squirt of Sriracha. I am, after all an American by birth, a chef by training, and possessor of an insatiable need to tinker with food.

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I make pho at home. Rendering broth from roasted beef bones is labor and time intensive. I save my exploration of beef pho for forays to the many eateries that now offer it. Purchasing herbs at retail is a bit expensive, but I enjoy cooking as much, if not more, than eating. So,the expense is mitigated by using the excess in other cuisines. This year Thai basil has a prominent spot in my herb garden.

This is the first in what I hope to be a series of blogs about the evolving state of the cuisine in Westbrook. If you enjoyed it and found it informative please let me know. It is a labor of love.

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