Like an Old Master

Pho ‘95 is a place that’s managed itself as an effigy in front of my eyes for a long time. A place that, to me, seemed like a kind of Byzantium, shrouded in legend, in urban mystique. An obscure, yet pervasive place that’s existed in the mythos of Kitchener-Waterloo for so long. And yet, for so long, I’ve kept myself out. There were never any real objections to the spot, everyone I spoke with who ate or didn’t eat there always told me that, “Yeah, the food’s pretty alright.” Was that why I never even bothered visiting it, having eaten at literally every other Vietnamese spot in town? Maybe there were more pressing places to go, places readers would value more. Maybe Pho ‘95 is too obvious, and maybe too much of my reputation as a gastronome is at stake. But I’ll be honest, my stomach is tired; tired of hamburgers, Chinese food, café fare, places too barefaced and unfamiliar to my old hungry heart. So I thought, as an homage to myself, and to my humble beginnings, I’d visit a place with the dish that ushered me into food appreciation. Anyway, it only seems fair that this column pay homage to Vietnamese cuisine at least once in its lifetime. And what better place than Pho ‘95? It’s like an old master. One of the oldest, rooted places in town.

Its size stupefying, its small exterior a humbling declaration of its banquet hall interior. It was uncanny. But casing the joint made me wonder, before Pho ‘95 was Pho ‘95, what could it have possibly been? Its yellowed stucco archways and faux stucco maroon wallpaper reminded me of the Mediterranean reception halls of my youth. Through time, it seemed to rearticulate itself into something more static and culturally performative: fish tanks, Buddha statues, shiny Japanese prints, and those oh so typical fake emerald cushioned chairs and tables that set themselves up in every other Vietnamese place around. It screamed Chinese restaurant, but served Viet food. There were even water coolers with signs pointing in things’ direction in case people were tired of the courtesy of tea. Yes, Pho ‘95 seemed a watering hole for all walks of life; where you could get together with hipster and salary-man alike, have a Styrofoam cup of distilled or spring and make trivial talk about Ray Bands, or the Smith reports.
I was impressed by the clientele that came and went. My eavesdropping even led me to discover that there were a lot of regulars, and valued ones at that, because the staff knew exactly what they wanted right when they came in. I was touched by the sincerity of the staff, the novelty of the space, the suits who came for lunch, the vibrant, yet calm atmosphere. I was more than ready to eat.Pho ‘95’s menu is able to bear even the tiniest of wallets, the most expensive dish being 13 dollars, and even an inexpensive bowl of small beef noodle soup, a meal all its own. That said, I sought that which encouraged me into food-dom, choosing to have the beef noodle soup with raw beef, flank, and cow’s stomach. Why go to a pho place and not get pho? I think I did the right thing.Accompanying that, I chose an appetizer of shredded pork skin rolls; a choice, I find in retrospect, for more tolerant palettes. And, as I am the critical gastronome that I am, I made it my responsibility to purchase that most notable of Vietnamese drinks: coffee with condensed milk.


Like a proper meal, my rolls came first. Stuffed with vermicelli noodles, resilient pieces of translucent pork skin, dull iceberg lettuce, and peanuts wrapped tightly in rice sheets, the starchy rolls were accompanied with a thick sauce of what seemed to be Hoisin and more peanuts. The thick sauce adhered well to the rolls; however, the dry elastic nature of each made eating tedious. The sauce did nothing to temper the nature of something so dry. At a time, I found myself taking them apart and placing them in my soup’s broth as if dumplings. I thought they needed some moisture. The sauce wasn’t bad; however, I felt that old, musty Hoisin huzzah could have been paired better with something a little less torrid.
When my soup arrived, I dove in. It had been a long time since I slurped on the dusty flavor of rice noodles in a salty beef broth. A little cloudier than memory served, probably the most intriguing quality of the broth was the grit of separated fat rowing through the bowl. Usually, one would expect fatty pearls in a nice clear broth, but not here; I took it as a sign that the broth, though not strained to an exorbitant degree, had at least been made from scratch. I hoped, anyway. The raw beef didn’t put up much of a fight, separating easily as I chewed. The flank sunk to the bottom of the bowl, tough as usual and lending spirit to the dish. The slices of cow stomach gave perfect balance to a trio of chewy, tough, and tender. Overall, it was well received.

My coffee completed my meal, arriving as lukewarm as I had expected. Something that percolates so long should be served with ice, so I couldn’t complain, because I requested it without.


It was familiar: creamy with a mouth puckering sweetness that fought off the deep tannic character that came with a long brew. Bracing myself for each sip, I made note of the minute eyes of oil reflected in the coffee’s surface- another symptom of a long extraction. I found myself tempering the coffee’s richness with alternating sips from the cheapest of luxuries: tea.By the end, I was rubbing the sugar crystals that settled as sediment in those last few swallows on the back of my teeth. I loved the stuff, and every minute I spent at Pho '95.
Pho ‘95
Tel: (519) 744-0199
331 West King St
Kitchener, ON N2G1B8

Every day 1030-10

Any method of payment

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