Kelley T.
Yelp
I've been passing this place for a solid 12 years now, silently wondering, "How are they still here?" Especially after the pandemic? "Seriously, how?!" So, I hopped onto Yelp, scrolling through reviews while sitting in what appeared to be a post-lunch, pre-cleaning disaster zone. That's when I stumbled upon the health violations. My foodie friend, who'd recently had a brief (or was it?) tango with food poisoning from another hot sauce incident, nearly choked on air when I read them aloud. "Wait, what?!" he sputtered, eyes wide. "I hope I don't get food poisoning."
My friend announced he felt utterly miserable. My immediate, brilliant solution? "Want pho?" He practically levitated. Now, mind you, this is the same person who called in sick to work that day. Pho-get about it! At first, it was a joke, but then I thought, "Yeah, a little vermicelli sounds pretty good."
Normally, we'd trek to Pho Nominal in Cupertino/Sunnyvale or that trusty spot off Bascom near the library. But I was in no mood for that expedition. So, I proposed, "How about that place off Keys?" And off we went. This is where the saga truly began.
They were in the middle of unloading a delivery from a van. It was then I realized just how tiny this establishment is. We stood there awkwardly, like lost puppies, and asked, "Are you open?" because the place was deserted. After a quick scan, I saw that most of the tables were... dirty. Over on the side, a table groaned under a mountain of dirty, stacked dishes.
We settled ourselves at a table that hadn't seen a wipe-down. When I gently (and probably optimistically) asked for it to be cleaned, the lady sighed. A deep, weary sigh, like I'd just asked her to solve world peace. Then she pointed to another dirty table and said, "How about this one?" Now, I've always taken cultural nuances with a grain of salt; sometimes other languages can just sound saucy to my Western ears. My nail lady used to sound like she was cussing me out, and it turned out she was just asking if I wanted gel or regular polish. So, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, thinking perhaps she'd just realized the entire dining room was a biohazard. However, she only cleaned that one table, and then took our order.
Her English wasn't the strongest, so we resorted to ordering by the menu's letter-and-number system. I believe he got a B1, and I went for a B5. The price for chicken vermicelli was the same as seafood, so I decided to brave the shrimp. Gotta say, the shrimp was good - big, plump prawns. Our food arrived surprisingly fast, and my vermicelli was decent, with about five of those good prawns. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the cook emerge from the kitchen holding... a single shrimp on a fork. Just one. I don't know why, but it was just so odd. The vermicelli had very little lettuce and a mountain of noodles.
As we ate, I continued my casual environmental survey. I noticed the ladies up front eating behind the counter, which, hey, everyone's gotta eat. Then, my eyes landed on the dreaded "CASH ONLY" sign. Cash-only places always make me raise an eyebrow like The Rock. My mind immediately went to the existential question: "Do I have cash?" Thank goodness for my "rainy day" stash, you know, the hidden emergency money you only remember when faced with a cash-only culinary crisis.
My friend ordered a taro shake, and the communication there was... a bit off. When it finally arrived, it was ridiculously sweet. I was convinced they'd used a pure sugar powder or syrup. We tried to ask what they used, but she genuinely couldn't understand. It was at this point that I officially decided: This place is not making it onto my "Pho List." I wasn't impressed, and frankly, I'd rather just drive further for the places we already know and love. I've even been to a place in Little Saigon before, and while I had higher expectations for that one too, it was still better than this. I'm not hard to please, it's just... I know my pho.
Anyway, this is a definite "I will not be returning" joint. So, no updates from me. After seeing the health violations (which, yes, you can peek right here on Yelp, bless this platform), I genuinely do not understand how they survived the pandemic. I can confirm that the cleanliness level of the tables and floor was non-existent, which, naturally, makes one wonder what the kitchen looks like. All in all, 48 hours later, I did not get food poisoning, which is a silver lining, I guess.