Weigh

We stumble out of the van and gently nudge the doors closed. Muggy heat confronts us as we mark the transition from mountain air to inland basin heat.

heat is coming

The grand hall beckons, buses rowed in pause as they traverse Sapa and Hanoi. There’s a selection of snacks bookshelved by two 3000 Dong bathrooms where faithful and determined ladies demand 12 cents to pass.

We pay it.

A quick but thorough hand wash (crud is going around) and I round towards the counter.

I step up and ask

Do you have phở gà?

Yes

Can I have two

I ask in Vietnamese

ONE

or

TWO?

She replies, holding up two fingers

I confirm that it’s two and she hands me the tiny slip

TICKET

she says and points me toward the counter on the right.

The soup making operation is set up for success.

On the counter, neatly ordained in big, bold orange lettering

PHO NOODLE

Below it, four stacks of 18-20 cream-colored bowls, partnered with a big bowl of fresh limes, red chilies, and silver trays to carry.

Behind the serving counter, three large sky-blue canisters umbilicalled to burners coaxing huge stainless cisterns to boil, boil, toil, and trouble, steam venting forth.

The smiling chef behind the counter works with gentle precision, adding a just right amount of noodles, minced green onions, chicken, and broth.

I take each bowl, add the chilies and squeeze the limes

And make my way back to our table.