In South End, Vietnam meets Caribbean
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It was a case of faux pho.
I'm very fond of pho (pronounced fuh), the Vietnamese meal-in-a-bowl disguised as a noodle soup. In fact, the very thought of huddling over a steaming bowl of beef pho (pho bo) in a storefront place along Dorchester Avenue can ward off a nasty cold. I stir crunchy bean sprouts and Asian basil, plus some hot sauce, into the dark golden broth, then use my chopsticks to pull out slices of rare beef, beef tendons, tripe, thin noodles and lots of spinach, and I feel restored.
So on one recent evening, rain pelleting and lightning crashing, I was in high anticipation as we straggled into Pho Republique, the new South End outpost dubbed a French Vietnamese restaurant by owners Jack Bardy and Didi Emmons. This was to be their second Pho. However, soon after the South End restaurant opened in late November, the Central Square site, smaller and with slightly lower prices, burned to the ground. The owners plan to rebuild.
For this restaurant, Bardy and Emmons chose Derek Harrison as chef, who had owned French-Caribbean restaurants in Los Angeles. The South End restaurant, one large, high-ceilinged room, is garbed in dramatic grays and blacks and Asian motifs such as a hanging gong; the decor, by David Olson, who has also designed movie sets, does convey a sort of mysteriousness, chiefly because it's so dark. But it isn't particularly attractive, and the noise, some wobbly tables, and wildly fluctuating temperatures undermine the comfort level.
Beef pho was on my mind, but first we nibbled on terrific nests of very thinly julienned and crisp-fried sweet potatoes enclosing plump shrimp. The crunchy nests, completely grease-free with lettuce to wrap them in, were a wonderful taste and textural contrast against the sharpness of nuoc cham (fish sauce) dipping sauce. The term "appetizer" originally meant a small portion of food designed to stimulate the appetite. But that part of the menu often crawls right out of its definition and can mean almost anything these days. These little bites, though, were right on target, inciting a desire for more.
A noisy crepe of yellow mung bean and rice flour, like a crisp-crusted omelette, was wrapped around shredded duck and red onions; it was a delicate and satisfying true appetizer. Steamed spring rolls were filled with an unusual mixture of tofu, lemongrass chutney, and wood ear mushrooms, but the skins were too tough and rubbery, throwing the balance off. Braised spareribs in a spicy sauce of tomatoes, cumin, hoisin, and slightly crunchy black beans vaulted over the appetizer line into a hearty little meal on a small plate. But the meat was tender and flavorful, the sauce a gutsy pleasure.
Then it was time for the pho. Pho Republique makes a big deal of the pho, calling the appetizers "before pho," the entrees "beyond pho," and so forth. The big bowls of soup had the appropriate cold garnish of bean sprouts and Asian basil. The spices, listed on the menu, were numerous, from star anise to cinnamon to chilies and garlic. But I thought the pho itself was disappointing, bland instead of piquant, dull instead of sparkling. The beef pho was especially uninteresting. It contained plenty of thinly sliced beef, possibly of better grade than that at the smaller Vietnamese restaurants in town. But the flavor didn't have the punch or depth it needed, and I suspect that substituting chicken broth for beef had a lot to do with my disappointment. Chicken pho was better, essentially a big bowl of light-bodied chicken soup with Asian spicing. But another we tasted, one with sweet potato dumplings, was bland and gloppy since the dumplings disintegrated in the hot broth. Hence, faux pho.
Harrison, who remarked in a phone interview that "99 percent of the ingredients from the Caribbean are the same as Asian," does much better with the heartier dishes. An oxtail ragout, an abundant serving brought to the table in a clay pot, boasted nuggets of meat that had been braised for hours, Harrison said, with a reduced red wine sauce, carrots, onions, taro root, lemongrass, and tangerine peel. All those ingredients melded in the long cooking to deeply infuse the tender meat with flavor. A whole bass, marinated in nuoc cham and dipped in rice flour, was fried to a crackly finish. The frying preserved the moistness of the fish, but the result was light and greaseless. A mild yellow curry sauce was a pleasant accompaniment.
Slices of seared salmon layered with fried wontons had the same bold flavors along with lots of mushrooms and red peppers. However, the dish wouldn't win points on presentation, a jumbled mix of beige and brown with a few flecks of red.
Other dishes were pallid. Curry rubbed chicken over vermicelli, Pho Republique's version of the Vietnamese classic bun bo, was boring, as was the stir-fried pea tendrils with garlic. Even the sauces, the first a minted lime-garlic sauce and second a red curry, needed some more pizazz.
The Caribbean and Asian influences mingled in the desserts. Banana-filled spring rolls, again nicely fried, were irresistible, topped with ginger ice cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce. A hollowed pineapple half filled with mango and strawberries was topped with zabliogne, making a refreshing end to a meal. Pho Republique has a full bar with a moderately priced wine list.
The joy of Vietnamese cooking is in the clarity of tastes: bright, hot, sour, all those and a lightness that gives the foods a healthy aspect. Although Pho Republic's cuisine certainly tastes healthy, the flavors seemed muddy in many dishes. The restaurant's menu branches out from only Vietnamese, and truth to tell, the best dishes such as the oxtails have a Mediterranean feel to them.
But as far as pho goes, the storefronts on Dot Ave. have nothing to fear.
