(Photo by brandondesigns)

As summer reaches its August peak (yes, it's foggy this morning in San Francisco) and as families get desperately creative with their staycations, I've been reminiscing about those old car trips of my youth: my mom hopelessly lost somewhere between Denver and St. Louis, my sister and I -- oblivious in the backseat -- singing "Popeye, the Sailor Man!" over and over and over and over, and our many stops at Church's Chicken and Taco Bell, the two places we were guaranteed to find spicy food.

Remember those days, long before Chowhound and Yelp, Google and Mapquest, when forays into new culinary terrain were truly crapshoots? (Cue up the old-timey nostalgia music...) To find good food in an unfamiliar town, you had to depend on three important tricks: Identifying well-fed locals with a keen sense of direction. Quickly judging a restaurant by the number and types of vehicles parked out front (or be strong enough to enter, scope out the menu and dining room, and then opt to leave a restaurant with absolutely no shame at all). And, most crucial of all, befriending taxi drivers and policemen.

Mom's Mad Skillz

Twenty-five years ago my mom, still shy and still learning English, had her own bag of tricks. She'd stop at a phone booth (OMG--remember those!), heft up the dangling white pages from its metallic tether, and scan the family names for Trans, Nguyens, Lams, Les and Dos. Then she'd invest the quarter or two needed to call up fellow exiles, introduce herself as some stranger rolling through town, and then quickly get to the point: where can I find some good food in these parts?

She recently visited me here in California, and I was reminded of her treasure hunting skills. As one of the last people in this country who still don't have an email account, she depends on the old ways. After we picked her up from the Oakland airport, she wanted to stop for a bowl of pho. We scrambled, with our iPhones and our keyword searches, to come up with a place that would hold up to her standards. While we were still trying to locate a good signal, she pointed us over to a group of people who looked suspiciously Vietnamese standing on a corner of International Boulevard. She rolled down the window and asked them where to eat. They gestured to two pho houses nearby. She asked them point-blank: Which one is better? Without hesitating, they pointed to…Pho Ao Sen.

And to the best bowl of pho I've enjoyed in a very long time. Yes, it's a dirty secret that San Francisco is severely lacking in this department. I've accepted mediocre noodles and, worse, lackluster broths as my penance for choosing not to live an hour south of here.

The Whole Chicken

Since pho bo has entered the general lexicon, I won't waste space talking about the beef version. However, I would very much like to encourage you to try pho ga long trung non. Roughly translated, that means chicken and rice noodle soup with innards and young eggs. (Queasy eaters might want to skip the next paragraph.)

If you've ever butchered a chicken, you'll know that along the ovary duct one or two diminutive yolks are awaiting nature's application of egg whites and eggshells. And if you grew up with my mom, you'll also know that gizzards, livers and hearts are delicacies worth fighting over at the dinner table. Even more than a well-executed bowl of beef soup, I admire a restaurant that can create a deeply flavored chicken broth, poach high-quality firm yet tender chicken meat, and present the hallmarks of a freshly butchered chicken: a plate of organ meats and young eggs. Nothing goes to waste, and all the flavors and textures are richly balanced.

At Ao Sen, along with an excellent bowl of pho bo, they've also perfected pho ga. If a plate of innards is not high on your list, order the plain bowl that comes simply with a plate of chicken meat on the bone. Both come with a ginger dipping sauce, whose secret ingredient is obviously chicken fat, so lovely that I ended up slurping it straight from my spoon.

Another wonderful thing about this Oakland outpost is that it opens at 8am every single day of the week. Since pho is a breakfast food, I've always been annoyed by the late opening times in the US. Ao Sen fills a long empty, much mourned gap in my comfort food lineup. Even its airy dining room reminded me of Vietnam, and the familiar fragrance of anise-infused broth that greeted us hit home immediately. Weakly brewed iced green tea, fish sauce on the table, and a straightforward menu all boded well, too.

Sharing and Respecting

My husband asked me not to write about this place, as he was afraid of what might happen if the restaurant started attracting people who complained about unfamiliar food culture (someday, I'll write a piece about the unfortunate conflict between Western diners' expectations and Eastern restaurateurs) or who would change the ethnic makeup of the patrons. Call it the Yelp dip. We've seen it happen, and it's always a sad and frustrating thing to accept what success in the US can mean, in the end, for those not centered enough to know their strengths and acknowledge their limits and bravely forge their way between the two.

But I trust that you, dear reader, will enjoy and appreciate and respect this bustling noodle house. I cannot tell you how excited I am that my mother found it, and I look forward to many sated returns. If crossing the Bay Bridge counts now as a road trip, I'm more than happy to start up the car.

PHO AO SEN
200 International Blvd.
Oakland, CA 94606
(510) 839-6821
Map

I make it back to the Midwest two, maybe three times a year. Since I gave up my home address in Independence, Missouri, twenty years ago, I've seen the area's fields and grasslands transformed into bustling Walmarts and Home Depots. The surrounding green has turned into asphalt as steadily and relentlessly as the graying of my parents’ hair.

It seems like every backyard barbeque here includes a story about a Californian couple -- maybe from San Diego, maybe San Francisco -- who sold their dinky 1-bedroom condo and then moved into a brand-spanking-new, 5-bedroom mansion on a half-acre in Blue Springs or Overland Park or even Grain Valley, once the outskirts of the outskirts. My parents live in Oak Grove. Twelve years ago, I always missed the exit to their home, back when I-70 rolled across soybean field after sunflower field. Now, I just look for the shiny, mirrored-glass office building and the concatenated lots of car dealerships to find the road to their house.

Kansas City and its environs keeps appearing on recent lists of most livable towns and best cities for relocating families (pdf), so all this development hasn't slowed much even with the current real estate dip.

One of the latest buildings to pop up near here is the preternaturally landscaped BassPro Shops complex. The Pacific Northwest has its REI stores with their climbing walls and water bottle pumping stations and fake rock paths winding along next to the shoe department. Here, within a morning's drive from the Ozarks, we have BassPro Shops.

This is the place to visit if you've never held a rifle or a fishing rod, never tried on a pair of waders, never perched in a treestand with a crossbow or kicked back in a camouflage rocker recliner (choose from three favorite camo patterns: Realtree Hardwoods HD, Advantage MAX-4 HD or, my personal preference, Mossy Oak Breakup). Visit the BassPro website — where you can find the GPS coordinates of each store in the US — to create your gear wish list.

You can also learn how to tie fishing knots, get step-by-step instructions for cleaning wild turkey, begin training your hound, compare tips on making backwoods coffee, and collect some easy outdoor cooking recipes. You can also sign up for training courses on carrying concealed handguns or attend the all girls' weekend in the wild, complete with dutch oven cookery, canoe paddling, and a fashion show. Construction continues on a BassPro Shop in Manteca, California, just south of Stockton. The 120,000 square foot complex will open in October 2008 with great fanfare. Until then, though, I'll have to stock up on supplies here in Missouri.

After gazing over the lake behind the store, where serious shoppers can try out the snazzy 2008 model motor boats, I was lucky enough to catch a clearance sale on fishing lures. My mom, who prefers free worms from her garden or microwaved chunks of hot dogs, and my dad, who nets his own live minnows, were amused by my armful of colorful souvenirs. I packed them away in my suitcase -- art, décor, jewelry, crafty DIY supplies!

Meanwhile, my aunt braved another Midwestern thunderstorm to drop off a large pot of homey, still-warm fish soup, made with the 20-pound head of a very local, very fresh catfish. My family can rest assured that although I may not know the first thing about casting nets or noodling, I do know how to cook and eat the critters once they’re in my kitchen.

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CHAO CA (Vietnamese Rice and Fish Soup)
Served simply or garnished elaborately, chao is the both weekday breakfast and weekend brunch food of many an Asian family. The fish counter at Asian markets always have large fish heads on ice. As always when selecting fish, look for one with bright, clear eyes and very red gills. Ask them to split the head for you or, if preferred, cut it into large chunks.

Serves: 8

Ingredients
1 large fish head, 3-5 pounds, split and rinsed well
2 tablespoons fish sauce
3 large cloves garlic, minced
4 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 small onion, diced
1/2 cup uncooked long-grain rice
1 quart chicken broth
Garnish
1/4 cup fresh ginger slivers
1/4 cup sliced scallions
1/4 cup chopped cilantro
1/4 cup fried shallots
Red chile oil or sliced red chiles
1 lime, cut into wedges

Preparation:
1. Rub the fish head well with the fish sauce and garlic. Let marinate 30 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, heat 2 tablespoons of oil in a large heavy pot. Add the onions and sauté until softened. Add the rice and sauté for 3 minutes, taking care not to let the onion brown (or the soup will become muddy in color). Add the chicken broth and 8 cups water. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for 2 hours, or until creamy smooth. Stir occasionally and add water, if needed, to maintain a creamy consistency.

3. In a large skillet, heat the remaining oil. Add the fish head and cook about 5 minutes on each side. When the garlic is fragrant but not yet browned, transfer the fish head with the garlicky oil to the simmering rice soup.

4. Arrange the garnishes in small bowls at the table. Adjust the flavor of the soup, adding fish sauce to taste, and flake off bits of meat from the fish head into the broth. Serve hot in large bowls.