This is part of a dual post between Monster Munching and The Eaten Path.
You can read Elmo Monster’s review here.

It’s no secret that The Eaten Path runs on slanted taste buds: for every post I write under the heading of “noodles” there are four posts under the heading of “deep fried.” The eminence of BBQ, southern cooking and fast food on this blog betray an obsession with America- its glory, its trappings, and its ineffable excess- that has so far overshadowed the multiculturalism that underpins my country’s existence. This is, of course, the eaten path, one that too frequently falls off of the radar of foodies and Zagat coattail jockeys, but it’s surely not the only path to tread.

For example, I have never eaten a proper bowl of Pho. I’ve long understood Pho to be an absolute staple of the Southern California diet, but for one reason or another have never taken the time to bond with Vietnam’s most recognizable and hieroglyphic contribution to the American dinner table. In confronting myself with this fact, I thought of the one person who could help me along the eaten path to a more streetwise and sophisticated palette.

His name is Elmo Monster, and his voluminous review blog, Monster Munching, leaves no depth of Orange County unplumbed when it comes to the basic joys of everyday eating. Exercising an elegant hand with a to-the-point focus on food, he has gained the loyal readership of many a chowhound with his efficient yet enjoyable writings on corner shops, holes in the wall, strip mall developments, fine dining establishments and everything else that makes stomachs churn in Southern California. Working as an engineer and writing for multiple blogs in his spare time, Elmo is the best kind of food review writer: a hungry human being combining a love of food with a love of information. He also happens to know quite a bit about Southeast Asian cuisine.

When I wrote Elmo with the proposition of a cross-post, I suggested that he teach me something about Pho. He upped the ante, inviting me instead to an early lunch at Trieu Chau, a Cambodian/Vietnamese restaurant that constantly brims with customers in its strip mall on West 1st and Newhope in Santa Ana. We approached the doors at 10:45 on a Wednesday morning, and the building was already bristling with activity. As our waiter promptly seated us, asked for our orders and placed two Chinese donuts on the table, I realized that while this may not be a hole in the wall, it most certainly grew out of one. Trieu Chau has a complete lack of atmosphere and keen attention to perfunctory service that makes you wonder what the point of a sitdown restaurant was in the first place. Within six minutes of our arrival we were facing two piping hot bowls of noodles.

Though inscripted on the menu in Vietnamese, our picks seemed to share roots in Cambodian and Chinese cooking. Elmo’s choice was Hu Tieu Nam Vang (Chao Chow Rice Noodle), a healthy serving of rice stick noodles mixed with fish cake, shrimp, various pork parts, and scallions in a pork/chicken broth. My order, Hu Tieu Vit (Chao Chow Duck Noodle), started with the same noodles and broth but added several pieces of freshly cooked duck (including an entire duck leg) in place of the kaleidoscopic array of meats in Elmo’s bowl. Neither qualified as Pho, but both were highly appetizing. After performing the food blogger ritual of pre-meal photography, we picked up our oversized chopsticks.

Elmo had told me that Trieu Chau served “the real deal.” The broth of my Hu Tieu Vit was the first ringing endorsement of his claim. Almost distractingly bold, this was the most direct of soup stocks; clearly, no shortcuts had been taking in infusing it with the essence of its meats. The upfront flavors of pork, chicken and garlic were a bit much for me, but the hyper-richness of flavor did not extend to the viscosity of the broth, which was as slurpable as thermos soup. Squeezing a lime into the fray cut through the dense savories with a tangy kick, making the taste a bit less intense for the Hu Tieu newcomer.

I got to work on the other contents of my soup, tossing in handfuls of bean sprouts to add some texture to the simple design of the dish. Trieu Chau’s rice stick noodles were a sinuous delight, flowing lithely over my chopsticks and transforming into chewy bites of rice in my mouth. The duck that had been dismembered into chunks of dark meat for my pleasure did not die in vain: It was hearty, tender and impossible to leave to leftovers.

Sadly, I couldn’t say the same about the soup as a whole. After slurping and gnawing my way through 1/3 of my meal, I couldn’t handle more of that delicious yet otherworldly broth. While my session with Elmo inspired me to expand my everyday tastes, I know I’ll require more on-the-job training if I’m going to make it to the bottom of my first bowl of Pho.

Trieu Chau
4401 W. 1st St.
Santa Ana, CA 92703
714.775.1536

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 28th, 2008 at 6:36 am and is filed under Noodles, Orange County, Soup.