Been there, done that be-pho
Pasadena’s Indochine offers delicious Vietnamese comfort food for trying times
By Erica Wayne 09/10/2009
As I write this piece, the sky is a weird orange gray and ashes coat my lawn. As you read this piece a week from now, I can only hope the fire is way more contained than the 25 or 30 percent it is today. But even if it is, the pall of the 9/11 anniversary is probably going to affect your mood for the worse.
What do I suggest (in lieu of hiding under the bed for the day)? Comfort food, of course. And, although a quart of Häagen-Dazs might be your first choice (I’m a Baskin-Robbins girl, myself), it’s my considered opinion that nothing combats angst like a big plate of pasta. That’s the reason so many cultures have national noodles: spaghetti, lo mein, pad thai, kugel, mac (and cheese), spaetzle, ramen — well, you get the picture.
So, whenever I’m afraid for my life, my first refuge is a restaurant that specializes in noodles; and one of my real favorites is still Indochine, the spare Vietnamese restaurant on the second level of the wonderful building at 950 E. Colorado Blvd. (just east of Lake Avenue) that also houses Presidentwo, New Delhi Palace and Europane — a wonderful bunch of eateries.
Indochine, nearing its ninth birthday, is a pretty little place with a minimalist decor. There’s a small bar area with floral arrangements, white walls with photos of Vietnam, tile floors and bamboo roll-up blinds that shield the plate-glass windows from the sun. Its menu has changed a lot, from relatively minimalist back in 2000 to downright expansive — with curries and crepes, tableside grills and fancy desserts.
All of these, tempting as they are, haven’t swayed me from my focus on Indochine’s noodles, especially their bun.
Bun, for the Vietnamese cuisine-challenged, isn’t a pastry. It’s rice-stick noodles, served with meat and vegetables. I like mine with charbroiled pork ($8.95). If you’re less of a purist, a gussied-up version with shrimp and egg roll thrown in will set you back $9.95.
Indochine offers eleven pho (rice noodle soup) variants, most of which contain beef; and another eleven hu tieu and mi soups with a pork broth base. They come in huge bowls and, like the bun and a couple of com (rice-based) dishes, can be doctored to unbelievable heat with pepper-based condiments.
Of the 13 appetizers, spring rolls ($5.95), in my opinion, are outstanding: translucent rice paper rolled around plump shrimp, tender pork, crunchy bean sprouts, crisp rice noodles and mint, served with a tangy peanut dipping sauce, create a completely different taste. “Golden” tofu ($5.95), deep-fried and served with a ginger sauce, is quite unusual. And there’s a superb green papaya salad ($7.95) with shrimp, basil and peanut.
To assuage my trepidation at the time of my most recent visit, I ate and drank my way through a lot of the menu, including a Vietnamese crepe ($9.95). The batter is made from mung bean flour, and the thin pancake is stuffed with shrimp, pork, bean sprouts and veggies and served with lettuce, herbs and a dipping sauce. The trick is to figure out how to eat it. (Hint: fold it, with the aromatic leaves and some sauce, into the lettuce and neatly munch.)
There is little to complain about in the quality of Indochine’s food or service. But a familiarity with other Vietnamese restaurants that cater to a native clientele reveals a clear contrast. It’s obvious that Indochine assumes most of its patrons won’t crave or miss items like shrimp paste on sugar cane sticks, baked egg, blood pudding porridge, rice cakes or dried shrimp.
Most problematic, however, is the limited number of condiments and herbs. I’m used to a lazy susan loaded with lethal chilis (dry, wet, red, green, fresh, pickled, etc.) and a number of X-rated bottled sauces as well. Often, there’s an extra bonus of chopped peanuts or dried shrimp.
In addition, soups and rice platters in traditional Vietnamese restaurants usually come with a huge bowl of unwieldy greenery — not just lettuce and mint, but cilantro, chives, lemon grass and a bunch of botanical unknowns. Without these, bun and pho are relatively dull.
I do wish that Indochine’s owners would consider augmenting their dishes with these items. Meanwhile, though, it’s a nice place to slurp up some of those wonderfully soothing noodles and familiarize yourself with the food of the folks whose country was such a divisive focal point for over a decade. (PS, I’d stay tuned for a spate of Iraqi restaurants in about 20 years.)
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