Ivy’s Kitchen will make you crave spicy pho

I knew I had a problem as soon as the broth exploded into the back of my throat.

If you’ve ever enjoyed pho, Taiwan beef noodle soup, or Japanese ramen, part of the pleasure comes from that deep slurp, practically an inhale, of too-long noodles as they shoot into your mouth. As far as I’m aware, there’s no better way to eat soup, manners be damned. 

There is, of course, one important caveat. A soup incorporating blindingly hot chilis requires a more dexterous, delicate consumption, a drawn-out spoonful you gingerly sip to prevent the oily red sheen coating the broth from searing your mouth.

In my case, like a dam breaking as my slurp drew the spicy broth into my throat, each cough showed other customers I had made a horrible mistake. No amount of water could dislodge the peppers. I can imagine the serving ladies ruefully shaking their heads, holding in laughs behind me. I thank them for their silence.

This place is one of those restaurants you’re unlikely to visit. It has no website, with a Google search showing a place in Prince George. North on Main is the all-consuming Anh and Chi, setting the bar for Vietnamese food in the city, a black hole swallowing anyone and everyone. An excellent black hole mind you.

If you manage to escape Anh and Chi’s gravity, Ivy’s Kitchen Vietnamese Restaurant sits south at 4598 Main St., a spot that many won’t journey to. And that would be a real shame.

Plopping down one evening, I had an inkling of what I wanted. Visitors online raved about Bún Bò Huế, spicy beef noodle soup topped with lemongrass chili sauce. It’s all the delicate flavours of pho you expect, but with a fiery kick that the spice-hesitant like myself, fear. Nothing has me reaching for napkins and asking for more water than a dish topped with anything bright red.

Accompanying the soup, I ordered a Rice Cake Omelette ($14). It’s an odd-shaped dish, a thin base fried egg layer with almost hashbrown-shaped deep-fried tofu stuck like islands on an egg ocean, topped with pickled carrots and daikon and accompanied by a small bowl of sweet soy sauce. 

The omelette is a winner. Crispy fried tofu soaks up the sauce, lending a subtle sweetness to the dish. Each bite should be accompanied by the pickled daikon or carrots. It’s a dish that has all the sweet, salty and vinegary goodness of Vietnamese cooking. 

I lingered on the omelette because I knew the pain that awaited me, yet at the same time unable to ignore the soup as the cloying broth and spice wafted around me. You ordered it, I told myself, you can’t wimp out now.

After six discarded tissues, one glass of hastily finished water (while I plaintively signaled for more) and my tastebuds scorched beyond recognition, I paused, gathered myself and proceeded to actually enjoy the dish. 

The heaping bowl came with what I believe was flank steak, pork cake, pork hock, brisket and liver. Each cut of meat was how you want it, the flank red and cooking in the broth, brisket tougher but flavourful and the pork cake oozing porkiness with each bike. Little bits of almost indiscernible liver were subsumed by the massive gristly pork hock. Vegetarians beware, there weren’t many non-meat options. 

The noodles themselves were tender, but not overly so, a nice bite that remained even as I laboriously worked my way through the dish. You can tell when pho noodles are overcooked, and these were not. As I had learned, you slurp this soup slowly and methodically.

The spice I have to admit, after my coughs subsided, was exquisite. Usually comprised of lemongrass, garlic, chili and oil, it overwhelms the delicate pho broth in a good way and slowly spreads throughout the entire broth as you mix it. Little bits of lemongrass clumped together inject an intense flavour you usually don’t find with pho. 

At $17.75, it’s not the most affordable dish. But the portion size means you can save it for lunch the next day. I don’t mind paying more if it means a second leftover meal. 

Food is a journey. Each new restaurant is a chance to re-evaluate your preconceptions about what dishes should or shouldn’t be. In Vancouver, rather than just re-inventing favourites, our culinary landscape means you’re most likely discovering authentic dishes known for decades within a culture.

Ivy’s Kitchen has done that for me with pho. The fiery lemongrass toppings add a layer of complexity, aromas and taste that pushes the boundaries of what you know and expect with pho. I can’t look at it the same way again. 

Like discovering your best friend of a decade is a world-class guitar player, Ivy’s Kitchen forces you to reacquaint and adjust your relationship with a timeless classic. Great dishes have a way of doing that