The story behind Nightingale Pho

Minh Tran’s mother still rings from Hanoi to ask if he is scorching the ginger. He is not. He is, however, still arguing with her about star anise.

He arrived in London at nineteen, washed dishes, then cooked, then ran a late-night pho pop-up from a pub kitchen that smelled of ale. Nightingale Pho is the first room with his name on the paper.

The broth takes twelve hours. The herb plates are not optional. If you ask for extra lime he will bring extra lime and also tell you that you already had enough.

“People think Asian food in Britain has to be either cheap or ceremonial,” he says. “I just want a bowl that tastes like I meant it.”