packed. Sometimes customers had to
interrupt their meals to race into the
underground shelters, only to return at
the sound of the “all clear”. Still, Mr Thin
took pride in never rushing an order.
Over the course of 60 years, Mr Hoa
witnessed his father’s venture grow
from a pop-up enterprise to a standalone
business. Though battered and bruised,
this time-tested eatery stands tall even
in the face of ever-changing tastes. In a
culture where tradition is prized above
all else, Pho Thin is the kind of place that
delivers a sense of familiarity, comfort and
a link to the past.
Mr Thin died in 2002, bequeathing his
legacy to the eldest of his nine children.
Mr Hoa took the helm and he has a lot to
live up to, given that his father’s name is
right above the door.
The debate goes on as to where to find
Hanoi’s best pho but Pho Thin is — no
point fighting it — at the top of the list. The
reasons for its supremacy are numerous:
it has been around for generations, a
testament to its popularity and staying
power. The version of Hanoi’s heart-
and-soul staple served here has just the
right ratio of broth to noodles. Succulent
ribbons of sliced beef and a rare steak are
perched atop a bed of noodles garnished
with green onions. Looking around, I
notice that everyone is so busy slurping
and sweating that they’re practically
oblivious to their surroundings. But hey, a
savory bowl of pho will do that to you.
Cebu Pacific flies from
Manila to Hanoi.
H A N O I
The stall might look
modest, but Pho
Thin brims with a
rich history
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