Pho Viet

7923 Blondo Street
(402) 393-3111
Open Mon–Thurs 11–9:30, Fri & Sat 11–10, Sun 11–9

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Meatball Pho ($8.50)
What lies beneath the murky broth besides a clump of limp rice noodles?

I never considered myself an expert on pho. That is, until that one time I helped make it over a year ago. After cruisin' the trusty Internet for the best recipe and going clear out of my way to the 76th Street Asian market to get certain spices, I feel like, you know, I've been there. I get it. 

Seriously though, I did learn the importance of star anise and cardamom, of coriander and fennel. The delight of these aromatics is, I think, largely why pho is sworn to be one of the greatest comfort foods out there. It's ideal for a long, leisurely weekend meal with friends, when there's sufficient time to pack the entire bowl — noodles and all — bit by bit into your swelling stomach cavity. 

At Pho Viet, the broth didn't have much evidence of any of those spices. It was a curious deep brown, somewhat darker and than usual, and didn't smell or taste much different from the free-with-your-meal soup from the two-star Chinese joint down the street you only dared to dine at because it snowed a bunch. 

Bottom line: without abundant aromatics, pho is just not that special.

Sliced beef pho with the accompaniments. Sure, it's the dead of winter, but can you please only serve me spritely looking basil, perky bean sprouts, and jalapeño slices fit for a Taco Bell commercial shoot, please?

The family running the place, on the other hand, was special. They seemed extremely concerned about whether we were pissed because their baby let loose on the crying while they were in the midst of preparing meals for us and three other tables. Note to self to try to shed that "uptight asshole" look I must be giving off. Fact is, it's hard to deny the intimate magic of a family-owned restaurant, built by a hopeful outlook and a bunch of secondhand stuff strung together on a tight budget — whimpering infant and all. 

Egg rollz ($2.99):
Damn solid.

I might go back and try a banh mi—the other Vietnamese dish people like myself claim to know shit about. And I am especially happy to have had the chance to dine in this state-of-the-art strip mall that's remarkably easy on the eyes.

Still on the search for great pho east of 168th and Harrison. And hoping you'll still try this one, because it's possible they had an "off" day, and because I don't want to be even remotely responsible for the nice family going under because Fatty didn't taste enough spices in her broth. 

In a sea of bright yellow signage spanning the entire shopping center (I mean seriously, have you been there?), this one clearly has the most draw of the bunch, thanks to the seaming soup bowl icon off to the side.
Image borrowed from the Pho Viet Facebook page.

Frank's Pizzeria (and other thoughts)

711 North 132nd Street
402-493-0404
Open Mon-Thurs 11am-9pm, Fri & Sat 11am-10pm, Sun 3pm-9pm
franksnewyorkpizza.com

One time we ordered a bunch of Frank's at work. It lasted five minutes.

As I sat today compulsively wringing the excess cream cheese from my jalapeño popper before submerging it in a ranch bath, anticipating another just sorta decent pie at Frank's, I thought I'd weigh in. The Omaha World Herald recently named Frank's one of the three best pizzas in Omaha, specifically dominating the "less fancy" category. I found that interesting because I've eaten at Frank's four times in the last two months, but not necessarily because I love it. A more accurate description of why I make the trip Out West would be that I don't regret it. It's not bad by any means. It's just not that great.

Frank's is decent, but this pile of raw onions and
floppy sausage, combined with the wonky pizza cutter work,
sort of beg the question,
"What the heck is going on here?"

The cheese, sometimes with a grainy quality, often comes not melted enough -- it's definitely not the bubbling, browned appearance desired of New York-style pizza. In fact, both the sausage and onion on today's pie were curiously undercooked. The crust, however oven charred on the bottom it may be, somehow manages to reduce to a soggy state within minutes. A "best pizza" title holder might want to address this major structural flaw. It flops under the weight almost immediately.

Still, for the most part, Frank knows what he's doing. Overall, the assemblage of dough, cheese, and sauce tastes good enough to come back to, though I can't quite explain why.

Brick Oven likes to serve slices with an unusual 90° angle.

If you're looking for another New York-style option, try Brick Oven. Concealed in the shadows of Nebraska Furniture Mart, this pie -- available by the slice -- has a much sturdier and more flavorful crust. I can't vouch at all for consistency (one time I had to leave behind a mangled pile of stringy cheese and chewy sausage on the plate) but on a good day, it might just be better than Frank's. Plus, the place reminds me exactly of the mom-and-pop pizza joints I grew up eating at, save for the zealous owner/operator behind the counter who might be overbearing or just extremely passionate about his brand.

I'm partial to New York-style because I grew up with it. But I like Neapolitan. I like Sicilian. I'll own up to my vices and admit I even have a soft spot for total junk food Godfather's garbage when the time is right. Mostly, though, I'm a sucker for a timeworn recipe, or at least a healthy fervor for the craft of pizza making that doesn't wane after a few years. I think that's what makes a good pie, no matter what your style preference may be.

Consider the gallery below for a few other good ones in town:

A recent gut busting cheesy favorite,
albeit with an unimpressive crust
considering the owner's penchant for baking,
is the meatball pizza at Nicola's in the Old Market.

(UPDATE: A more recent visit revealed an herby, buttery,
flavorful crust. I stand corrected.)

Tasty Pastry serves personal sized pizzas on the cheap.
Here, atop an absolutely delectable, chewy crust,
are Brussels sprouts, pecorino, brie, bacon, and onions.

This is what Baxter's in Benson looked like when it first opened:
I'll trade you a sloppy pile of haute toppings
artfully made from local ingredients for a crust that's not corrugated cardboard.

This tasty jalapeño bacon slice illustrates the progression
of working out the recipe kinks at Baxter's. Cheers.  

Denying yourself a Dante pie because you're
repelled by its unfortunate location would be a shame.
The "Amore di carni" is a love worth dying for, even if that's just a
cheesy claim meant to convey that this
Neapolitan-style pizza is really effing good.

More Frank's