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Rua Vang Golden Turtle

125 Ossington Ave., Toronto. 416-531-1601

Hanoi-3 Seasons

588 Gerrard St. East. 416-463-9940

Green Papaya

2401 Yonge St. 416-932-8891

Pho Phuong

1603 Dundas St. West. 416-536-3030

To be in love with pho, and to be in Toronto, is to be in a constant state of excitement, for pho shops abound in increasing numbers. Unlike a love affair with, say, foie gras or fresh white truffles, with pho, neither political, financial nor health considerations stand between the lover and the loved. Pho is one of the few remaining 100-per-cent guilt-free foods. And it is ridiculously cheap ($6.50 for a meal-in-a-bowl that suffices as dinner) -- which perhaps explains its cult status among many foodies. There are pho websites and chatrooms where self-styled pho phanatics extol their phavourite pho recipes and restos, and debate the phenomenology of pho. Visit http://www.phofever.com for pho philosophizing.

According to historians of pho (yes, they exist), it was invented in Northern Vietnam during the mid-1880s, when street sellers carried a long wooden pole on their shoulders, with a bucket on either end. These street-food mavens were schlepping around a pot for bouillon and an earthenware stove. Some historians believe that the name pho (correctly pronounced to rhyme with "duh") comes from that earthenware stove, called coffre-feu. The other explanation for pho's name is that when people saw the food seller, they would shout, "Eh! Feu!" and receive a response, "Oui! Feu!" Either way, pho then was simple beef bouillon.

In 1954, Vietnam was split into north and south and many northerners, fearing communism, moved south, bringing pho. In the more affluent and polyglot South Vietnam, plain old pho went upmarket. The South Vietnamese added meat and noodles and started garnishing pho with raw bean sprouts, coriander, Thai basil and lime wedges. People started adding both hot chili and hoisin sauce, or using them, mixed, as a dip for the meat. And this is how it comes to us, a big bowlful of (usually rice) noodles with (usually) beef, and a plate of garnishes to add.

You pay less than a dollar for pho in Vietnam today; it doesn't necessarily have all the snazzy garnishes of North American pho (especially in North Vietnam), but aficionados swear by the broth. After all, at the heart of pho is the broth. Bad broth equals bad pho. No amount of garnish can beef up a thin broth. My feelings for pho are based almost entirely on the rich, sweet broth, whose particular character is created by charring the onion and ginger that scent it, in order to caramelize their sugar content. The charring intensifies and sweetens the ginger and onion. Add star anise, cinnamon stick and cardamom seeds to rich beef broth, and the result has a complex sweet undertone. Factor in the price -- and why not pho?

And now the list of my phavourite pho palaces, in order of preference:

1. Rua Vang Golden Turtle is an Ossington dive, somewhat kitschy both inside and out, as pho restos often are. Its two décor touches are a large plastic orange tree and a mirrored wall. But the phanatics that cram Golden Turtle nightly look past the schleppy setting to the supernal broth in every bowl of pho.

The classic rare beef pho has big thin slices of tender rare beef atop perfectly cooked fat rice noodles. The rich broth has a strong undertone of sweet spices. The less orthodox chicken pho is sweet, strong broth with big pieces of moist chicken and rice noodles. Seafood pho (even farther from tradition) is wonderful sweet chicken stock full of thin al dente egg vermicelli, barely wilted leaf lettuce, and mixed seafood including big shrimp and competent fish balls. Atop this delightful compendium of pleasures are crispy browned onion shreds. Oh joy!

Most pho parlours have disappointed me badly with their non-pho offerings. Not to say that Golden Turtle is a hotbed of high-end seafood, but they do two non-pho things very well: In herb-wrapped beef rolls they wrap thin slices of beef in a herb they call "lala" (like Thai basil) and then in rice dough like a salad roll, with bean sprouts, rice noodles and lightly marinated carrots, to great effect. They also do a very crisp meat spring roll topped with fresh roasted peanuts. Local foodie lore suggests that Susur Lee frequents Golden Turtle. Not surprising.

2. Hanoi-3 Seasons is a pleasant room with an unusually ambitious menu for a pho parlour, but few of the non-pho items merit attention. The salad rolls are dominated by iceberg lettuce and the sautéed clams are canned. But basic beef pho is a robust broth with splendid rare beef and curls of crispy fried onion on top. Lemongrass and shrimp noodle soup is a wonderful variation on pho: strong, sweet seafood stock topped with fresh ginger purée, fresh dill, fresh tomato bits and wilted onions.

3. Green Papaya offers another opportunity for impulse control. Here too is a large pan-Asian menu, a minefield of mediocrity, from overcooked fish to bland pad Thai. But the pho (both traditional beef and radical seafood) is a thing of beauty -- strong, sweet stocks redolent of anise, cinnamon and coriander, with impeccably fresh garnishes. It is a particular pleasure to eat such phab pho at Yonge and Eglinton, where overpriced tasteless food abounds.

4. Pho Phuong is an upscale pho joint with classy décor, but we hate the non-pho food. Does the world really need overcooked pork chops, frozen Dungeness crab, or greasy spring rolls with tasteless filling? Here too one must resist all but the pho, which is very good. They do very fine beef pho built on a great stock with undertones of the requisite sweet spices.

jkates@globeandmail.com