The place is called Pho 23, though I admit to Lori that I don’t really know why it’s called that, because there aren’t twenty-two others around the city owned by the same people. As far as I know, this is the only one. But their food is, in my opinion, better than anywhere else around. As we’re seated, I confide to her, “I’ve always thought the best judge of whether an ethnic restaurant is good or not is the clientele. If a lot of Vietnamese people eat at a Vietnamese restaurant, that says something, don’t you think?”
“It isn’t only frequented by a lot of clueless Americans who don’t know what the cuisine is supposed to taste like,” Lori jokes.
I nod. “Exactly. Have you ever been here before?”
Lori glances over the menu and shakes her head. “I’m actually new to the area, so no. I moved
