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BY JOEY SWEENEY | During the most locked-down phases of the pandemic, there was really only one restaurant that I missed, that I craved at the most carnal level.

It wasn’t Palizzi, it wasn’t Parc, it wasn’t even Dmitri’s (RIP); it was Pho 75 at 12th & Washington. 

Pho 75, for the uninitiated, is a small regional chain of pho shops — there’s this one, another up in Northeast Philly, and a few others in the D.C. area. All of them serve one thing: pho, in chicken or beef varieties (sorry, vegan friends). And beside a dessert treat and some truly nuclear Vietnamese coffees, that’s it. Before the pandemic, I had gotten in the habit of visiting Pho 75 once a week — much to the chagrin of my sodium count — and it had become a crucial part of my weekly creative rhythm. I’d go there to clear my head out, both literally and figuratively. The ritual of going to this open cafeteria-like space, to sit in relative silence and leisurely let my mind wander as the large #9 (slices of well-done brisket) cleared out the cobwebs, did wonders for me both mentally and physically. If I have an “artistic practice,” that set of creative rituals that keeps one going, it is Pho 75.

Pho lovers are like music fans or baseball nuts — they’ll have extensive notes about pho around the city, and I can respect that, but I don’t like to parse my pho experience. It is dominated by Pho 75, and I am comfortable with that. Pho 75 is my pho of record, my N.Y. Times of pho. It exists as fact, its inherent goodness is unquestionable (it’s doing better than the NYT on that count these days) and it exists off the hype cycle of restaurants in Philly.

In the beforetime, the Philly restaurant hype cycle was something that I often felt the need to take refuge from. But as we get the Philebrity machine back up and running again, I’m noticing something. The pandemic has largely obliterated the hype cycle, and for all that we have lost of our city’s restaurant scene over the last few years, I’m not mad at this part.

It had gotten oppressive. It had gotten insane. Media outlets competed for “first looks” at a new dumpling place. Food trucks had publicists. People were lining up for bagels, for pizza, for scrambled eggs. And it was usually one kind of people. Food hype in Philly had become a gentrification ramrod, and I’ve yet to read something in our local press that really calls to account the way that real estate and the restaurant industry colluded in the past decade or two in this city. There are great chefs in this town, with great ideas and great rooms, but I can’t look around Fishtown (for instance) right now and say that it’s great. It’s profoundly anxiety-inducing, and it doesn’t make me feel hungry. 

But today, the situation feels very different. For all of the missed paychecks and closures that the pandemic brought to the restaurant industry, each place fighting for its life has been something of a great equalizer. The realizations that a lot of us have had since 2020 — about equity, about co-opting, about community — have been life-changing for so many of us. The industry is still struggling, and I absolutely don’t want to gloss over that. But it’s also brought a redefinition of how so many of us look at food and what it means to consume it and serve it. And now the hype, when it comes (and it always does), hits different: It feels tacky. 

Back at Pho 75, though, the sun rises and sets each day the same way: with strength and deliciosity. And if you still need the hype, you’re wrong, but I’ll give you this: I see Michael Solomonov there every time I go. Sorry to blow up your spot, Mike, but look at it this way: This is place is our spot.