In 5°C cold of Brussels, a bowl of ‘pho’ eases my Tet nostalgia

Editor’s note: This story is authored by Nguyen Duc Nghia, a Vietnamese student studying in Brussels, recalling his first Tet (Lunar New Year) away from home. From a small year-end gathering with friends to a comforting bowl of pho shared with a classmate, his story captures how simple moments helped ease the homesickness of celebrating Tet abroad.

The piece has been edited by Tuoi Tre News for clarity and coherence.

This year marks the first time I have lived far from home. I was not only far away geographically but also culturally, separated from almost everything familiar in my life.

The hectic pace of studying somehow helped me get through it. However, when the Tet holiday came, first-year Vietnamese international students in Belgium’s capital, myself included, shared the same empty feeling.

We decided to fill that emptiness with traditional Vietnamese dishes.

Family tradition preserved

On the evening of February 17 in Brussels, as dawn broke on the first day of the Lunar New Year festival in Vietnam, 11 friends and I gathered in a small kitchen on Rue du Pelican, rain falling softly outside.

We had our first Tet meal together away from home.

It was all about the food, with each of us preparing a different dish to contribute to this special year-end party.

There were sticky rice, banh chung (one of Vietnam’s traditional Tet dishes), fried spring rolls, and century eggs, among others. Most of them were sent by our families in Vietnam.

I also learned on TikTok and made a pot of braised pork, a dish I always think about when I miss Tet.

Previously, it had been made by my dad or my mom. Fortunately, it turned out quite well, and everyone enjoyed it.

When everything was ready, we sat down together and exchanged warm wishes for the new year.

In each dish, there was not only the taste of home but also memories of family reunions.

Knowing that it may be a long time before we see hearty trays of food and watch New Year’s fireworks with our families again, each bite carried a mix of nostalgia for my mom’s dishes, the laughter of the whole family, and my grandparents’ wishes.

Away from home, it was the first time I had celebrated a year-end party with friends, and I realized that true friendship can create a 'second family,' where we share and connect over the beloved dishes of home.

I secretly wish that others living far from home will find a community to share love and memories of their families.

Earlier in the afternoon, I also managed to visit a pagoda, which is also one of my family’s traditions during Tet. It suddenly snowed for a few hours.

The bowl of pho that completed it all

After the year-end party, I still felt that something was missing: a taste of home.

On the third day of the Lunar New Year, I invited my Norwegian classmate, Karstein Baug, for a 'genuinely Vietnamese meal.'

After an exhausting day at school, we stopped by his house to pack up and rest for a while, then took a walk around the neighborhood because the Vietnamese restaurant I had in mind was closed from 3:00 pm to 6:00 pm.

Baug seemed surprised when I insisted on treating him, so I explained that it was Tet.

“On this sacred occasion, adults give lucky money to children for good luck, peace, and success throughout the year. I was just given money to eat pho by my uncle,” I said.

We then went to the restaurant, a small Vietnamese corner in the heart of Brussels, offering a variety of regional dishes such as pho, Hue spicy beef noodle soup, and com tam (broken rice with grilled pork).

Of course, I chose pho because I realized that the taste I was missing was this most typical dish of Vietnam.

Soon, two bowls of steaming pho arrived: large portions overflowing with wide, snowy-white rice noodles, crystal-clear golden broth simmered with bones, star anise, and cinnamon, topped with tender beef slices, tripe, brisket. That signature aroma made my mouth water.

This pho, priced at 15.5 euros, was southern-style: richer and slightly sweetened with sugarcane and fish sauce, piled high with meat and served with a plate of fresh herbs including bean sprouts, Thai basil, culantro, and spearmint.

Northern pho, by comparison, has a lighter broth and is typically garnished simply with green onions.

I showed Baug how to eat it step by step: “First, taste the original broth.” He took a spoonful and exclaimed, “Wow, so good!”

I laughed and added, “It’s delicious because the bones are simmered for hours with fragrant spices, representing the essence of Vietnamese cuisine.”

“If you like it sour, squeeze in some lime. If you want it spicy, add chili. If you prefer it saltier, add hoisin sauce. If it’s too light, add a little sugar,” I added.

Baug listened as if thinking, “It’s just a bowl of noodles, yet there are so many things to add.”

In the end, he added only a little chili, as he wanted it just slightly spicy.

We then took our time with our bowls of pho, talking and savoring every sip until the broth was gone.

After the meal, we walked home under the five degrees Celsius sky of Brussels.

I felt that the emptiness in my heart had been filled, completing my first Tet season away from home.

On the way, I told Baug more about the cuisine of Vietnam’s three regions: the south is sweet and rustic, the central region is rich and spicy, and the north is delicate and refined.

He listened attentively, then promised: "Next time, I will treat you to a traditional Norwegian dish." I eagerly nodded and thanked him.

Arriving at his place, I was gathering my things when Baug suddenly handed me a package of chocolates. "Thank you for the meal!”, he said.

I felt an incredible warmth in my heart. That was how exactly a long day of studying should end: with a very Vietnamese bowl of pho and sincere feelings shared with a friend.

In a foreign land, that bowl of pho not only soothed my nostalgia for the flavors of home but also helped me feel more connected to my foreign friends.