By: Kathy Tiet
The Simple Commodity of Phở
My most recent meal was a bowl of phở, beef bone broth with brisket, rice noodles, bean sprouts, fresh basil, and lime, ordered at Pho Viet Royal on West Union Blvd in Bethlehem, PA. On its surface, a simple, comforting dish. On closer inspection, a convergence of supply chains and concealed labor of farmers, workers, distributors, and cooks. None of which can be seen by the $15.99 price tag on the menu.
Introduction
Ownership
Production
Labor Process
Aesthetic Encounter
Synthesis and Analysis
References
References
Behind the Kitchen Door: A Multi-Site Study of the Restaurant Industry | Reimagine! (2020). Reimaginerpe.org. https://www.reimaginerpe.org/node/6001
Centers, R. (2024, June 20). New Restaurants Join Stefko Boulevard Shopping Center in Bethlehem, PA. Regencycenters.com; Regency Centers. https://connect.regencycenters.com/blog/new-restaurants-stefko-boulevard-shopping-center-bethlehem-pa ImportGenius. (2023). Pho Viet Royal Llc - Wang Xiaole | See Full Importer History | ImportGenius. ImportGenius. https://www.importgenius.com/importers/pho-viet-royal-llc-wang-xiaole ysabelle. (2025, October 7). Top Rice Exporting Countries with the Highest Export Value with 2024-2025 Global Trade Data. Trade Intelligence Global - Global Trade Data Intelligence Platform for Import Export Solutions. https://tradeint.com/insights/top-rice-exporting-countries-data-statistics-2024-2025/
Overview
Many phở restaurants are local small, family-owned Vietnamese establishments, typically a part of immigrant-run small businesses that are located in American cities. Roughly 22% of all US restaurant workers are foreign-born, and Vietnamese-owned restaurants are disproportionately concentrated among refugees and first-generation immigrants who arrived after 1975 (Behind the Kitchen, 2020).
Point of Purchase
I bought the bowl of pho at Pho Viet Royal, a Vietnamese restaurant located in Bethlehem owned by Feng Chen and Joe Wang. From the perspective of the diner, the point of purchase appears very local and personal: a family‑run establishment, friendly staff, Vietnamese decor elements, and a printed menu with photos and dish names. I ordered for dine‑in, so my interaction is primarily with the server and the cashier. However, if I ordered through a delivery app, I might mainly experience the restaurant as a menu on my phone and a paper bag outside my dorm. Yet, even at the point of purchase, there are different layers of ownership. The restaurant is presented as a small business in the community, but it rents its space from a larger property owner, and if I used a delivery platform, that platform takes a percentage of the sale. The money I pay for my pho is thus split among at least three sets of entities: the restaurant owners and workers, the landlord, and any intermediary delivery or payment platforms. The immediate appearance of my money for “their” food is already a more complex network.
Corporate Ownership
Pho Viet Royal reads as a small, independent, possibly family‑owned restaurant. The owners decide the menu, the decor, and the daily operation. This the narrative of immigrant entrepreneurship and local business: hardworking owners providing a taste of “home” to the community. That narrative is real and important, but it sits within a broader structure of corporate power. The landlord, for example, may be a regional or national real estate company that owns multiple shopping centers and whose business model is to collect rent from small and mid‑sized tenants like this restaurant. The restaurant likely relies on large food‑service distributors and processors for ingredients. The profit margins and bargaining power at each level are not equal. A multinational meat company, for instance, can negotiate prices with buyers, however, a small restaurant has less leverage and is more vulnerable to price shocks. Yet, the customer encounters all of these relationships only as a price for a bowl of pho (Centers, 2024). In Marx’s terms, the commodity form hides these relations between capitals. What we see is the final commodity. What is not seen are the hierarchies among firms, the different ability of each entity to appropriate value, and the extent to which small businesses are inserted into larger circuits of capital accumulation.
Production
There would be four stages of production before it reaches my table at Pho Viet Royal. The primary production involves growing rice, raising cattle, and harvesting herbs, and spices, which are carried out by smallholders or corporate farms depending on context. It is always organized around land, labor, and capital. Processing and manufacturing turns raw materials into things like flour, noodles, beef, fermenting fish sauce, and condiments, typically in mechanized but labor-intensive facilities. Transport and distribution moves ingredients across a chain of trucks, warehouses, and logistics systems. Finally, culinary labor in the kitchen turns these industrial ingredients into pho, consisting of bones simmered into broth, noodles blanched, herbs plated.
For the consumer, this entire condensed history does not exist. The bowl arrives as if it had no past at all.
Labor Process
Behind a bowl of pho is a large, invisible workforce like rice farmers, slaughterhouse workers, factory employees, truck drivers, cooks, and dishwashers. Yet, I interact directly with only a handful of them. A lot of those labor conditions have low wages, seasonal work, physical injury, irregular hours, and few benefits. In immigrant-owned restaurants, owners and staff may also face language barriers and racialized stereotypes. None of this appears is shown on the bowl pho. There is no label indicating whether the worker who cut the beef had health insurance, or whether the dishwasher is paid overtime. The commodity form conceals the unequal labor that makes the pho "authentic."
Aesthetic Encounter
When the bowl arrives, I first notice the steam rising from the broth, the scent of star anise and beef, the bright green herbs, the neatly arranged plate of sprouts and lime. The decor of the restaurant, the music, and the presence of other diners help frame the meal as an experience: a comforting hot soup to remind you of “authentic Vietnamese food,” a relatively affordable sit‑down option compared to upscale restaurants. The restaurant makes a complex dish appear effortless. I simply order and receive a complete meal in minutes. The dish is marketed as Vietnamese, inviting Vietnamese and Asian diners to have a sense of home or diasporic identity. Pho also carries connotations of health and value that is lighter than fast food and generous in portion. Even if its framed as casual, eating at a sit-down restaurant still implies access to time and disposable income. This matters because they are how commodities circulate ideologically. The restaurant showcases the bowl as pleasure, identity, and choice, not as the endpoint of a chain of labor and environmental strain. The aesthetic encounter is the bowl of pho that hides the complexity of how its created.
Analysis
Seen through Marx, my bowl of pho shows commodity fetishism. The real social relations among farmers, meatpacking workers, restaurant staff, and corporate suppliers disappear when I encounter pho as a priced menu item, replaced by sensory impressions like "tasty," "authentic," or "cheap." The question of who did what work, under what conditions, and who captured what value is put into a single number. Alienation happenss at every level. Workers who produced the ingredients have no relationship to the final dish, restaurant workers follow recipes and routines they do not control, and as a consumer I am never invited to know or act on how my food was made. The meal is also a show of uneven globalization, where Vietnamese culinary knowledge is commodified in a Pennsylvania strip mall, U.S. agribusiness supplies cheap beef, and global shipping ties it all together. The result is that global inequality is consumed as local "authenticity." Capitalism presents this arrangement as natural and inevitable, so why do we question it?
The Simple Commodity of Pho
Kathy Tiet
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Transcript
By: Kathy Tiet
The Simple Commodity of Phở
My most recent meal was a bowl of phở, beef bone broth with brisket, rice noodles, bean sprouts, fresh basil, and lime, ordered at Pho Viet Royal on West Union Blvd in Bethlehem, PA. On its surface, a simple, comforting dish. On closer inspection, a convergence of supply chains and concealed labor of farmers, workers, distributors, and cooks. None of which can be seen by the $15.99 price tag on the menu.
Introduction
Ownership
Production
Labor Process
Aesthetic Encounter
Synthesis and Analysis
References
References
Behind the Kitchen Door: A Multi-Site Study of the Restaurant Industry | Reimagine! (2020). Reimaginerpe.org. https://www.reimaginerpe.org/node/6001 Centers, R. (2024, June 20). New Restaurants Join Stefko Boulevard Shopping Center in Bethlehem, PA. Regencycenters.com; Regency Centers. https://connect.regencycenters.com/blog/new-restaurants-stefko-boulevard-shopping-center-bethlehem-pa ImportGenius. (2023). Pho Viet Royal Llc - Wang Xiaole | See Full Importer History | ImportGenius. ImportGenius. https://www.importgenius.com/importers/pho-viet-royal-llc-wang-xiaole ysabelle. (2025, October 7). Top Rice Exporting Countries with the Highest Export Value with 2024-2025 Global Trade Data. Trade Intelligence Global - Global Trade Data Intelligence Platform for Import Export Solutions. https://tradeint.com/insights/top-rice-exporting-countries-data-statistics-2024-2025/
Overview
Many phở restaurants are local small, family-owned Vietnamese establishments, typically a part of immigrant-run small businesses that are located in American cities. Roughly 22% of all US restaurant workers are foreign-born, and Vietnamese-owned restaurants are disproportionately concentrated among refugees and first-generation immigrants who arrived after 1975 (Behind the Kitchen, 2020).
Point of Purchase
I bought the bowl of pho at Pho Viet Royal, a Vietnamese restaurant located in Bethlehem owned by Feng Chen and Joe Wang. From the perspective of the diner, the point of purchase appears very local and personal: a family‑run establishment, friendly staff, Vietnamese decor elements, and a printed menu with photos and dish names. I ordered for dine‑in, so my interaction is primarily with the server and the cashier. However, if I ordered through a delivery app, I might mainly experience the restaurant as a menu on my phone and a paper bag outside my dorm. Yet, even at the point of purchase, there are different layers of ownership. The restaurant is presented as a small business in the community, but it rents its space from a larger property owner, and if I used a delivery platform, that platform takes a percentage of the sale. The money I pay for my pho is thus split among at least three sets of entities: the restaurant owners and workers, the landlord, and any intermediary delivery or payment platforms. The immediate appearance of my money for “their” food is already a more complex network.
Corporate Ownership
Pho Viet Royal reads as a small, independent, possibly family‑owned restaurant. The owners decide the menu, the decor, and the daily operation. This the narrative of immigrant entrepreneurship and local business: hardworking owners providing a taste of “home” to the community. That narrative is real and important, but it sits within a broader structure of corporate power. The landlord, for example, may be a regional or national real estate company that owns multiple shopping centers and whose business model is to collect rent from small and mid‑sized tenants like this restaurant. The restaurant likely relies on large food‑service distributors and processors for ingredients. The profit margins and bargaining power at each level are not equal. A multinational meat company, for instance, can negotiate prices with buyers, however, a small restaurant has less leverage and is more vulnerable to price shocks. Yet, the customer encounters all of these relationships only as a price for a bowl of pho (Centers, 2024). In Marx’s terms, the commodity form hides these relations between capitals. What we see is the final commodity. What is not seen are the hierarchies among firms, the different ability of each entity to appropriate value, and the extent to which small businesses are inserted into larger circuits of capital accumulation.
Production
There would be four stages of production before it reaches my table at Pho Viet Royal. The primary production involves growing rice, raising cattle, and harvesting herbs, and spices, which are carried out by smallholders or corporate farms depending on context. It is always organized around land, labor, and capital. Processing and manufacturing turns raw materials into things like flour, noodles, beef, fermenting fish sauce, and condiments, typically in mechanized but labor-intensive facilities. Transport and distribution moves ingredients across a chain of trucks, warehouses, and logistics systems. Finally, culinary labor in the kitchen turns these industrial ingredients into pho, consisting of bones simmered into broth, noodles blanched, herbs plated. For the consumer, this entire condensed history does not exist. The bowl arrives as if it had no past at all.
Labor Process
Behind a bowl of pho is a large, invisible workforce like rice farmers, slaughterhouse workers, factory employees, truck drivers, cooks, and dishwashers. Yet, I interact directly with only a handful of them. A lot of those labor conditions have low wages, seasonal work, physical injury, irregular hours, and few benefits. In immigrant-owned restaurants, owners and staff may also face language barriers and racialized stereotypes. None of this appears is shown on the bowl pho. There is no label indicating whether the worker who cut the beef had health insurance, or whether the dishwasher is paid overtime. The commodity form conceals the unequal labor that makes the pho "authentic."
Aesthetic Encounter
When the bowl arrives, I first notice the steam rising from the broth, the scent of star anise and beef, the bright green herbs, the neatly arranged plate of sprouts and lime. The decor of the restaurant, the music, and the presence of other diners help frame the meal as an experience: a comforting hot soup to remind you of “authentic Vietnamese food,” a relatively affordable sit‑down option compared to upscale restaurants. The restaurant makes a complex dish appear effortless. I simply order and receive a complete meal in minutes. The dish is marketed as Vietnamese, inviting Vietnamese and Asian diners to have a sense of home or diasporic identity. Pho also carries connotations of health and value that is lighter than fast food and generous in portion. Even if its framed as casual, eating at a sit-down restaurant still implies access to time and disposable income. This matters because they are how commodities circulate ideologically. The restaurant showcases the bowl as pleasure, identity, and choice, not as the endpoint of a chain of labor and environmental strain. The aesthetic encounter is the bowl of pho that hides the complexity of how its created.
Analysis
Seen through Marx, my bowl of pho shows commodity fetishism. The real social relations among farmers, meatpacking workers, restaurant staff, and corporate suppliers disappear when I encounter pho as a priced menu item, replaced by sensory impressions like "tasty," "authentic," or "cheap." The question of who did what work, under what conditions, and who captured what value is put into a single number. Alienation happenss at every level. Workers who produced the ingredients have no relationship to the final dish, restaurant workers follow recipes and routines they do not control, and as a consumer I am never invited to know or act on how my food was made. The meal is also a show of uneven globalization, where Vietnamese culinary knowledge is commodified in a Pennsylvania strip mall, U.S. agribusiness supplies cheap beef, and global shipping ties it all together. The result is that global inequality is consumed as local "authenticity." Capitalism presents this arrangement as natural and inevitable, so why do we question it?