Pho is a traditional Vietnamese soup served with choices including noodles, brisket, tendon and tripe.

Although Vietnam is considered to be a socialist republic and a single-party state, its cuisine is as democratic as it gets.

When my party and I took our seats inside Pho 88, a no-frills, single-dining-room spot about a 10-minute drive from the campus on Route 1 in a Beltsville, Md., strip mall, we were initially enticed by all the condiments on the table.

“Awesome, chili sauce!” I exclaimed as I examined a spoonful of the chunky, dark-red mixture housed in a small, tin container. There were also bottles of Sriracha, soy sauce and Hoisin sauce (a tangy and sweet concoction reminiscent of barbecue sauce). Our waitress soon brought out a bowl of bean sprouts, a branch of basil leaves, lime slices and ripe forest-green jalapeño slices to accompany our respective orders of pho — the main event.

Pho is Vietnamese beef and herb broth noodle soup for the soul, and Pho 88 concocts some soothing versions of the classic dish.

Pho 88’s menu offers 19 different meat, veggie and noodle combinations of pho — plus the option to build your own — because choice is what a dining democracy is all about.

“Regular” and “large” bowl sizes are available, but only fervently hungry eaters should opt for the large bowl, which appears nearly wide and deep enough for a baby to swim in. But at $6.84, the bigger pho is only 80 cents more expensive than the “regular.”

My three dining companions opted for meat additions they considered non-intimidating and normal: well-done brisket, fatty brisket, flank steak and round steak. A few cuts that floated on top appeared rare, but quickly became seared by the hot broth. I decided to make my friends cringe and get the offal-filled combo No. 1: rice noodles with soft tendon and tripe (stomach lining), in addition to the typical round steak, flank steak and brisket.

We all happily slurped (a practice that is not impolite and actually expected while eating pho) our springy, non-gummy noodles. The meats — sliced and chopped about a centimeter thick — were pleasingly tender enough to warrant only a few chews. My tripe, which looked like a palm-sized white jungle gym and had the texture of al dente pasta, tasted mild without any distinct flavor.

As poorly prepared tripe often tastes and smells like urine, the quality of my prepared tripe was up to par. The clear broth could have absorbed the essence of the beef a bit more and been less salty, but it still was fragrant enough to make me think it could serve as a tobacco flavor for a hookah.

I like my pho spicy, so I added a handful of jalapeño slices and doused it with Sriracha until the broth took on a red tint. I balanced out the heat with Hoisin sauce and threw in some bean sprouts to give my mouth a much-needed crunchy sensation.

Everyone’s pho bowls looked different based on our varying tastes, but the sounds of our slurps of satisfaction blended together in harmony.

Pho 88 also serves hearty portions of rice with chicken, pork chop, shrimp or vegetables. These platters cost slightly more than $10 — a bargain given the plate looks about twice the size of the average person’s face.

And don’t miss the Vietnamese iced coffee, which our waitress brought to the table in a metal canister before she grounded the beans fresh in front of us. We followed the traditional cultural practice, sweetening and thickening the coffee by adding condensed milk. Forget Seattle-founded Starbucks — Vietnam’s caffeine-laden nod to its French colonial past is how I want to start each mornings.

All the possibilities for pho construction make Pho 88 and other quality Vietnamese eateries fun dining experiences. With recent debates and calls for restrictions of porn movies on the campus, abortion rights as they pertain to the health care overhaul and gay marriage, it’s somewhat comforting to know that at least Vietnamese food is still pho-choice.

arush@umdbk.com