This time of year—when it's gray, wet, windy, cold, and dark by 5 p.m.—is when many of us instinctively crave bowls of soup. Earlier this week, when temperatures were so cold that I had to scrape ice off my windshield in the morning, I started to specifically crave the Vietnamese soup bún bò huế, a wonderfully spicy and fragrant soup that never fails to vanquish the chill from my body and get the blood flowing.

Unlike Seattle's ubiquitous bowls of phở, where diners personalize their heat level by adding chili sauce and fresh jalapeños, the broth of bún bò huế, which originated in the central Vietnamese city of Huế, is inherently spicy and crimson-colored, thanks to red pepper flakes and annatto seeds. It's got a meaty broth, typically made with both beef and pork bones, that's also given a little salty funk from shrimp paste. Most notably, it has a bright citrusy smell, courtesy of lemongrass, which also adds a mild gingery flavor. And that's just the broth. Bowls of bún bò huế also come loaded with thick rice noodles, an assortment of beef and/or pork pieces, and earthy, chewy cubes of pig's blood.

For a while now, my go-to bún bò huế has been the one at the Central District's Moonlight Cafe. It's so boldly scented and intoxicating with lemongrass that leaning over the bowl feels like getting an herbal steam facial. It's also so spicy that halfway through the bowl, I can no longer tell the difference between the steam rising from the soup and the heat and sweat emanating from my face. I always feel more alive, and oddly cleansed, after I eat it.

But this week, I paid my first visit to Hoang Lan, the Vietnamese restaurant located right by the Othello light rail station on MLK, which many people say has the best bún bò huế in town. I was surprised by the soup at Hoang Lan. It's not nearly as spicy or citrusy as the bún bò huế at Moonlight, but the broth has its own distinct, meaty richness—almost milky—that makes it comforting.

And speaking of meat, there is so much of it here: pork meatballs rich with black pepper, dark cubes of pork blood, long slippery slices of beef tendon, and, the crowning jewel, a big ol' pork knuckle—soft, gelatinous meat wrapped around an intrusive hunk of bone that sits in the middle of the bowl just waiting to be picked up and gnawed on.

But my favorite part of Hoang Lan's bún bò huế is actually something that comes with it: slices of raw banana blossom—beautiful purple curlicues that come stacked on a plate along with lime, bean sprouts, and shredded cabbage. Banana flower is a fairly common ingredient in Asian cooking but is rarely used in other cuisines. Along with being lovely, the banana flower adds a fresh, vegetal crunch to the rich soup. (Its flavor, if you're wondering, is relatively neutral, no banana at all.)

I've grown so used to Moonlight's version of bún bò huế that I was startled at how different Hoang Lan's was. But it was a good reminder that there can be many variations of one dish. I'm now inspired to try all the other versions around town. At this point, winter certainly feels long enough to support the quest.