SOUTH EL MONTE, Calif. — Eric Lam straps on a brown apron early one morning and lugs cardboard boxes filled with beef bones to a large metal pot sitting on a stove, setting in motion the process that concludes with the next day's supply of Vietnamese pho noodle soup.

Lam pulls out white buckets from a walk-in refrigerator, revealing a clear amber broth. This is today's soup.

When he opened his restaurant a year ago, Lam, 22, dreamed he would be so busy he would collapse from fatigue after a hard day's work. But it hasn't turned out that way.

Many days, he faces long stretches without a single customer. To fill that time, he cuts meat and vegetables, double-checks his supplies, blends shrimp paste or does paperwork. He answers calls from telemarketers asking him to invest in "gas and oil" or telling him that he just won a romantic cruise for two.

Lam struggles to break even, although his soups have won praise from bloggers and food critics alike.

"This soup is just, it's just so intense, you know?" said James Jung, a 37-year-old teacher who came about 35 miles with his father to Lam's Pho Minh.

One reason for Lam's lack of business becomes apparent when you walk outside his restaurant. Pho Minh is one of 10 noodle houses that dot an otherwise unremarkable stretch 15 minutes east of downtown Los Angeles, making it the pho capital of Los Angeles County.

Lam ticks off the names of his competition: Pho Hong Long, Pho Huynh, Pho Hien, Pho Hien Mai, Pho Hue, My Hanh, Pho Huong, Pho Kim V and Pho Filet. "Whoa," he said. "That's a lot of pho."

Lam had grown up with pho, which is generally made by simmering beef bones for more than 10 hours if not overnight, along with Vietnamese cinnamon, charred ginger, cloves, star anise and other spices. The broth is poured on rice noodles and ingredients such as thinly-cut meat right before it is served. Pho (pronounced fuh), generally costs $5 to $6 a bowl and is eaten for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

Lam's father, Thanh, 51, heard that Pho Minh was on the market. The space has a few rows of tables, a good luck shrine and a colorful mural in back with an image of Saigon's Central Square. The area seemed to promise a steady stream of customers, with an influx of working-class Vietnamese and Chinese Vietnamese immigrants over the past decade. Buddhist temples have sprouted in neighborhoods.

Lam and his father negotiated with the owners, one of whom was also the chef. They agreed to pay $100,000. Lam's father gave him $75,000; the remaining $25,000 came from Lam's savings.

The Lams also got the restaurant's pho recipe. Although Eric Lam preferred the recipe that his mother Mai, 52, taught him, he spent about a month observing the chef. And when the chef left for good, so did a lot of the customers.

"Actually, I think like 50 percent of the customers he had were his friends," Lam said.

Lam's restaurant was virtually hidden in a nook of the mini-mall.

Then, in December, Lam caught a break. Jonathan Gold, a Pulitzer Prize-winning restaurant reviewer for Los Angeles Weekly, praised several of the pho eateries but reserved his raves for Lam.

"Exactly one of them is found to be divine," he wrote of Pho Minh.

That Saturday, Lam's restaurant was nearly packed. Some customers suggested to Lam that he should relocate where there would be less competition.

"About 75 percent of the people I saw that first day asked me if I saw the article," Lam said. "It built up my ego a little. I thought, 'They will come now.' "

Lam is talking about having banners made to advertise the restaurant. He's convinced business will pick up when the recession ends — if he can hang in that long.

Although Lam still has good days, four months after Gold's review, his restaurant is almost never packed with customers, not even on weekends.