Burgen For Men

Times are definitely changing and the grocery shelves are one setting for this quiet revolution.
The Burgen Revolution.

Burgen, for those of you familiar with the brand, is more than bread. Think: wholesome designer slices, sordid combinations of grainy goodness, customised dough.

We women had it good when Burgen introduced its Soy & Linseed slices. Phytoestrogens in a slice...We women felt special. Phytoestrogens are marketed towards women as cancer fighting and PMS vanquishing agents. Visions of demure menopausal Japanese women come to mind. Youth in a slice. (Or so we thought until phytoestrogen was recently linked to potential tumor growth for women with a history of cancer. Research continues...)

I personally feel flattered whenever a company caters especially for women's needs. Oh, really, wow, for ME! Always a pleasure to differentiate oneself from the male crowd. Vive la différence! When I wheel into the bread aisle with my trolley, I usually check around me to see if other male shoppers are in the vicinity and once I'm assured of an audience, I proudly reach out for a packet of Burgen Soy & Linseed slices. Makes me feel like part of an elite group.
Well it's not quite like sanitary pads and tampons but it still feels special...

I think men must have secretly envied us for quite a while. What with all these products marketed especially for women.

And now, because all you metrosexual men threw a sissy fit, Burgen relented and unveiled its latest product: "Burgen For Men".

You heard me.

I'm looking at one now, it's on my lap as I type. I'll read the label to you.

"Grains with Barley" - For Men's Wellbeing.
Ooooh, that's nice!

Apparently, it includes "Protein for Muscle Strength". OH YEAH!!!!
See, all you guys could soon be ditching steaks and having bread instead to ensure you get your protein fix! Think about it.

I was in the stores today when I first saw the glorious "Burgen For Men" product. There it was, king of the shelves, already bullying the other Burgen breads. At first I had a bit of a knowing chuckle. Typical males, I thought. Hard Yakka crap.

But then, I had a change of heart. I parked my trolley in front of the "Burgen For Men" packets and contemplated for a while. A nauseating feeling of relative deprivation had now begun to torment me. There were some urgent questions I needed answered.
What do they have in THEIR bread that we're not getting???
What secret ingredient are MEN getting in THEIR bread that the producers think WE WOMEN are too wussy to digest????

Feeling a tad indignant, I reached out for one of the packets.

Then it gets ugly. I took a calculating glance at the Nutritional Information. Conspiracy! There was some solid dough richness there! I took an offended look at the mineral count for 2 slices of bread. Hell, they even have an entry for Zinc! How come the Soy & Linseed Nutritional information doesn't even include Zinc? No wonder my acne and skin condition is so bad. I notice that for 2 slices of "Burgen For Men", the Zinc intake constitutes 29% of the recommended dietery intake. That sold me.

So I snobbed the marketers and I ended up buying my very own Hard Yakka packet of "Burgen For Men". That's why it's on my lap right now. I've already eaten 2 slices and I feel stronger and more powerful already. So there.

I can take it.

San Churro

There is a rumour that a strand of some Spanish epidemic has spread through various parts of Australia. While visiting Melbourne last December, Jason and me witnessed it first hand, on Lygon Street. At first we rubbed our eyes, disbelieving what was before us. We thought such things only manifested in places like Madrid.

But we were wrong.


There it was. San Churro. The most deadly franchise to hit Australia. Particularly lethal to chocaholics and lovers of fried, dough goodness. We soon took to interviewing the handsome brunette at the bar and he assured us, in what I can only describe as feverish enthusiasm, that the franchise was already well established in NSW, VIC and WA and had recently reached the Sunshine Coast in QLD. Soon, most probably this year, it would find another host in the Gold Coast...We gasped in horror. What about Brisbane???

But here we were on Lygon St and the damage was done. We became infected with an urge that was only too familiar. The urge to generously dip a long Spanish doughnut into rich, thick chocolate and watch it disappear bite after bite into our mouths.


After a long, wistful glance at the menu (which does not limit itself to Churros!), we decided to opt for a classic plate of Churros with a choice of two dips. The first was the classic milk chocolate dip. The other dip, was the scourge of all dieters: Argentinian Caramel.


I had in fact read about this very Caramel dip online. The victim had emphasised that resistance to any indulgence would be futile. That this was no ordinary caramel, not the boiled condensed-can-kind of caramel. Something far more insidious. But it was too late to pay heed to any warning: we did not survive the Argentinian Caramel. By far, the thickest, glossiest caramel I had ever seen, it was however, anything but sickly sweet.


After recovering from this sudden attack and while still giddy from the assault, we found ourselves looking around the franchise restaurant. I took a few photos of the interior for evidence. I want others to know what they are facing if they are exposed to San Churro.


I want them to know that San Churro is as close as you will come to paradise...


And that there is no immunity.

Melbourne Fun

I've just come back from an extended weekend in Melbourne and thought I'd share some experiences.

Oh Crap

Here's a photo I took on Swanston St.
Now you tell me, who has more attitude, Matthew Flinders or the seagull?



Upon closer inspection, it appeared as though Melbourne's birds had eagerly baptised Mr Flinders with their excrement.


Is that bird French?

Poor Mr Flinders. After his unjust imprisonment by the French, he became ill but he toiled for years on his book, A Voyage to Terra Australis. Strangely, he died only one day after his book was published. I can not imagine more passion and dedication than to be so close to death but refuse to die until your work is accomplished.

Food Frenzy

Well as you know, Melbourne is a culinary treat.

On the last day, we had lunch in Bistro Vite, an excellent French restaurant on Southgate with a slightly rustic interior. I was tempted by the Steak Tartare and Frites but doubting that they would serve horse in Australia, I opted for the Bouillabaise. The last time I ate a decent Bouillabaise was in Marseille so I was in for a long awaited treat. Check it out.



Can you just smell the saffron? Notice that Bistro Vite's Bouillabaise comes with coriander sprigs. I thought that was interesting and much to my delight, the rouille married well with the coriander. The seafood was tender and flavoursome. I especially liked to dip my French fries in the sauce...

The night before this, we sat inside the brick walled Pasta Rustica on Lygon St and I got drunk on a Penne Pescatore in white wine. The night before that, I was tucking in an Osso Bucco in Hardware Lane and downing it with a Rothbury Estate Cabernet Sauvignon.

None of these meals were expensive. That's the beauty of Melbourne. Prices are competitive because almost everywhere you eat, the food is high quality, delicious and the serves are very generous.
Why can't Brisbane be a little more like Melbourne?

Cheap Thrills

This bit is rated R.

Since I enjoy scaring myself occasionally, I had enormous fun one night imagining that the RMIT building was a haunted castle from some Italian horror flick. As I walked down Russell St, on my way to a comedy show, I took a few shots of what I like to think will be the set of a future Australian horror movie.


I particularly like the fact that the RMIT is immediately adjacent to the Old Melbourne Gaol. This convenient location can not be a coincidence. I believe that a convict ghost story is in order. Imagine a bunch of students traumatised by a rowdy set of revengeful, toothless prisoners. Gives me chills...

A Man's Worst Nightmare

And finally, I observed the Melbourne tradition and went clothes shopping!


Well, not exactly. Instead, I paraded like a lunatic beside gigantic artwork gift bags on Southgate...much to the amusement of other tourists who soon joined in the fun.


These look so cool! Every girl should have one of these.


One day, shopping bags will come in that size. One day...

Phuong Lan - Anecdotes

The Vietnamese Chef

Until she was 25, my grandmother had never had to cook. In her parent's house, there was a "Thi-ba" (nurse) for each child and a cook. She said that while she had never made anything herself, she would spend hours watching the work of the household cook and learning from it.

Whoever this cook was, he was brilliant and must have deeply impressed his art on her because while growing up, I always believed that my grandmother was the best cook in the world. She was especially well organised and would think nothing of preparing 5 course banquets for twenty or so guests or family members. For example in Senegal, whenever my grandfather invited work colleagues, she would prepare 300 Nems, well in advance, just for the entree.

When I was little, my grandmother, rather than my mum, ruled the kitchen. This means, apart from frequent Senegalese and Lebanese dishes, I grew up on Vietnamese food. On our dinner table, there was usually a bowl of nuoc mam sauce. To be exact, there were always two bowls present: the kids' nuoc mam and the adults' chili nuoc mam.

Well before I had turned 9, I had already tasted a wide variety of Vietnamese dishes, prepared exclusively by my talented grandmother. I was familiar with Ban Cuon (usually stuffed with beef or shrimp and dipped in Nuoc Mam), Chinese steamed buns which were my very favourites, Hue stuffed pancakes, caramelised pork, pineapple chicken, crab & asparagus soup, shrimp fried rice, Vietnamese spring rolls dipped in a sweet potato & peanut sauce, stuffed cabbage leaf soup, fish and pineapple soup...the list goes on.

Nothing compared to my grandmother's steamed buns. I loved the smell of the yeasty dough when it was left to rise. I equally loved watching my grandmother knead a sample of dough into a tiny flat pancake inside which she would delicately place a rolled pork ball, a morsel of Chinese sausage and a portion of chopped boiled egg before her agile fingers sealed the dough ball and placed it on an aluminium disc in preparation for steaming. My duty was to cut the aluminium into little circles and hand these over. Whenever I could, I'd eat bits of Chinese sausage. Or if she was making Nem, I enjoyed dipping each rice paper sheet into the water, watching its crystal surface soak up and grow limp before I laid it out on a moist cloth so that my grandmother could fill it with pork, shrimp and greens. One of my favourite dishes was Mi Xao Don Do Bien (crispy noodles and seafood). But I was never a fan of Beef Pho.

When we lived in Senegal, my grandmother was the best Vietnamese chef. Everyone who knew me at school had heard about her Nems. During school fetes where parents contributed by providing international food to sell, my grandmother prepared hundreds of Nems. Hundreds. During our almost weekly visits to the restaurant at the Pointe des Almadies (Dakar) whose owners were also Vietnamese, we'd expertly examine the Nems there and compare them with my grandmother's. Each time, my sister and I agreed that her Nems were better and we proudly told her so.

Back to Tran Genealogy Index

Last Holiday

"Last Holiday", by Wayne Wang. Great heart warming film. Ah, if only to watch Chef Didier (aka Gérard Depardieu) stroll through the snowy morning markets in Karlovy Vary then suddenly lean towards Queen Latifah's right ear so that his prominent nose just about touches her cheek and to listen attentively as he whispers this secret truth in her ear:
"The Secret of life....is BUTTER."

YES! YES! Damn right!
I don't know about you but that was the climax of the film for me.


I had a lovely weekend and met up with a best friend at the James St market. We set in the interior courtyard and had a long D&M for 2.5 hours. I poured out my vices and my woes and she reciprocated. It was a long awaited reunion.


I love the James St market, particularly this kitchenware store called Wheel barrow. They have the most gorgeous cake stands. I love cake stands. I'm all for those suffocating English tea parties. I'd like to abandon myself to a decadent afternoon where we could all indulge in colored iced cakes and other pretty, sweet things that I would load onto my 4-tiered cake stand (which I don't have...yet) until it resembles something from Willie Wonka.
I want, I demand a cake stand for Xmas!!!
And then we could even have cucumber sandwiches. The last time I read about cucumber sandwiches was in Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of Being Earnest".
I mean really, who eats cucumber sandwiches?
But you must, you must. I insist.

The Wheelbarrow. Everything in that store is so gorgeous that I want to be pregnant and baking. I want to have it all: the giant chromed pink toaster, the Laroussse gastronomique, the tiny chocolate colored silicon moulds, the long sorbet spoons, the sundae glasses, the cake stand...everything...
Is that asking for too much?

Saturday dinner saw me and Jason at the Blue Grotto in Rosalie. Nothing fancy but I warmed to their decor, particularly the lattice panels inside. Overall, crappy website but great food. And the serves were excellent, even Jason couldn't finish his meal. I felt as if I were back in that pretty chalet in the Black Forest on that fatal night where we were stuffed like geese by our hostess. We were so STUFFED that we just managed to crawl back in our attic room and slept like babies. Can you imagine being so STUFFED that the only thing you want to do is sleep? My body was so unco digesting all that food that I even dribbled my way to sleep. (That's me at my most glamorous.)
Anyway, Saturday was a little like that. What did it for me was the cheesy potato and leek gratin which melted in my mouth at every bite. I'll probably be coming back to the Blue Grotto.

So that was the last of my holiday before uni begins on Thursday.

Wonder what i'll learn...