I was born and raised in Central Vietnam, spending my earliest days in a quiet rural village with my grandmother – where meals were simple, and every bite was earned with effort.

When I turned 10, my family moved to a small town across the Thạch Hãn River, near National Highway 1 in Quảng Trị. Everything felt foreign – the noise, the pace, the smell of the morning air.

I had three younger siblings at that time. (now I got 5 younger siblings). 

One morning, before sunrise, I heard a soft reng reng – the kind of bicycle bell that only street vendors used. I peered outside and saw a woman with two loaves of Bánh Mì hanging from her handlebars.

It was the first time I ever saw Bánh Mì sold on the street. Something only “town kids” got to enjoy.

We had never tasted it. It felt… unreachable.

That day, my mother noticed our neighbor buying two for her children.

She stood for a moment, hesitating, then stepped out and bought two as well – for the four of us to share.

And just like that, I had my first taste of Bánh Mì.

The crust was still warm. It cracked when we broke it open. Inside? Just pork belly braised in caramel sauce.

No pate. No herbs. No pickles. No egg butter.

Just meat, sauce, and bread.

But the taste?

It was joy.

It was rare. It was real. It was everything.

We split the two rolls four ways. Each bite was slow, careful, and sacred. Because back then, one Bánh Mì was a luxury compared to what we could afford.

We had it once a week. Sometimes twice, if we were lucky. Always in the morning – always before school.

That became our ritual.

And it stayed with me.

Years later, I moved to Huế for university. I stayed in a small dorm with seven other students from different parts of Vietnam. Life was simple but magical.

I studied hard, earned scholarships, and worked part-time as a math and English tutor.

And for the first time, I had a little money of my own – enough to buy food I had only dreamed of.

I roamed every alley of Huế, tasting everything the streets had to offer: Phở, Bún Bò Huế, noodle salads, chè, and of course… Bánh Mì. Every morning, without fail.

If someone said, “That place is good,” I’d go. And if it was good, I’d go again. And again.

I wasn’t just eating. I was learning – what works, what doesn’t, what lingers in your memory.

Each morning, I remember the sound of Auntie Thủy walking down the dorm hallway with her basket of Bánh Mì. Her voice echoing through the building was our daily alarm – and her rolls, our comfort, our breakfast, our joy.

Fifteen years later, I returned. I walked into the same dormitory.

Auntie Thủy was no longer there.

But standing in her place was her daughter – same basket, same smile, same dedication. Still feeding the next generation of dreamers.

That moment broke me – and healed me all at once.

Bánh Mì has stayed with me since I was ten.

Through hunger. Through joy. Through late-night studying and early morning lectures. Through growing up. Through leaving home. Through building a new one.

Even now, I eat Bánh Mì every week.

When I’m tired.

When I’m hungry.

When I need a moment to remember who I am.

Or when I want to reward myself for making it through another day.

Bánh Mì. Phở. Bún Bò. Bún trộn.

These aren’t just dishes. They’re chapters.

They’re family. They’re survival. They’re joy.

Today, at BMCorner, I pour all of that – all those years, those stories, those flavours – into every roll I make.

So when you taste our Cracking Pork, our BM Pork, our Grilled Chicken, you’re not just tasting meat and bread.

You’re tasting my childhood.

My country.

My dreams.

And before you take your first bite, I invite you to try the two sauces I’ve created just for you:

• Grandma Sauce – deep, rich, warm – like the meals she used to make.

• Volcano Sauce – fiery, bold, unforgettable – just like the journey it took to get here.

Try them alone.

Then drizzle them on your roll.

You’ll taste the love, the hours, the history.

You won’t find this anywhere else in Australia. Or even Vietnam.

Because this isn’t a copy. This is my truth.

Every Bánh Mì I serve is a story. A conversation.

A bridge between my past… and your present.

One bite – and I hope you’ll remember something too.

Anna