The Gadget That Gave Me Back Control (And Also Makes a Mean McMuffin)
aka my manifesto on versatility, breakfast panic, and reclaiming the jack of all trades
Childhood Core Memory: The McMuffin Rush
My first memory of luxury wasn’t a spa day or a Louis Vuitton bag.
It was my mum flying through a yellow light at 10:27am—trying to beat the Macca’s breakfast cut-off.
We made it. I got my McMuffin. I was five years old and felt unstoppable.
Royalty, but with rubbery egg.
That feeling stuck.
Even as an adult, I’d bolt to Macca’s in mismatched clothes, racing the clock for a $5 McMuffin. And when I made it? Still felt like a win.
Until one day… I stopped.
Because I found something better.
Something that let me make my own.
The Bruno Compact Hot Pot
The Scarcity Trick (and Why It Made Me Delulu)
It was never about the food.
It was about scarcity.
Psychologists call it the scarcity heuristic—if something’s limited, we want it more. Even if it’s mid.
It’s why people lose their minds at warehouse sales.
Or why I bring home 4kg of wasabi KitKats every time I go to Japan—just because they’re “limited edition.”
The Deeper Realisation: It Was Never Just About the Muffin
At first, I thought this was just a breakfast epiphany.
But standing there—barefoot, flipping eggs in silence—it hit me:
I wasn’t just craving food.
I was craving freedom.
The freedom to move at my own pace.
To not race a deadline for joy.
To build something that fits me, not the other way around.
And the more I thought about it, the more I realised this whole “chasing the McMuffin” thing?
It shows up everywhere.
We’re constantly taught to find the one right thing.
The one career. The one skill. The one identity we can master, specialise in, cling to forever.
Like life is a corporate buffet and we’re only allowed to pick one dish.
But what if… we didn’t?
The Real Flex: Jack of All Toasts
People love to quote:
“Jack of all trades, master of none.”
But they always leave out the second half:
“…but oftentimes better than master of one.”
Honestly? That’s how I live now.
I’m not built to pick one flavour.
I like trying, exploring, messing up, pivoting, starting again.
And that’s where BRUNO enters—stage left, sizzling.
The BRUNO: A Gadget With Main Character Energy
The BRUNO Compact Hot Plate is the kitchen equivalent of your chaotic multi-hyphenate friend.
The one who freelances, DJ’ed once, is considering pottery, and also makes perfect gyoza.
This thing has commitment issues—in the best way.
It doesn’t want to be just one thing.
And I love that for it.
🧾 TL;DR: What’s a BRUNO?
The BRUNO Compact Hot Plate is a Japanese multi-function cooking device with swappable plates—think takoyaki grill, pancake maker, hot pot base, steamer, and more.
It's compact, aesthetic, and does everything but your taxes.
Here’s everything I’ve cooked (and mildly fumbled) with it:
Takoyaki
Let’s start with humbling failure.
Nobody told me takoyaki requires chopstick reflexes, wrist speed, and spherical physics.
Mine looked like regret—but they tasted fine. And honestly? That’s the energy I respect.
You pour the batter like chaos, and then it’s poke-poke-poke until it somehow becomes round.
Mine were not round. One looked like a crumpled sock. But I had a great time, and that’s what matters.
McMuffins
This is the dish I make most.
The BRUNO has six round moulds, which means I can cook four eggs and two sausage patties at the same time—aka McMuffin math. This is fast food, but upgraded. With control. With dignity. With double egg, because you deserve abundance.
It’s the breakfast I dreamed of as a child—but this time, I don’t have to beg anyone to drive me to Macca’s. I am the drive-thru.
And with a slice of crispy toast on the side?
Heaven. Pure, golden, crunchy heaven.
Hot Pot
Brisbane gives us maybe two cold nights a year, and every time it dips below 20°C, I’m lighting candles and declaring it hot pot season.
The BRUNO turns into a bubbling pot of comfort. You throw in some broth, dump in half your fridge, and suddenly you’re not in your rental apartment—you’re at a cozy izakaya in the snow. Except no one’s judging your veggie-to-noodle ratio, and you didn’t have to pay $60 to cook your own food.
Communal joy. No tip required.
Grilled Cheese
Sometimes I use it to make grilled cheese just to feel powerful.
I’ve crisped bread into golden perfection, oozed cheese like a slow-mo food commercial, and seared in a level of satisfaction that no sad office sandwich has ever come close to.
For a blog named V’s Stack of Toast, are you surprised I love toast?
Because this is peak toastcore.
Pancakes
The pancakes are almost suspiciously perfect.
Crisp edges. Consistent golden circles. I even use my Moomin plate insert sometimes because it imprints a little flower into the pancake—just a cute fat hippo flower reminding me that life is short and joy can be edible.
10/10. Would flip again.
Steamer Basket
This is the underrated legend of the BRUNO set.
One evening, I made congee on the bottom plate while steaming an entire meal on the top—bok choy, dumplings, tofu, all stacked like a chaotic little tower of nourishment.
That night, I felt like I hacked the matrix.
Why use two pots when you can layer your ambitions?
🍞 Final Thoughts: It’s Not Just a Gadget
The BRUNO isn’t just a hot plate.
It’s a philosophy.
It’s for the multi-passionate, mildly unhinged, trying-their-best home cook™.
The ones who want to experiment, burn things, pivot, laugh, and keep going.
It’s not about being a master chef.
It’s about having the tools to play.
Because real luxury?
Isn’t scarcity.
Isn’t chasing permission.
Isn’t the panic of a disappearing McMuffin.
Real luxury is standing in your kitchen, flipping eggs in silence, and knowing:
You’ve got this.
Even if your takoyaki still looks like it crash-landed from space.
