Burma Lane

Food can be such a touchy subject. Look at David Thompson and the nationalist bollocking he received for suggesting Thai food was stagnating, or Andrew McConnell, who said it took years to shake his Asian tailfeather because of the prejudice that white guys can't cook Chinese.

Throw in political sensitivities about a country nervously emerging from a half-century of military dictatorship, and it goes some way to explaining the tentativeness of Burma Lane. The latest effort from the group behind glam Thai restaurants Red Spice Road, they've been keen to impress that it's not - repeat, not - authentic Burmese, but a Western spin on a cuisine about which most Australians would know roughly zilch.

That's probably why a meal at Burma Lane comes with more reassurance than the average kid gets on the first day of prep. You'll lose count of the times the waiters say there's no right and wrong about approaching the menu. Detailed explanations about the dishes suggest rigorous pre-service staff drills; it's helpful, although it tips into the realm of overkill to inform us that Burma Lane does Burmese food.

You'd probably gather that information independently from the mural of pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi. Along with the less strident metaphor of birdcage lightshades, they're a handy way to jazz up a two-tiered dining room, all dark and glossy, bequeathed by previous tenant Mahjong Black. It was, and remains, a difficult space. Despite the photographs of Burmese peasantry and the right-on political theme, it still feels a little unconvincing, like a tax lawyer wearing a friendship band.

The chef is Adam Trengove, who's been with Red Spice Road since 2007 (head chef at the McKillop Street restaurant since 2011). He's bolted a broad sweep of Burma's regional and ethnic influences together with the current Melbourne template of a share-happy menu.

Betel leaves are topped with a Red Spice Road-ish mix of shredded chicken with green mango and shallot, plenty of ginger and a lip-tingling sprinkle of Sichuan pepper. There are fat double-decker potato cakes, rich and coconut-creamy, sandwiching slow-cooked lamb inside a layer of deep-fried crunch. On top there's a freshening dollop of minty yoghurt. It's what passes, we're told, for Burmese street food. Not so keen on the sesame seed-crusted broad bean fritters (felafal by another name) but the crunch-topped pork belly in a gentle gravy of turmeric and lemongrass passes muster.

So what to make of Burmese food? There are noticeable influences from China and India. Above all, the closest cousin seems to be Thailand, although its palate-whomping power is dialled down into something far gentler. Red chilli is used more for decoration than heat, although the Thai-friendly shrimp paste, fish sauce, lemongrass and kaffir lime feature heavily, and there's the same vibrant approach to salads. The unofficial national dish stars pickled green tea leaves, which bring a lingering earthy bitterness to a busy jumble of shredded cabbage with tomato, peanuts, crunchy soybeans and fried garlic, and a snowdrift of sesame seeds.

Fried curry leaves add a similar tannic-textural element to a fall-apart goat curry with pumpkin and fried pepitas. The flavours have more of an ASEAN familiarity; ditto the Shan noodles, thick yellow Shanghai-style noodles with minced chicken, peanuts, coriander and fried shallots. It's a simple, unassuming dish, perked up with a squeeze of lime and nubs of raw cucumber.

For firepower you need to look to the condiments such as the balachaung, the pungent dried mix of fried shrimp with garlic, ginger and chilli; or a sweet and sour chilli and tomato relish. Spoon them on liberally - the waiters keep 'em coming.

Dessert? Semolina cake has a beguiling warm sponginess, an excellent palm sugar ice-cream with rum-soaked raisins, and a lash of brown butter. It's like an English pudding in Burmese disguise, which makes sense as Burma's a former English colony.

This is the point where two paths diverge. You can make like Greg Hunt and scurry off to Wikipedia (or, better bet, Naomi Duguid's cookbook Burma: Rivers of Flavor), or you can simply get to know a country through eating its food. Take your pick.

THE LOW-DOWN
The best bit Something different
The worst bit A corporate soul
Go-to dish Pickled tea leaf salad, $14

Twitter: @LarissaDubecki or email: ldubecki@fairfaxmedia.com.au