The Comfort of Being Known

Some people chase the new.
New restaurants. New flavours. New places to be seen.

Me? I like a place that already knows my name and my order before I’ve even taken my jumper off.

For us, that’s Taku Japanese Kitchen. We’ve been going there for over 25 years, long enough that the furniture has changed, the menu’s been tweaked, and yet somehow it’s still exactly the same. The little origami creations still sit on the counter captivating little kids, the tea still arrives too hot to drink and the chicken Tori-kara is still the kind of crispy that makes conversation pause for a few seconds while everyone chews in happy silence.

Walking into Taku is like walking into a living scrapbook. I’ve been there as a young bloke feasting on a cheap feed, as a new dad fumbling with a pram between the tables, as the exhausted parent of three boys who seem genetically incapable of sitting still for more than two minutes at a time. A few chef's have come and gone but most of the staff have seen all of it, and they still greet us with the same warm smile and a “heeeeelo"

Last night was no different. Rain hammering the streets outside, Angus and Eli fresh from rock climbing, Clare and I still talking about house plans in the car like we’re pitching to some imaginary grand designs panel. We ducked into Taku and it was like someone hit the “pause” button on life.

The thing about being a regular is you stop performing for the experience. You settle in. You don’t need to squint at the menu or wonder if you’ve made the right choice.....you already know you have. You start noticing other things:

The quiet efficiency of the staff who’ve been doing this for decades.

The way the steam curls up from the ramen bowls like it’s stretching after a long nap.

How Eli lines up his chopsticks perfectly before eating, while Lachlan just dives in like he’s fighting for survival and Angus is too busy playing the drums to some imaginary beat.

In a life full of moving parts......work swings up north, Clare’s mercurial bursts of house design genius, homeschooling three very different little humans and the looming reality of shed living while we build.....those familiar rituals are a kind of home you can carry with you.

Because home isn’t just walls and roofs and insulation ratings.
Home is the place where you’re recognised without being judged. Where the food tastes the same as it did the last twenty times you had it and you wouldn’t change a thing. Where you walk in out of the storm, shake off the cold, and feel yourself exhale without even realising it.

Sometimes the best meal isn’t the one that surprises you.
It’s the one that feels like coming home, even if it’s just for an hour in a little Japanese restaurant you’ve loved for a quarter of a century.

Thankyou Taku for being our little kitchen away from home....