Happy 6th Birthday, Joy; let’s reflect.
The last six years have been quite a journey. Over the next few months, I will be sharing parts of the experiences the restaurant and I have had during this time. There are stories of triumph, heartbreak, exhaustion, delicious food, friends, and, of course, a recipe or two.
I hope you enjoy x
The Final Tile:
The final tile was laid sometime between New Year’s Day 2018 and the end of January 2019. I found myself pressing the lid onto the pre-mixed grout, flicking another tile spacer out of the tread of my grout-covered Nikes, and thinking, “This wouldn’t have happened if I were wearing my kitchen Birks.” Building our own restaurant came with many anticipated lessons, but tiling an entire wall wasn’t one I had foreseen. Yet there I was, using a grout bucket as a seat and washing paint out of my hair every night. Some evenings, I even left the paint in, thinking it made me look more competent when working alongside plumbers and builders the next day.
The idea of opening our own restaurant took root during a two-week road trip from Brisbane to Tasmania in our rented motorhome, affectionately named ‘Big Boi.’ The coastal drive was breathtaking, with stops at quirky caravan parks chosen by simply dropping a pin on the map. Merimbula stood out with its charming, seemingly purposeless bunting adorning tiny back streets. Whether it was the abundance of inspiration or simply the first time in years my mind had space to relax, creativity flowed freely.
The conversation that started it all was simple and went something like this:
Sarah: “Let’s just open a restaurant in a tiny space.”
Tim: “People can sit on crates if they need to. We’ll just put graffiti all over the walls.”
That was the moment our minds were made up. Upon returning home, we were determined to do everything possible and let nothing stand in our way of opening a restaurant. The graffiti on the walls became a reality, and luckily for our guests, we managed to afford stools rather than milk crates.
For the remainder of the road trip, Tim handled the driving while I scoured the internet for commercial sites, booking inspections for the day we returned to Brisbane. Fast forward a week or two, and we were standing in Bakery Lane, which just so happened to be decorated with the same bunting I had fallen in love with in Merimbula. The moment we stepped into the space, we looked at each other and knew it was the spot.
Brainstorming That First Menu:
Living with Tim’s parents in the Northern Rivers, we each worked three jobs, saving every cent to bring Joy Restaurant to life. His parents kindly never mentioned how we had transformed their formal dining room into a hub for restaurant equipment. We began purchasing items like spatulas, second-hand Thermomixes from Marketplace, whisks, stainless steel bowls, and trays—well before signing a lease.
One night, we sat around the heavy, glass-topped dining table, lights dimmed, with plain Jatz crackers in the center. The menu planning began slowly, discussing the order of the set menu:
“We should serve fish before red meat.”
“Do we do two desserts and a palate cleanser? Or a bigger palate cleanser and just one dessert?”
“We HAVE to do a version of that Mont Blanc we ate in Tokyo.”
“I don’t know if it’s possible, but I’d like to wax-seal every diner’s menu.”
From there, we delved into ingredients:
• “Yes, the zucchini sauce underneath and then a herb mix of dill and chervil. Coriander stalks chopped fine and mixed into a spring onion oil!”
• “What if we did Jerusalem artichoke instead of the classic chestnut for the Mont Blanc?”
• “Do you think it would work to use corn milk instead of stock for the chawanmushi? How do you even make corn milk?”
• “What about raw lobster with umeboshi and fresh plum? It will be all purple and white. It will be beautiful.”
The menu testing taught us a lot… the lesson that sticks with me, though: while raw lobster, plum, umeboshi, and shiso DO look stunning… it tastes like vomit.
The Soft Opening:
Our first service was a ‘soft opening’—an evening to launch to a room of industry professionals we had worked with and/or greatly admired throughout our careers so far. We asked them to pay with feedback—three pieces of advice or constructive criticism for each dish. Some of the best business and culinary advice I’ve ever received came from that night, and I carry it with me into service every day. (A whole blog post will be dedicated to this. Don’t worry—I won’t leave you hanging!)
Service one was scheduled for 7 p.m. on March 30, 2019. The service lasted the expected two hours and challenged Tim and me in ways our three-hat cooking experience never had. Our first dish was simple: three Hokkaido scallops, seared and served with corn and quinoa. Yet, it felt like it took us 45 minutes just to get the first course out. The air conditioning suddenly felt the wrong temperature, the music the wrong volume, and why was the body language on seat 7 so weird? There was so much going on in that 36 sqm room for those two hours. Never before had I done a service where I was absorbing and reading the energy of the dining room WHILE cooking the food. After service, we skipped the usual rush to clean the kitchen. Instead, we simply turned off the lights, went upstairs, and allowed ourselves a brief moment to cry. After about six and a half minutes, we headed back downstairs to clean up and write a list of everything we needed to change before serving our paying customers in just three days.
To be continued…