Of course writing that sentence is a lot more enjoyable than the essay on Australian Modernist art, but I also think it is true.
Sure, I have never met the man and I have no ill feelings towards him, but I really can’t help but think everyone is a bit of a tool. Especially when they cannot tell the difference between Japanese and Chinese or even Cantonese.
Really.
It.
Is.
Not.
That.
Hard.
Plus, of course you’re going to have a good time when everyone recognises you in the cafe, enough for patrons to smile at you like idiots in the background of your bento shot.
Before the blogger’s meet up, I went to Teppansan for breakfast.
On a very out-of-character 29 degree Sunday at the beginning of Spring, of course I would get side-tracked and have a 3:30 breakfast. I blame exercise, the heat, booze, a stroll into the city and friends. Always friends. The ones who have jet lag, the ones who buy energy drinks, the ones who make equally as ridiculous comments as you on Brunswick st and walk you in the wrong direction.
You know, the awesome friends.
Anyways, Teppansan is a little Japanese cafe on Russell st. They’re quick, convenient, good quality and good value.
That being said, like most places in Chinatown, or just outside of it, they will be quick to laminate and post up reviews of their cafe all over the place. On one wall in particular, it proudly quotes something to the effect of Japanese food being cooked by Japanese people, implying that most Japanese food isn’t. Which, unfortunately, is true.
But, what you notice when you walk in is that there is the familiar smack of Mandarin pop music and the chatter of Cantonese between the staff. Just to let you know, it is not common for a Cantonese person to be fluent in Japanese, or visa versa…in my experience anyways. So, this to me means that they’re Cantonese, especially if they’re speaking it to their kids.
And this may be harder to differentiate, but the staff here also look Chinese. That, I guess, cannot be held against anyone. I’m being picky, but seriously…
That aside, Teppansan do make very good food. They have cheap-arse bento boxes, as well as several varieties of okonomiyaki, which they call, “pizzas.”
Their Fish Bento, $13.50 which comes with miso soup. Their California roll is made to order, and is actually filled with prawn and not that gross seafood extender. The stir-fried bean shoots are still crunchy and smoky from the breath of the pan, and not greasy at all. They haven’t been overcooked so you won’t find a suspect pool of water that smells like farts, which weeps out of the vegetables when you finish them. And, of course, a perfectly pan-fried abundance of fish with a teriyaki sauce made in-house that doesn’t have as much sugar as a bag of snakes. They’re honest and know that their food is too simple to hide behind anything.
So much so that they’re already teaching their kids to make hand rolls.
Don’t worry, I asked before I took a photo of this kid, so it wasn’t like I have a habit of hanging out at playgrounds with bags of candy, or anything.
And as with most places, if they eat their own food, you know you’re in a good place.
Oh, and this kid, however hyperactive and big in the brain, also has taste buds. After he ate his first bite he asked if he could make an avocado one because the shredded carrot had dried out by the end of lunch service.
Really
cool
kid.
But hell, people think I am an idiot for thinking Rockpool is blah-shimmer for the boring ‘burb-goers who are having “a-night-out,” not understanding the loss of love and lack of translation from when Neil Perry writes his menu to the execution of it one state away in an assembly-line kitchen.
Oh, and obviously, for this, which happened a little later in the day.
Teppansan
179 Russell St,
Melbourne, 3000.
(03) 9663 1938
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