From Osaka Summers to Perth in the Autumn

I honestly don’t know why I took this photo, this was an old university assignment!

Both dim, exposed lightbulbs and pink neon lights splash over exposed brick walls, and if it weren’t for the traditional tiled roofing along the edge of the walls, the interior could have been a trendy home décor Pinterest board.

We’re greeted by the loud sound of “irasshaimase”, the volume of which can be confronting to the virgin ear, but comforting for those accustomed to it. A playlist of 80s Japanese hits buzzes in the air and if a haze of cigarette smoke clung between the tables, this could very well be mistaken for a downtown Tokyo bar.

This is Main Street Ryu— a hidden gem in plain sight for seekers of Australia’s ever-versatile fusion food. Here, it's a base of Japanese cuisine with a distinct mix of Korean and French flavor profiles.

For Australians, fusion food is as commonplace as a backyard pool party with Greek-style lamb on the barbie. Food writer Lara Dunston attributes this country’s multicultural roots as being the reason “why it’s perfectly natural for an Aussie to reach for pomegranates as for kohlrabi, couscous and quinoa”.

There’s an uncanny ability ingrained in Australians, who can effortlessly blend ingredients and traditions to create new gastronomic experiences at every corner, and Main Street Ryu is no exception.

We start with the karaage and shredded lettuce sliders- small toasted buns filled with fried chicken that’s seasoned before crumbing and frying, as opposed to the messy, post-operative approach here in the West.

The fresh lettuce against the juiciness of the soy and ginger splatters my mind with fond memories of my younger brother’s junior sports festival, my family and I eating karaage with Calpis soda in the shade of a sweltering Tokyo afternoon.

I tried to take my errantly emotional mind off of this flashback by dowsing it with a sip of tonight’s first cocktail, the Mrs. Yuzu, made with Japan’s famous Roku gin, soda and both yuzu peel and liqueur.

The chill of the soda is perfectly paired with the refreshing citrus of the yuzu. Immediately I can feel the sticky breeze of an Osaka summer over my face. My tongue and lips tingled with the trademark numbing, floral taste of the yuzu fruit. It’s the same flavor as the drinks I would buy from Japan’s coveted vending machines — exactly ¥120 — to fight the humidity and the kiss of sunburn on my cheeks.

“Something on your mind?” my Mediterranean (now ex) boyfriend asks from across the table.

I shook my head as the cold wind of the autumnal Perth night rushed over the back of my neck. He urges me to try the ‘karoobi’ (bless his pronunciation).

The galbi are slow-braised, LA style pork belly with a Korean marinade of sticky ganjang soy sauce. The dish tastes like colonialism reversed. It’s an Australian take on Japanese cuisine redoing Korean-Californian food, a world-wide phenomenon and staple of the global fusion scene.

In spite of the mess of its influences, the meal is balanced yet rich beyond compare. Again, I am only further convinced that Australians have a preternatural gift for melding such flavors without conflict; a ménage à quatre, if you will.

The cocktails start to set in, and my company can’t help but get loose-lipped about how the soft pork reminds him of his nonna’s cooking back in Albarese, the rural south of Tuscany. The comparison isn’t lost on me. Something about the fall-apart texture of the meat and the rich gravy melting on my tongue tugs at my German half, which craves such flavors every winter.

Feeling more (or less) composed, I wash down my last mouthful with the next house cocktail — a traditional whiskey sour with a Cointreau twist and smooth, Kentucky Bulleit. The bourbon is smoother than I remember, but reminds me all the same of late nights spent in downtown Seoul with an old flame. The cocktail’s name, Yakuza Sour, seems even more apt now, except this flavor is something I’d hate to forget.

We finish the evening splitting a matcha basque cheesecake which epitomizes tonight’s experience. Rich, sweet cream cheese is offset by the earthy taste of green tea in a flavor that can only be described the famed Japanese culinary term umami, or the ‘fifth taste’, which has so popularly entered the vocabulary of haute cuisine since the 80s. According to chef Marc Matsumoto, “coaxing umami out of food is a hallmark of Japanese cuisine”, and this humble cake stands testimony to his words.

I leave this restaurant having been bounced around from summer to autumn, places visited and homes abandoned, memories both sweet and sour. Whatever you want to pin down as the reason behind Australia’s preeminence in the fusion food scene, there’s no denying the absolute rollercoaster it can and will take you on. My trip from Tokyo, to Perth, to California and to Seoul didn’t feel forced at all.

In my opinion, this kind of dining should be considered tantamount to the thrill-seeking of bungee-jumping and sky-diving. It’s electric and effortless in all the right ways, and its limitlessness means that there’s something for everyone to enjoy here in sleepy Perth, Australia.