( ๑‾̀◡‾́)✨ Well, Baba is going to feed us whatever we want tonight!!!!

Baba’s Place, I’ve seen you before; you’re in my dad’s contact name, my Italian primary school best friend’s kitchen in Brighton-le-Sands, the plates that my Arab co-worker brought to the mid-year party at the Rockdale Noffs, my Vietnamese (to be) in laws hectic parties, in the sweets my elderly Greek canteen lady who worked with my mum always gave me… (yiayia I love you and I think of you still). In fact, I think I actually see you everywhere. Yet, you’ve made an unsuspecting garage space in Marrickville host an important and ultimate loving microcosm that offers vignettes from typical Australian living. How beautiful you are, with your rugs suspended in the air like laundry drying on a line, your open kitchen producing every mouth-watering smell known to mankind, your tables all covered in plastically vinyl. The idea of ‘consistency is key’ is thrown away with absolute joy here, where decor, silver and glassware blissfully differ – the chairs are at different heights, the cups come in big, small, tiny variants, the plates accommodate flowered designs of every type and colour. Nothing ever comes in a pair at Baba’s, because why feel the need to match if you’re at home?

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Drinks are ordered first to combat the inner-west humidity and to accompany the perusal of the menu, we chose the ‘Purslane Eastside’ cocktail and her non-alcoholic counterpart, cheekily named ‘Purslane Westside’. Grinningly green, tangy and herby, both are topped with a sumac citrus oil (how cool!) and taste like a bargaining between bubbly soda, gin and tonic, and fresh lemon water loaded with mint.

Small bites were anything but – being dynamite in flavour and proving themselves to be an essential beginning. First, the bluefin tuna melt with green olives, almond, tamarind, manchego cheese and neighbour AP-made baguette; minuscule in its portion, centre stage on the plate like a shy little thing. One bite and our lives changed. Cut it into pieces rather than demolish it in big bites; it’s savoury, mellow and smoky, with a satisfying chew and it’s going to make you regret not ordering a second. Next up, the famed and all-hailed tarama on toast, which is made with shokupan, praline, bottarga and house-made pickles. This is a serious taramasalata piped in a swirly chevron pattern- the taste is creamy, slightly piscine with a sesame crunch, cooling to the mouth. The shokupan is achingly soft and the pickle brings home an acidity to balance all the loveliness. The slice is nowhere to be found. Last but not least, the mussels and tomato, paired with bbq focaccia, marjoram and fennel. Judging by the presentation, I could tell that mandolin went to weerrrk with the fennel and that quality of olive oil was Master’s degree – tenured professor – 7 PhDs type of special. A confession again, I hate tomatoes usually and I can’t eat them raw. I pick them out. But slightly sautéed or stewed with the wonderfully meaty mussels, I loaded them to my fork with no hesitance. Tomatoes add a well needed freshness and slightly snappy texture that marries not only the fleshy and slippery mussels but the hard-crunch of the crouton-like cubed focaccia. Obviously, it’s going to be delicious if it’s smothered in good quality olive oil and a metric-ton of sliced herbs.

Now, a beloved innerwest, west and all-around Sydney ethnic takeaway special; chicken and chips. The Baba’s variant presents a half portion of sommerlad heritage chicken, served with house chips and a side of toum and thick cut pickles. A mammoth portion which is *extremely* and *delightfully* welcomed by our crowd of three. Lit up in candlelight, the golden brown, slightly charred crackle of chicken skin curtly beckons me. I listen. It’s sprinkled with chives. I’m cooked. Dipped with a dollop of toum, a chip butt (the small bits that get fried to smithereens and are sooo crunchy and have no actual discernible shape), and a sliver of skin with that garlicky caramel crystallised on top is the only way the tender meat of the chicken can be enjoyed to its full potential. Grab maybe like 2-3 chips at a time, sauce them and bite them with all your might. It stings the inside of your cheeks with salt, crunches against your teeth and is so hot and pillowy soft in your chew. Welcome the grease with all your heart, there’s nothing to be afraid of when you have your backup nibbles of sliced pink Middle Eastern pickled turnips to refresh the palate. Just get the chicken for your big share plate. Please. It’s worth it.

Unsurprisingly on my sweet treat agenda once more, our choices were the toasted malted rye gelato with butterscotch and the semolina cake topped with honey and cream cheese, stone fruit and hazelnut. The butterscotch oozes out its designated divot in the gelato in a way I can only describe as kinda grandiose and lethargic. I felt perverted and wealthy when I ate it, it’s obviously very good. The gritty mouthfeel of the mousse like ice-cream came from of what one of us guessed to be ground instant coffee, a dream counterpart to the rich and amber sweet butterscotch. Out of the pair, this was the unanimous crowd favourite; but credits must be given where due. If you’re less of a sweet-tooth and veer closer toward sour or tart desserts, the semolina cake is your weapon of choice. In a mix of fruit juice and basil oil, the cake soaks up all of the goodness and remains both moist and spongey. The cream cheese frosting is buttery and airy, and the combination of plum and hazelnut is nothing short of perfect.

Decorated like any old house in Merrylands, Greenacre, Strathfield, Rockdale, Cabramatta or Auburn; take a walk from Sydenham station and come here to feel like the world’s most welcomed stranger. Bring a group of friends, split a red (or three) – Baba’s Place is a venue that is a family diner in the utmost sense.