I write this whilst in Japan, spending the lengthiest time away from my two children than ever before - a whooping 2 whole weeks. I realise how short a time away that actually is, and compared to even my own father leaving my baby sister behind in Istanbul as a talented chef headhunted on a special work visa and relocated to London in 1987, and how it took over a year for her and my mum to join him, I feel rather weak-minded and spoilt.
But here I am, genuinely having the time of my life and equally feeling twinges of sadness and guilt that I could ever indulge in anything so centred on my own needs and desires without any regard for others, a feeling and action that is quite alien to my general personality/moral make up.
I glance to my right, and I see Mount Fuji towering over me in the far distance, like Saruman’s eye, as I sit at the most hipster café in the most hipster neighbourhood in Tokyo (which I obviously researched to the death and didn’t simply stumble upon like I have an innate magnetism to what is “in”). It’s really similar to East London, this part of Tokyo, what with its array of vintage shops, cool cafes, sexy bars, top restaurants, young population and vibrant energy (I’m in Shimokitazawa – STRONGLY recommend, lads). Like East London, but a whole lot cleaner and better organised. In fact, every day as I get a coffee to-go I wind up carrying my empty paper cup for over an hour because there simply aren’t any bins. Don’t need ‘em, it’s too fucking clean.
The other greatest difference is that there are kids and families everywhere, reminding me of my very own 2 little effortlessly cool rascals Zeki (8) & Juno (4). You don’t see a lot of that in the most-vogue pockets of London. The general premise is that kids are a big taboo to the great hipster movement, and settling down and making a family is very low on the list of ambitious creative’s agendas, who are my general customer base. I back it – the world is overpopulated enough, thank you very much. But it also spills onto the general way we socialise in these parts of London, whereby restaurants/cafes, they actively discourage families and kids from dining there. If you want to go eat out with your kids, you go to a caff, or to a chain restaurant, or a traditional Turkish joint and they have menus geared for little ones. Or specific café’s that are particularly kid-friendly, with mini playhouse objects and books to occupy them as parents catch up over coffee. Or to the park, or a soft-play centre. Everywhere else, the attitude is generally: Fuck you, your problem.
You won’t find a children’s menu at Brat. You won’t find it at Ikoyi. You won’t find it at Café Cecilia, and sadly, you no longer can at Mangal II.
I am part of the problem.
Even when I occasionally bring my two loves with me to dine at my restaurant on the days they’re with me, I never truly feel very comfortable. Nothing we serve is tailored for a simple palate a child embodies. We don’t have sketch books and crayons. My 4 year-old daughter is supremely talkative and loud and confident (and I pray she never loses these attributes), and it always makes me conscious of the tables sat next to us who are trying to have a romantic dinner. And it’s my own restaurant, my own place where I shouldn’t give a shit what others think, but I do. I really do. This is my business, my home, my only source of income and my safety net for my children as I balance my life with theirs, and financially try and support them, whilst adjusting to life as a single co-parent living on my own. So, essentially, I can’t risk losing customers and must prioritise my restaurant’s longevity and appeal over my innate desire to entice fellow parents to come and dine here with their young children, which in practice would result in a substantially reduced net spend, and the atmosphere would become that bit louder and less sophisticated for others in the dining room who would want to have an intimate, memorable dinner they’d been looking forward to for ages.
I feel terrible about it, but it’s not like we turn families away at the door like a doorman at a club. We frankly don’t receive bookings with young children accompanying because your average customer researches the menu before reserving, and one glance at ours and most would ascertain this would not be very fun for anyone aged under 12. What kid wants a dish with the complex flavours of Cull Yaw mutton when they could have chicken nuggets? We don’t even have straws in the premises – no drink we serve requires it.
There was a moment. In June 2020 as we were gearing up to change the restaurant for good and come out of lockdown swinging. We had baby-changing facilities, and decided it was taking up room in the limited toilet space we had downstairs, so we got rid of it. I knew in that very moment my restaurant would never be the same again, and immediately felt sad as the folding plastic wall-mounted item was removed and discarded. I knew that was it, in terms of what Mangal II used to be and who it was to become. Financially, it’s the best and only move that we could have made, and I have no regrets because, as mentioned above, I have to prioritise the demographic who will enable mine and my children’s financial security. It does not stop me feeling bad, though. And that’s ok, we all give up a little piece of ourselves to reach our goals, I guess.
And here I am in Japan. Kids freely roaming around amongst the creative elite. Schools in the middle of the neighbourhood. Café’s and restaurants with a good mix of families and grown ups on serious business. No one feels awkward and no one glances at the child who is crying. There is empathy and kindness here, something I often find particularly lacking in London when one is a parent and socially ventures outside with their children. Hell, my ex-wife/fellow co-parent/friend, frequently tells me tales of how no one would give up a seat on the tube for our kids, and worse, how rudely people stare at them if they’re being their normal, expressive, outgoings selves. It makes me mad.
Sometimes, sometimes I feel a lot of these stuck up types forget that they too were children. That we weren’t all raised in Victorian households whereby any display of personality and emotion was met with a whip, proverbial or otherwise. That “I hate kids” is NOT an acceptable, hot take. It just means you are an arsehole, and no friend of mine.
I look at Japan and I see a better reality for young families, for the development of children. I see a world I would prefer my own restaurant to exist in. Where the idea of having children dining here would not deter my usual customer base from returning, thus outweighing the financial limitations it could ensue. But it is what it is. Just know, please, that whatever perception others have of Mangal II, it is with real profound regret from its owner that it cannot cater to families the way it would love to be able to. I am not brave enough to make any more changes that we have already implemented. I, and my business, need stability, consistency and a sense of continuation/reliability with a steady stream of customers. And when Zeki, Juno and I feel peckish, I simply go to places we feel very welcome and comfortable in, and more so than anywhere else, that’s at home.