—the reality, the chaos, and why I still love it after 13 years.My alarm goes off at 4:30am. Not because I’m superhuman, but because if I don’t get to the gym first thing, it won’t happen. After thirteen years of running Bird’s Nest, I’ve learned that staying physically active is the only thing that keeps me sane while managing four restaurant locations.This is what a typical day looks like—nothing glamorous, definitely exhausting, but genuinely fulfilling.
The gym is my mental reset before the day explodes into a thousand decisions. By 5am, I’m home making lunches for my three kids. These quiet moments matter—no matter how chaotic the restaurants get, my kids still eat the lunch I made for them. It’s a small thing, but it keeps me grounded.
By 6am, my mind has already shifted to the day ahead: which location needs attention, what issues came up overnight, and where the next fire needs putting out.
By 7am, I’m at our central production kitchen, helping prepare sushi and onigiri for the six schools we supply. What started small—supplying a local IGA with onigiri—has grown into a catering arm generating around $5,000 a week.My business partner, Emi, runs the production kitchen while also managing HR across all four locations—which, honestly, is a massive job.
Over thirteen years, our roles have naturally evolved. She oversees production and HR across the group, with a focus on Portside and Everton Park. I handle kitchen operations, menu development, quality control, and equipment maintenance—especially at West End and Valley, which need the most attention right now.
Every morning at 8am, I meet with Emi and Mikki, our GM. We run through what’s happening at West End, Fortitude Valley, Portside Wharf, and Everton Park. Each location has its own personality—Valley pulls in the late-night crowd, Portside attracts an older demographic—and each one needs a different approach.
In a small business like ours, Mikki handles a bit of everything because he has to. These daily meetings keep us aligned, especially when something’s falling apart at one of the sites.
This is where it gets messy.
’m working through a Master’s in Business Analytics—squeezing in assignments between everything else, carrying my laptop everywhere,
stealing time whenever I can. People think I’m crazy studying while running four restaurants, but I genuinely love learning. The degree
sharpens my data-driven decision-making and helps optimize our operations. It pushes my brain in ways restaurant work alone doesn’t.
Around midday, I head to whichever location needs me for lunch service. Managing staff is the hardest part of running four sites—finding the right people, training them well, and keeping standards consistent. It’s a challenge that never fully gets solved.
By 2pm, I’m home cooking dinner for my family.
At 2pm.
Because from 5pm to 9pm, I’ll be back at one of the restaurants. So I cook early to make sure my kids eat properly, even when I’m not
there.
The afternoon is for organizing activities, helping with homework, and, several nights a week, teaching music. I play piano and often accompany my middle son for his clarinet exams and competitions. It’s completely different from restaurant life—creative, immediate, and a genuine way to connect with my kids.
But I won’t pretend I’m fully present. I’m still answering emails, solving problems remotely, always half-aware of whatever’s happening across the restaurants.
At 5pm, I head to the restaurant.
On Monday, Friday, and Saturday nights, I’m consistently on dinner service. The other weeknights, I try to prioritize family—though I’m never really “off.”
West End has been getting most of my attention lately. We moved from Melbourne Street to Edmondstone Street about two years ago, and it’s been tough. The new location is less central, larger, and less intimate. Competition has increased too, especially with developments like West Village nearby. I’m there hands-on—tightening food quality, refining service, and pushing it back to where it should be.
The standards haven’t changed. We still use the same binchotan charcoal we were the first to import into Australia. We still follow the techniques we learned in Tokyo.
But maintaining those standards across four locations—while navigating staff turnover and each site’s unique challenges—that’s the daily battle.
I’m home by 9pm and in bed by 10pm. Not because I’m finished—my mind is still running—but because 4:30am comes quickly.
Sundays are my “day off,” which usually means I’m home with my laptop, working on assignments and solving whatever problems the week has left behind.
I won’t pretend it’s easy—it’s a lot. Some mornings, that 4:30am alarm feels impossible. There are days I question whether I’m spreading myself too thin between four locations, a Master’s degree, and being truly present for my family. We’ve made mistakes expanding to four sites. Staff issues keep me up at night. West End’s challenges weigh on me.
But I genuinely love it. Not in a hustle-culture, toxic-positivity way—I love learning. I love building something that lasts. I love the variety. One hour I’m grilling yakitori, the next I’m analyzing data for coursework, then teaching my son clarinet, then solving a problem at Hamilton. The diversity keeps me engaged.
The Master’s isn’t about collecting credentials. It’s because I’m wired to keep growing. Maybe one day I’ll do something completely different. But right now, I’m learning things that sharpen my thinking and make our restaurants better.
None of this works without Emi.
Back in 2013, everyone warned us that business partnerships—especially in hospitality—don’t last. Thirteen years later, we’re still here.
We’ve been through two floods, COVID, expansion to four locations, and more crises than I can count.
We divide responsibilities in a way that makes sense. We trust each other. We communicate constantly. And when we disagree, we work through it quickly.
It works because we both show up—every day—and refuse to let the standards slip.
Sometimes I think back to 2012.
Testing recipes in my backyard. Cooking at local markets. Flying to Tokyo with my family to learn from a Japanese master because no one in Australia could teach us. Becoming the first to import binchotan charcoal. Introducing authentic yakitori to Brisbane when most people didn’t even know what it was.
Thirteen years later: four locations, catering for six schools, and the same uncompromising standards.
None of it happened by accident. It came from constant learning—and a refusal to settle for “good enough.”
“Sleep When You’re Dead” is my motto—but it’s not about grinding yourself into dust. It’s about not wasting the time we have. Life’s short. Why coast when you could be building, learning, improving?
Yes, I’m running four restaurants, studying for a Master’s degree, and teaching my children music. But this isn’t a sacrifice—it’s a choice. I choose the challenge. I choose the learning. I choose to keep growing.
The Master’s will finish. I’ll apply what I’ve learned to optimize our operations. West End will get back on track. The school catering will expand. We’ll explore new opportunities—or double down on what we already do well.
But the commitment to learning, improving, and refusing to settle? That’s not changing.
Tomorrow morning, 4:30am, the alarm goes off again. Gym. School lunches. Production kitchen. Meetings. Coursework. Cooking dinner at 2pm. Homework. Music. And making sure every yakitori skewer leaving the restaurant is perfect.
It’s exhausting. It’s challenging. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
West End | Fortitude Valley | Hamilton | Everton Park
Est. 2013 — Brisbane’s original binchotan yakitori
Come experience the passion behind every skewer!!
