Yes And: A date night revival at Ante, Newtown
While my body has been doing the heavy lift with IVF, RaRa has been doing the heavy lift at home – bless him for being a modern dad – and I wanted to show I appreciated him with a date night.
Before Lark, we adventured constantly. One of my favourite things about RaRa is his improv nature – the way he says “yes and” to pretty much every outlandish idea I have. He’s a homebody by default, but he loves to come along for the ride.
Want to go overnight hiking at Mt Kosciuszko? Yes and.
See Lady Gaga in Vegas? Yes and (the pandemic hit, but it’s still on our bucket list).
Christmas lunch at The Winery, Negronis and a Bondi swim on Christmas Day? Yes and.
Then Lark arrived, and suddenly I didn’t have the same energy to dream up crazy schemes. Throw in returning to work after maternity leave, Asherman’s Syndrome and a side of IVF for baby #2, and there wasn’t much time left for us.
The adjustment was hard – maybe harder on RaRa. I buckled down and accepted the new reality. While we both felt lonely, I think he felt it more; men aren’t always great at friendship maintenance, and he missed that sense of adventure.
Anyway, I digress.
RaRa finally cracked it at me, and I knew I’d pushed my luck.
Time to pull my weight in the romance department. Enter: date night – a chance to reconnect as actual humans. No phones, no chores, no toddler negotiations. Babysitter secured. All I needed was a venue.
Enter Ante
RaRa loves Japan. He recently went on a boys’ trip there. We got engaged there. We adore Japanese whisky.
Enter Ante, a wine-and-record bar on King Street in Newtown – known for its sake and sound. Walk-ins only, so we arrived at 6:15pm and it was already nearly full.
You know how most Japanese spots swing between fast-food sushi and fine-dining? This one sat deliciously in between – it felt like a bar plucked straight out of Shinjuku: intimate, stylish, and a little rebellious. It didn’t feel like “Japanese in Australia”; more like “a chef doing something cheeky in Japan.”
Perfect for Newtown. That rebellious little sister-burb covered in sticker tatts, studying graphic design at one of the local unis, with colourful hair and at least three piercings. The same vibe you’d find wandering Shinjuku’s side streets – only here in Sydney.
We rarely brave Newtown these days. The traffic, the smells, the sheer visual chaos overstimulate me, but it’s close to RaRa’s heart. He lived there during his own rebellious uni years, back when he was a printed-T-shirt-and-sticky-floor-pub kind of guy (okay, so maybe he hasn’t changed that much).
So I thought: perfect. If I’m willing to brave Newtown, he’ll know I really do appreciate him.
The restaurant experience
Ante was delightfully charming, and I savoured every minute. From the extensive sake menu, we perused our favourite junmai style and landed on two vastly different flavours. One was smooth – bold yet beautifully balanced. The other was… complicated. Unique. Somehow, it paired perfectly with the bold chicken parfait, which I really enjoyed. The two balanced each other out harmoniously. All of this is a welcome part of the adventurous experience.
We ordered a spread of small plates to share – then panic-ordered the tagliatelle with fermented shiitake mushrooms at the last minute, worried we wouldn’t have enough food.
The fried potato mochi arrived first: fluffy clouds sealed into soft, slightly flattened golf balls and rolled in everything-bagel seasoning. Two servings. One each. Perfection.
The bonito, tangelo mandarin, and aleppo was like cubed tuna ceviche – bright, zesty, and instantly RaRa’s favourite.
The kohlrabi with whipped bottarga came next. Thinly sliced, lightly dressed, the perfect crisp palate cleanser.
The chicken liver parfait was silky and decadent, rich in flavour. While the cod liver sandwich — a perfect circle of white bread with katsu-style cod and crunchy greenery – felt like the kind of snack you’d find in a Tokyo jazz bar at midnight.
By the time the tagliatelle arrived, we were full, but it turned out to be the standout dish of the night. Drowned in a buttery, umami-rich sauce and cooked perfectly al dente, it was comfort and elegance rolled into one.
When the bill arrived, it came with a tiny paper crane – which I like to believe was lovingly folded by the world’s smallest fingers.
We wandered down King Street afterwards, perusing Newtown’s bohemian shops, book-filled nooks, and collector’s dens – the kind of places selling things we don’t need but can’t resist exploring, curious about the worlds they come from.
We finished the night feeling young and in love again – grateful, giddy, and just a little bit drunk on nostalgia (and sake). For a few hours, we’d opened a door back to our past selves – the adventure-loving duo who once said yes and to everything – and found they’re still right there, waiting for us whenever we remember to look.
