Anyone who grew up with a sitti, yiayia or teta will feel a frisson of recognition walking into Baba’s Place. Occupying a reclaimed warehouse between dumpling wholesalers and panel beaters in Marrickville, this neighbourhood restaurant gives a big nudge and wink to the legion of second and third-generation migrant Australians.

Behind the roller door that’s raised on sunny afternoons the industrial space is softened by faded rugs, retro wall hangings and doilies enough for a lifetime of Sunday lunches. Kitsch is the vibe, and no apologies are made for it. For all the grandma-chic, it’s a young team running the floor with confidence. Coming up to its first official birthday, Baba’s has earned something of a cult following.

Co-owners Alexander Kelly, head chef Jean-Paul El Tom and sous chef James Bellos have a background as patchworked as the floor coverings, with Macedonian, Lebanese and Greek heritage between them. Their menu is a bit Middle Eastern, a little Eastern European and heavily inspired by comfort foods found in suburban kitchens across the country.

An understated bowl of chickpeas studded with crunchy almonds is so more-ish we instantly order a second, plus more puffy pita to sop up the soured yoghurt with a slick of bright parsley oil. That verdant oil also features on the fried rice noodles; a dish that refuses to announce its country of origin, combining the silken chewiness of rolled noodles, tarator (Lebanese tahini) humming with garlic and a sprinkling of sesame seeds.

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Making more of a play for your Insta feeds is the tarama on toast – the dip of the moment piped on to a crisp-fried wodge of brioche-like Japanese milk bread, with pickle batons, a snow of bottarga and toasty sesame praline.

Moving on to bigger plates, juicy roasted chook in share-friendly portions sits on a slick of honeyed garlic caramel, with fresh marjoram and a thick, luscious toum. A side of creamy borlotti beans is elevated by the warmth of sweet paprika, and fluffy, crispy thrice-cooked potatoes prove hard to resist.

Technique and presentation are stepped up for dessert, particularly in the mini pavlova – fresh thyme contributing herbaceousness to candied cumquats. Savoury Novello olive oil gelato, drizzled with Valrhona chocolate enlivened by ancho chilli, simultaneously endears and alienates half the table.

The drinks list favours the natty and biodynamic (this is the inner west, after all) with appearances from underestimated wine regions such as Georgia, plus table beer from close neighbour Wildflower Brewing. Subtle tannins temper the moscato sweetness of Victorian orange wine Fistful of Flowers, a food pairing all-rounder. DNA Distillery Rakija is not the firewater foisted on you by an uncle at a backyard barbecue, mixed here into a Jimmy margarita or a saltbush-spiked dirty martini.

Baba’s combines hints of serious culinary sensibilities with something too often missing from restaurants – a sense of humour. Most importantly, it celebrates that glorious, messy, impossible-to-define tapestry of Australia’s cultural identity. Baba might not approve of it all, but she’d definitely be proud.

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