I Didn’t Start Thai Room With a Plan

I didn’t start Thai Room because I had a perfect plan. I didn’t even start because I thought I was ready.

I started because I couldn’t ignore the feeling that I wanted something more.

More than just working in hospitality. More than just following systems someone else created. More than just doing a “good job.”

I wanted to build something that felt like it was one of a kind — a place where people could take their time and truly enjoy it.

By the time Thai Room came along, I had already opened three restaurants.

So, this wasn’t my first time.

I understood operations. I understood customers. I understood how hard this industry can be.

But what I’ve learned is this:

Experience doesn’t make things easy.

It just makes you more aware of how many things can go wrong.

I still remember exactly where Thai Room started.

Indonesia. A bar. A few drinks in, as always 🙂

I was at a friend’s wedding, sitting with friends, and somehow, I said:

“I want to open a Thai restaurant where people don’t want to leave.”

Not just eat and go.

A place where you sit longer than you planned. Where the lighting feels right, the mood pulls you in, and the wine list matters.

I remember saying it should almost feel like a wine room too.

And then my friend Erwin said, very casually:

“Why don’t you just call it Thai Room?”

And that was it.

Simple.

Name? That’s the easy part.

After that, reality kicks in.

Even with experience, I still had to go back to the same questions:

What kind of experience am I creating?

Who is this really for?

How do I differentiate it from my other Thai restaurant, VON THAI on Flinders Street?

What does “modern Thai” mean to me now?

How should the menu be structured — not just dishes, but flow?

How far do I push the wine program before it becomes too much?

What price point reflects the experience I want to deliver?

What kind of service feels right — formal, relaxed, or somewhere in between?

And most importantly… how do I make all this work without blowing the budget?

Because ideas are free.

Execution is where it gets expensive.

When I first walked into the venue, it was… let’s just say, not quite Thai Room yet.

It used to be a pub.

But there was one thing I instantly fell in love with — the stone wall along the sofa area.

Raw. Textured. A bit imperfect.

But it had character.

I remember thinking straight away:

This stays. Everything else… can go.

And that’s exactly what happened.

The space wasn’t huge, but honestly, that didn’t make it easier.

A smaller space just means every decision matters more.

I travelled to Sydney, Melbourne, and Brisbane — basically “research trips” (which sounds very professional, but really, I was just walking into places and having fun, to be honest).

Slowly, I figured out what I wanted.

Not bright. Not casual.

I wanted something darker. More romantic. A bit mysterious.

French. And nothing like Thai.

Something that Adelaide maybe wasn’t quite ready for yet… but I was.

So, I hired an interior designer.

He was great. Very creative.

And I loved that, because some of his ideas felt like things Adelaide didn’t have yet.

We had all these exciting discussions — brainstorming, pushing ideas further.

At some point… I think we both forgot something very important.

I still had a budget.

When the builder’s quote came back…

It wasn’t a little over. It wasn’t “we can fix a few things.”

It was more than double.

I remember just staring at it, thinking…

“Right. That’s not ideal.”

I think a lot of people in hospitality can relate.

The first thing I did was call my husband… well, back then still my husband-to-be, and say:

“I think I’ve blown the budget.”

Not slightly. Properly blown it.

Luckily, he works in the commercial property industry and had the right contacts.

That’s when I got introduced to Matthew.

I called him straight away, met him within the week, and together with his team — Danielle, the designer — they helped reshape everything.

Not by killing the idea, but by making it realistic.

Which, I’ve learned, is actually much harder.

Because building something isn’t just about having a vision.

It’s about knowing how to bring that vision back down to earth — without losing what made it special in the first place.

 Looking back, I don't even blame the designer.

To be fair, I was part of the problem too.

When you get excited about something, it’s very easy to say yes to everything — especially when you’re inspired by places in Sydney and Melbourne.

Until reality politely taps you on the shoulder… with a very large invoice.

Then came challenge number two.

Timing.

We signed the lease in 2022, right when everything started opening again after COVID.

Which sounds like good timing… until you realise:

Every builder in Adelaide is busy. Every tradie is booked. Every project is delayed.

Ours was delayed by over six months.

To be continued…

Because the next part is something I didn’t expect at all — how choosing the location and opening the doors for the first time came with a completely different kind of pressure.

Looking back now, none of this went exactly how I imagined.

Not the design. Not the budget. Not the timeline.

Definitely not the same team either.

But maybe that’s the point.

You don’t build something like this by getting everything right the first time.

You build it by adjusting. By fixing things as they go wrong. By learning quickly. And by not giving up when things don’t go to plan.

If there’s one thing I’ve taken from the beginning of Thai Room, it’s this:

Having a vision is important. But being able to adapt is what actually makes it real.