These are the best restaurants in New South Wales, as reviewed for our annual Restaurant Guide.
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Cafe Paci | Newtown
If there’s a highlight at Cafe Paci, it’s dessert: earthy-sweet carrot sorbet atop dense liquorice cake enveloped in tart yoghurt foam. Then again, perhaps it’s that cult-status ox tongue taco with snowy horseradish. Or the razor-thin, crackly rye crisp slathered with ’nduja and crowned with tangy, exactingly placed fermented carrots. All three are true originals, embodiments of owner-chef Pasi Petänen’s flair. Yet, even more seemingly familiar dishes here show unmistakeable precision. Char-grilled, limey black-pepper prawns are aromatic as all get-out, while buttery leeks topped with cloud-like strands of spanner crab and hazelnuts show impeccable restraint. The urbane fit-out suits the quirky and quietly experimental spirit, and the whip-smart service team never misses a beat, offering guidance on a drinks list that swings from herbaceous Japanese amaro to crunchy Georgian orange wine. Indeed, paradox and personality form the backbone of this intelligent, genre-defying neighbourhood bistro, which sticks the landing with unwavering confidence every time.
Aalia’s menu brims with rare flavours and innovative takes on historic dishes. There’s that signature sea urchin draped over fermented aged rice, to be wrapped in a salted sesame leaf and eaten like a dolma. Masgouf-inspired Murray cod, meanwhile, is rich from a week of dry-ageing, smoky from the grill and spiced by a bed of butter-infused chilli paste. Add cocktails blended with ultrasonic waves, Levantine wines and a $350 beluga caviar course to the mix, and you might think the place would fall firmly in fine-diner territory. Yet, a fall-apart lamb neck shawarma and ras-el-hanout-spiced chips feel more like the fare of a next-gen Middle Eastern diner, whereas eggplant and tomato mes ‘a’ aha and rose-petal muhammara with baby okra are more dishes out of a refined home kitchen. Aalia is full of contrast – on the menu and off – but it’s never jarring. Instead, it feels bold and different, exactly how it tastes.
Bar tropes aren’t in short supply at slinky, inky Ante: the long counter, stool seating and spot-lit high tables; the firm drinks focus, particularly sake sourced directly from big-name and under-the-radar breweries on regular scouting trips; and the 2500-plus records that take cues from Japan’s “jazz kissa” listening bars. But at its heart, Ante reads restaurant. Almost fine-dining-level attentive service is one reason, but it’s also chef Jemma Whiteman’s fully developed menu, with its cross-cultural references and whispers of Nipponese flavour, that would not feel out of place in any “proper” dining room. Start with any sharply cut katsu sando she might feature. Never say no to her rich prawn casarecce shot through with fermented chilli and pickled clementine. Or miss a chance to marvel at the way she can crisp fish skin till it shimmers like cellophane. Bar or restaurant? Semantics. Let’s just call Ante a little slice of hospitality magic.
When was the last time your kingfish crudo was wild-caught and daringly kitted out with makrut lime, caramelised coconut cream and a curveball of white kimchi? Recall ever seeing dry-aged beef tartare accented with Pedro Ximénez then heaped over a hash brown with hot curry mustard? Where so many restaurants colour by numbers, Bar Heather colours outside the lines. Sure, head chef Ollie Wong-Hee may cook mahi mahi like the best of them, and serve it simply with gem lettuce coated in garlicky salad cream, but who else would dare bookend that with wicked Viet-inspired house pork sausages on betel leaves and a smart, grown-up play on the Weis bar come dessert? Much like the food, the largely lo-fi cellar’s reach far outstretches the proportions of the dark and squeezy room, which could well be ripped straight from the Right Bank. Inventive, inspired, distinctly Australian bistronomy right in Byron Bay’s beating heart.
The recent recruitment of Sixpenny and Shell House alumnus Aaron Ward has done wonders for the Bathers’ Pavilion kitchen. Not that the longstanding long-lunch institution – with its dapper interiors, well-drilled service and trusty 40-page wine list – needed much help, mind you. Now, though, you’re just as likely to lose yourself in the classically minded yet blisteringly current cooking as you are the glittery views over Balmoral Beach. A smoked eel emulsion, for instance, sends beef tartare down an unexpected path, with cherries, beetroot and buckwheat each offering well-judged contrast. Sticky chicken sauce does the same for Murray cod with a black-pepper caramel crust, which plays nicely with the bittersweet currants, soured onions and pine-nut purée alongside. Lemon sorbet may seem like a safe, on-theme finish, but a squirt of yuzushu and a trickle of olive oil make it sparkle anew. If it’s been a while between visits, it’s probably time to get reacquainted.
So many restaurants aim for that elusive sense of relaxed refinement, yet few get it right quite like Bistro Livi. It’s obvious in the subdued opulence of Flack Studio’s interiors – the rendered walls, brick floors and brassy accents. Felt, too, in the tempo of service and nattily dressed waitstaff’s articulate, accommodating tone. Mostly, however, it’s right on the plate: a jumble of meaty local mushrooms à la Grecque, say, or parchment-thin slices of cold-cut ox tongue offset by the curiously rewarding combination of sesame cream and tamarind. Simple dish names, such as “roasted stuffed quail”, do little justice to their meticulous technique and presentation, just as the wine list’s single-page proportions belie the degree of consideration behind it. Indeed, everything here’s just so easy, so breezy, right down to the two scoops of note-perfect house-made buttermilk ice-cream with a guava ripple awaiting at the finish line. A paean to the power of restraint.
Sydney is no stranger to wood-fired ovens, but there must be some sort of black magic going on inside the one at Ester. How else to account for the way a hulking kingfish forequarter smothered in citrus kosho emerges with such remarkably pearlescent flesh, at once tender and firm? Or how the edges of duck dumplings reach such beautifully bronzed crispness as they braise in a claypot with rib-stickingly rich broth? While smoke and char do lots of the heavy lifting, chef-owner Mat Lindsay and his crew know how to fill the space between too, be it via crunchy Brussels sprouts with hot mustard and a slow-cooked egg or the piquancy of a pink radicchio and pickled pear salad. Still, these are flavours that hit hard, leading you right to the precipice, helped along by casually confident staff and a drinks list that rides the zeitgeist. How good is life on the edge?
For all its cellar doors, nowhere captures the spirit and terroir of the Hunter Valley like EXP: a theatrical, fire-fuelled experience that celebrates the surroundings in every bite and sip. Take the ducks, raised just down the road, their crowns glazed in Pokolbin honey and roasted over ironbark, then sliced and served with charred local leeks and a custom-made plate of house-cured ham, rillettes and leg salami. Or maitake mushrooms, gently pickled in vinegar made from local wines and charred in the open kitchen by chef-owner Frank Fawkner, who sets them onto a rich, just-set cheddar custard topped with crisp shards of new-season Jerusalem artichokes. Manager and sommelier Harrison Plant musters the best of the area’s growers and makers on the wine list, drawing from both big names and small, while the whole team radiates reverence and pride for everything homegrown. It’s the sort of cheerleader every destination dining region deserves.
Does chef Junda Khoo’s zest for reinvention have any limits? Not if the Town Hall branch of his flourishing Ho Jiak empire is any indicator. Nicknamed “Junda’s Playground”, the humming 160-seater is pushing even more buttons and boundaries on its still-sprawling menu, which kicks off with a newly minted line-up of killer snacks. Granita with the sweetly sour flavour of asam laksa casts raw kingfish in a (much-needed) new light, served on a shiso leaf and dabbed with pineapple salsa. Minced pork, duck breast and shiitakes join forces in a sharp take on sang choi bau, while a deep-fried bao bun makes a comfortable home for chilli-smothered blue swimmer crab. Rest assured, ironclad classics like the brilliant beef satay and five-spice-fragrant roast chicken still hit just as hard, and service remains as hyper-attentive and jovial as ever. There’s always been so much to love here, and now there’s even more.
Chef-partner Mitch Orr’s Jatz with smoked butter and fat anchovy may still be The Sydney Snack to beat, but jumping the gun at his ever-hip but welcoming rooftop restaurant would be folly. Why not also consider the olive-brined red spot whiting fish finger on golden brioche and a frosty mini Martini? It’s a two-bite, two-sip start that sets the scene for the coming focus on vegetables and seafood: scallops so sheer in the middle they practically melt in zingy preserved lemon butter, or crisp-skinned John Dory with a punchy gremolata that’s almost outshone by the borlotti beans and spring onions underneath. Red meat may be thin on the ground, but a blushing wagyu beef carpaccio is expertly executed, almost transparently thin and dolloped with a silky oyster emulsion and toasted pine nuts for a well-balanced bite. Two years on, the Ace Hotel Sydney’s crown jewel proves it remains one to watch, Jatz and all.
Bentley Group’s latest offering presents a culture studies dissertation on the plate, and it’s a sentimental headspin. Gleaming duck tsukune, sticky with hoisin tare on a slice of shokupan, hits like a Bunnings sausage sanga with a Canto-Japanese accent. A cushiony steamed bao cossets a dashi-soaked crumbed barramundi finger in a couture-grade Filet-O-Fish complete with salmon roe. Chicken liver skewers are served with Vegemite and kombu butter toast in an intense flavour explosion, while a silky pork-free mapo tofu – packed with prawns, marrow, baby corn and Korean rice cakes – is an equally subversive standout. It’s a schtick that has thus far defined chef Khanh Nguyen’s career and perfect here, in a room that feels like a warehouse party for grown-ups – all pink neon streaks, exposed beams and mirror balls; polished to sophistication by serial design collaborator Pascale Gomes-McNabb. Playful and cerebral all at once, this is one of the year’s brightest openings.
There are many ways to build a meal from Neil Perry’s vast menu at his suave Double Bay flagship. You could lean fully fish; a wise choice given the restaurant’s relationships with small-scale fishers like Bruce Collis and Anthony Heslewood, ensuring King George whiting or pearly fillets of bar cod in rich roast tomato and kombu butter sauce are the freshest around. Another idea would be to select only dishes with an Asian tilt, such as shiny slices of spotted trevally blushed with gochujang or the tangy Thai-style crab and pork salad, something of a Perry signature. But the best way is to throw cohesion to the wind, to add a CopperTree Farms or Blackmore Wagyu steak for the fun of it, and simply delight in the riot of deliciousness. Tied together with a voluminous wine list and service that makes you feel like family, Margaret is one of Sydney’s great dining journeys.
Towering sandstone escarpments surround this elegant homestead in the belly of Megalong Valley, their golden hue warming the dining room and setting the tone for the celebration of produce and provenance to come. Raw baby vegetables plucked from the kitchen garden commence the set menu with confidence, underscoring the property-to-plate persuasion. Charred padrón peppers also delight in their simplicity, as does a finely marbled wagyu rib-eye crowned with garlic flowers for mild bite. Of the few ingredients sourced beyond the 600-hectare plot, rainbow trout is a triumph – its crack-crisp skin and pink, buttery flesh levelled up by a salty hit of Yarra Valley trout roe and the punch of horseradish. Just-picked alpine strawberries atop sweet-sour goat’s milk gelato and luscious beef-fat caramels round out the faultless cooking and refreshing lack of fuss. Engaged service and a fun-yet-approachable drinks list quietly prop up the excellence of this destination diner, which holds rank with the country’s best.
Chef-owner Alessandro Pavoni and his team continue to deliver at this enduring but refreshingly relevant marina-side diner. Seafood is the fitting star here, which sits well among the moored boats and the coastal-chic surroundings – all stucco walls, curves for days and a gelato bar. Smoked scampi gets tossed through toothsome tagliolini in an intense roasted capsicum sauce, while thick-cut and dry-aged swordfish does a star turn in a staggeringly good cotoletta. There’s also a piadina with stracciatella and coal-grilled octopus, decidedly meaty yet forgiving in its bite, which gets finished at the table atop burning herbs for gentle smokiness. Touches like these – also seen in the à la minute torching of the unmissable delizia al limone dessert – amp things up on the service front while remaining unfussy. Italian cooking is so often defined by the classics; and while tradition is good, using the hallmarks and well-sourced seafood to evolve the genre is even better. Bravo.
Brace yourself for the onslaught of flavour. It strikes early, in a fist-clenchingly briny Tathra rock oyster, made even better by a brilliant sake-spiked Bull Kelp Martini. Then again soon after, in the mushroomy warmth of abalone dashi dramatically presented in a periwinkle shell. Unequalled sourcing and handling go without saying in Josh and Julie Niland’s kitchens, but lateral thinking sets them alight at Petermen. Lamb gets recast as yellowfin tuna in a genius take on Greece’s loukaniko sausage. Coal-grilled and butterflied red mullet feels right at home in a frothy curry with saltbush and astringent desert lime, every bit as vividly Australian as the Ken Done canvases on the walls. By the time the sure-footed service team brings it full circle – with baked-to-order cumquat madeleines in oyster shells – you’ll have little doubt this is Australia’s most seminal seafood restaurant. (At least, perhaps, until Saint Peter settles into its new Paddington digs.)
There must be more than 24 hours in chef Ben Devlin’s day. How else could he find time to bake (excellent) sourdough bread, culture the (even better) butter, cure (superlative) duck salami, fashion (first-rate) Stilton-style blue cheese and still manage to forge the ceramics and hand-print the gyotaku artwork on his restaurant’s walls? Pipit might come off as a modest, small-town 30-seater, but it turns out to be a monument to Northern Rivers produce. Ultra-crisp crudités arrive with a piquant “waste paste” made from kitchen scraps. Dainty dragon fruit tartare shows up under a thicket of shiso leaves, imbued with the earthy sweet-sourness of beetroot and umeboshi. It’s all steered by clear conscience and intuitively good sense, particularly in the sensitive cooking of dry-aged Spanish mackerel over wood fire or the thoughtful offer of half-glass pours from a proudly Australian wine list. A destination, sure, but a heck of a ride, too.
Don’t let the name of this neo-bistro fool you; Porcine is more than a cathedral to pork. Sure, chef Nik Hill knows his way around a pig, from head – coarse foie-gras-topped rillettes served with thick slices of duck-fat toast – to a basket of emphatically crisp braised-and-fried tails. But Hill’s playful marriage of French precision and kitschy whimsy, epitomised at dessert by a puffy île flottante rising from a pool of custard, extends democratically to a far broader line-up of proteins. The hollow bone peeking out from the crust of a deeply savoury snail and ox tongue pie, for instance, releases a flood of sauce foyot, while a potato salad is dotted with briny bits of smoked eel. Choose a glass of something old-school French or new-wave Australian from the comprehensive wine list or grab a bottle from P&V Merchants downstairs, and prepare to – yup! – pig out.
Pledging allegiance to your local Thai restaurant is a Sydney tradition, but Porkfat is a compelling reason to sideline neighbourhood loyalty. Pork is an obvious must, especially unctuous jowl – edges caramelised, textured like Christmas ham and ready to be dipped in strikingly aromatic nahm jim. The same cut is used in exceptional green curry, which delivers as much coconut and galangal perfume as it does chilli heat. Devilishly spicy, brick-red Panang brisket curry presents a reason to order beyond pork, as does a visually striking deep-fried whole barramundi with three-flavour sauce. All the while, a sense of warmth is omnipresent within the split-level diner’s walls, each plate served with care as owner-chef Narin “Jack” Kulasai mans a flaming wok. Small, thoughtful touches such as hand-painted crockery and the option to BYO also play their part, confirming why this once locally loved secret is now a source of citywide pride.
Perhaps it’s time to venture off-piste at Quay. To veer away from the vast treasure trove of wines, for example, and be bowled over by the brilliant, booze-free purity of a clarified Tomato Consommé cocktail. Or to opt for the six-course vegetarian menu, where Peter Gilmore’s unflinching eye for exquisite produce really comes alive. Along the way, you might encounter a cube of incomparably bright golden beetroot buried in tapioca pearls, intensified by confit egg yolk and marigold. You may also grow convinced that the hand-rolled cavatelli doesn’t need bone marrow and mud crab to shine, just pinstriped peanuts, baby zucchini and sour koji butter. Even as you tread the path less travelled, the views still stop you in your tracks – as do the poolish crumpets and haunting White Coral dessert – and service from the plum young team remains resolutely professional. A seemingly immovable presence in the pantheon of Australia’s great restaurants.
Upper Level, Overseas Passenger Terminal, The Rocks
(02) 9251 5600
Price guide $$$$
Bookings Essential
Wheelchair access Yes
Open Lunch Sat-Sun; Dinner Wed-Sun
Saint Peter | Sydney
Josh and Julie Niland are pulling out all the stops at the newly relocated Saint Peter, a cloistered 40-seater at The Grand National Hotel. Coral trout bones are pressure-cooked to a sticky paste and rolled into matchstick-sized noodles that lie in a mug of warm, enveloping coral trout consommé. Big-eye tuna plays the part of beef in an exquisitely constructed Wellington. Caramel derived from Murray cod fat forms the centre of a smoked chocolate petit four. Indeed, dinner here is not so much nine courses for $275 as it is a succession of lessons in seafood’s endless potential, taught with dazzling grace and assurance. Those who’ve had the privilege of charting the restaurant’s evolution from the start will appreciate how far it has come, and while it may have once set its sights on being among the country’s best, it’s now clearly angling for something greater. Today, Australia. Tomorrow, the world.
Open Dinner Tues-Weds; Lunch and Dinner Thurs-Saturday
Sixpenny | Stanmore
Unhurried. That’s how Sixpenny rolls. It’s true of the pace at which flavours develop in the growing collection of ferments and preserves that line the back wall. True, too, of the eloquent explanations chefs and seasoned waitstaff offer with all seven courses. Dishes may appear restrained, but gripping complexities gradually come to light. Smoked crème fraîche, tomato miso and fermented strawberries invigorate an innocent-looking tomato tart in a wafery kombu shell. A brush of marron-coral butter made with an 11-month-old fermented fish paste draws incredible depth from a coal-licked marron, finished with bittersweet, satiny yellow-capsicum sauce. Even the dark, sticky vegetable jus beneath a slab of slow-roasted wagyu rump cap contains more dimensions than a Christopher Nolan plot line, seasoned with a yeast garum that holds nothing back. The recent addition of a sake pairing, meanwhile, is further evidence of quiet evolution. For such an un-shouty place, it sure generates a lot of noise.
There’s beauty in the in-between moments in this elegantly intimate dining room; the space around five courses allowing each plate to be appreciated and adored. Still-warm sourdough with saltbush butter, eucalyptus-tinged kangaroo pastrami and velvety chicken liver pâté spiked with muntries all hit harder with a wander around the organic and biodynamic farm where the ingredients grow. Glossy warrigal greens linguine with lemon myrtle and marigold tells the story of a deepening connection to country; first through regenerative farming, then with culinary director Kim Currie’s evolution in the kitchen, where a “chefs in residence” program includes First Nations chef Jack Brown (formerly of Printhie Dining) dishing up chicken ballotine with pepperberries and Davidson’s plum palate cleansers. If you can nab a daytime booking, long lunch is the play. The pledge to not to turn tables allows plenty of daylight to sip excellent Lowe Wines zinfandel and revel in one of the country’s best farm-to-table diners.
If you were Ursula, the namesake of husband-and-wife duo Phil Wood and Lis Davies’s corner-terrace bistro, you’d be chuffed as all hell. She’s undeniably chic. Elegant and intimate in equal measure. And certainly living up to a reputation for technique over tricks. Time-honoured classics dolled up for the now kick off with egg mayo sandwiches on brown-butter biscuits topped with glossy salmon roe. Warm nostalgia, rich and precise sauces abound. Pan-fried whiting with tangy eggplant arrives in harissa butter that’s the same ochre hue as the dining room carpet. Roast beef cooked to a deep, dark pink finds an unexpected pairing in a mushroom-and-macadamia XO sauce, while deconstructed lemon meringue pie gets its tang from passionfruit sorbet and fresh ruby grapefruit. Profound care is felt in every direction – from every pop of colour in the room to the gentle service and notable Australian ingredients both on the plate and in the glass. A triumph.
Whether $6 million can buy you happiness is debatable, but it has bought a new lease on life for the freshly renovated White Horse in Surry Hills. Gone are the vestiges of former pub days, supplanted by a soigné dining room and bar filled with eye-catching art and designer furniture. Despite the fancy set dressing, value reigns supreme on executive chef Jed Gerrard’s forward-thinking menu, which crackles with playfulness and fine-dining-level finesse. An improbably tight coil of beetroot ribbons makes for a brilliant “millefeuille” offset with muntries and native-thyme oil, while French toast and smoked maple syrup find compelling counterparts in seared veal tongue, green apple and karkalla. Adelaide Hills brie ice-cream flips the script at dessert, too, joined by quince jelly and sandalwood nuts. Cocktails are equally inventive, the 100-strong list of mindfully farmed wines well-priced and thought-through, and service under veteran Craig Hemmings hits all the marks. A high horse, indeed.
“Wow,” whispers a fellow diner, after downing a meltingly plush bonito nigiri dabbed with umeboshi paste. “This is insane,” her partner cries out later on, between spoonfuls of meringue-soft Hokkaido sea urchin and Kaluga caviar draped over impeccably cooked and vinegared rice. Visceral reactions like these aren’t uncommon at the 10 chairs along chef Ryuichi Yoshii’s opulent counter set-up, in a hushed corner of Crown Sydney. His rarefied sourcing powers and knife skills are obvious in a quick-fire succession of sushi that dazzles in every small bite, but the in-between moments are just as commanding. Whistle-clean strands of snow crab and ocean trout roe in a hollowed-out yuzu lull you into submission early, and if the soufflé-textured tamago doesn’t elicit your complete surrender, it’ll be the concluding chestnut Mont Blanc with sake-lees mousse. Booking ain’t easy, and neither is footing the bill, but can you put a value on such mastery?
