Lottie in Sydney.
Enjoy top-notch plates, perfect pours, and Pacific air at these four spots, writes Alex Mitcheson.
Living on the Gold Coast, with the Northern Rivers and Brisbane close by, means a blessed existence in terms of hospitality: stellar regional diners, meticulous wine bars, and produce-driven cafes aplenty. But when I visit Sydney, there’s an occasion to witness some of the country’s best metropolitan restaurants and bars. Now, minus lockout laws and with more ardent talent than ever before, here are four venues I encourage first-timers and repeat travellers to add to their itineraries.
I can’t help but smile as my partner and I are shown to our table. Maybe it’s the laissez-faire swigging of wine most Saturday lunch-goers indulge in, but there’s an underlying air of excitement. As a Brit, I’ve been watching Rick Stein on television pan-frying turbot and shucking oysters since I was a child. On this autumn afternoon in a white-washed dining room with fading light, it feels as though the man himself is present in the kitchen. He’s not. However, the menu reads like a personal resume of Stein’s adventures over the years – Sri Lankan curry, Provençal soup, Singapore blue swimmer crab, and, of course, the peak of British things, Rick’s Fish and Chips.
There’s a lively yet steady energy at Coogee Beach, and a seafood-centric restaurant with a well-known name complements this accord perfectly. Beachgoers trooping to the sand and a beaming ribbon of ocean pull my attention from the menu more than once, but it’s not long before our first course arrives. I’ve chosen the oysters Charentaise, a distinctive French dish from the Atlantic west coast, where fresh oysters are served with spicy cooked sausage. Paired with an icy Hunter Valley semillon, the interplay between flavours, textures, and temperatures is dazzling.
My curiosity gets the better of me, and while the fish and chips are fantastic – particularly the mushy peas – Andrea’s roasted blue eye trevalla with hollandaise is a standout. How can steaming white flesh fish smothered in tangy, creamy butter sauce not be good? Afterwards, we cross Arden Street and settle on the grass in Goldstein Reserve as golden hour begins, while squally grey clouds gather out at sea, threatening to dampen everything. Maybe not so different from Stein’s beloved Cornwall after all.
It’s usually in big cities like Tokyo and New York that elevators whisk you to lofty heights where cocktails are served with a view. Off George Street and nearly 300 feet above the CBD, there’s an involuntary pause cum gasp when I step out into Dean & Nancy on 22. The immense floor-to-ceiling windows grab my attention straight away, before a grand staircase elevates me further into a huge bar space lined by banquettes and tables. Behind the black marble bar top, three young men in burgundy waistcoats are shaking cocktails while conversing with bar-top guests.
Our seats backing a window gives a front-row seat to the theatre of drinks coming together amid back-and-forth dialogue. One thing is immediately refreshing and apparent: the staff are certainly enjoying themselves. A 14-signature cocktail list, reading and looking a little like a horoscope, depicts drinks with names and accompanying images backed by everyday humour and a little theatre. I opt for the Cherry Tree Highball, where bourbon comes fused with Aperol, cacao and pomegranate tea. In a tall glass and shining electric red, there’s a discernible cherry-like flavour – even berry complexity – but not a single mention or inclusion of the small stone fruit.
My next drink is a Scottish single malt, rum, vermouth and custard blend. It’s cleverly luscious but not creamy. I can’t help but wonder, would it still taste this good if it weren’t served in a ceramic (takeaway) coffee cup? There’s a sudden commotion at the bar. Swirling bubbles fill the air from a small machine as two of the bartenders cheer each other on, shaking cocktail tins with vigour. It’s theatrical and eccentric. Almost everyone has stopped their conversations to watch and smile. Then comes an audible, “Excuse me – what is that they’re having?” from the table next to me.
Convince me otherwise, but a Saturday afternoon city rooftop is a beautiful thing. Situated atop one of Sydney’s most talked-about openings in the past year, to get there, Lottie cruelly makes you walk through the Eve Hotel lobby, and by the time you reach the elevator, if you’re like me, you’ll probably have your phone out checking for room availability. When the menu arrives, there are zero distractions, though, as I scour a menu that leans Mexican but comes laden with amazing Australian produce.
Dishes ordered, a Día Clara cocktail arrives, looking simple and elegant, with a single large clear ice cube and a sliver of watermelon. It’s deceiving, considering there is artisanal mezcal, fortified wine, oregano and raicilla – an agave spirit with more floral character than Tequila. There’s a disconnect between what I see – minimalism – and what my taste buds are telling me. A sensation you regularly don’t have when sipping a drink.
A light breeze keeps the palm fronds moving around the table, sending flickering light across a crab meat-topped scallop and a tuna tostada. The former is deliciously topped with green tomato and a pinch of spicy Tajin, while the latter crunches and hits with rich umami and piquant salsa brava. Next, a sticky, succulent pork jowl in cola mole with zesty pickled fennel is to finish, and a wide selection of wines by the glass means a zippy Austrian grüner veltliner cuts through it all. Tables come and go, but my waitress doesn’t miss a beat. While Redfern isn’t beachside, it’s neither the CBD nor a busy Eastern Suburbs locale; there’s a laid-back yet happening atmosphere. On the way to the bathroom, I come across the Hotel’s rooftop swimming pool – now I categorically want to stay.
Gliding up to Watsons Bay Hotel by ferry on a quiet, motionless afternoon feels cinematic, almost Bond-esque. By the time my partner, Andrea, and I arrive, the beer garden is already full of that easy harbour energy annexed from the rest of the city – sun on shoulders, half-full glasses splintering light, boats coming and going. It’s lively yet not brassy.
We settle at a table with a view of the water and order drinks. Andrea chooses a frosty glass of rosé, and I have a cold lager that vanishes quicker than expected. Around us, tables are dotted with seafood platters, oversized pizzas, and envy-inducing cocktails. “This is pretty hard to beat,” Andrea says, a surprise remark from a Sydneysider who hasn’t lived here for over a decade and rarely praises the city.
Lunch arrives in stages. First, salt and pepper squid – hot, crisp and just tangy enough with lemon to keep you reaching for more. Then crumbed fish tacos: golden crumbs that crack cleanly, revealing tender white fish underneath. The baked barramundi, resting in a glossy herb butter, looks deceptively simple but quickly steals attention. Fresh, vibrant, and perfectly suited to the setting.
What stands out most is how effortlessly the place wears its reputation. Watsons Bay Hotel could easily lean too much into its postcard-perfect setting and come off ostentatious. But somehow, miraculously, it doesn’t. The harbour is there, of course – sparkling and impossible to ignore – but sometimes, the ethos of doing simple things done well prevails.