The Best Places in Australia

The milk for the gelato comes from Messina's own Jersey herd on a Victorian farm, which is either charming or excessive depending on how seriously you take ice cream. This is the Marrickville flagship of Sydney's cult gelato chain, and it goes well beyond scoops: frozen tiramisu tarts, a chocolate cabinet full of artisan riffs on Iced VoVos and Wagon Wheels, and rotating specials with names like Robert Brownie Jr. sit alongside the pistachio praline regulars swear by.

Mazesoba is ramen's broth-free cousin, and Iiko brought the style to Sydney before anyone else bothered. The noodles arrive loaded with umami-heavy toppings, and bottles of chili oil and kombu vinegar sit on the table so you can keep adjusting until the bowl is exactly yours. The co-owner studied noodle-making in Osaka, and it shows in the depth of a dish that doesn't need soup to feel complete. A noodle shop worth squeezing into on Hay Street.

Jonathan Barthelmess, whose Apollo has been packing rooms in Sydney for years, opened this Greek dining room in Redfern's Wunderlich Lane with the same gift for making a space feel like somewhere everyone already knows. The spanakopita makes the rounds at nearly every table, and the prasopita, a flaky spiral with four melted cheeses, is what your neighbor ordered first. Spanakopita and charred octopus are the things to know.

Spring rolls that pull weekend queues to a Vietnamese restaurant tucked into Cabramatta are worth understanding. The crunch comes from a style of rice paper that's genuinely hard to source, producing a shell that's thick, glossy, and audibly crisp in a way most versions never manage. The kitchen traces its lineage back to the neighborhood's landmark Thanh Binh, and that pedigree shows in the cooking. Food writer Andrew Levins has called the spring rolls the finest in the country.

The milk buns here come stuffed with American cheddar, egg, and potato hash, finished with a dill-heavy riff on Big Mac sauce, which tells you exactly where this bread shoppe's head is at. Hoagies on house-baked ciabatta, a four-cheese toastie loaded with mushrooms and smoked salt, and a halal-friendly meat selection keep the queue moving through Jubilee Avenue. Carbs as a serious vocation, dressed as a casual sandwich stop.

The Soulmate Bae roll comes stuffed with house-made sambal, herb mayo, and Red Leicester because one co-owner's grandmother kept it in the fridge, and that's the kind of detail that tells you everything. This Newtown brunch spot runs on toasties and morning rolls with just enough left-field thinking to keep the menu interesting. Staff move at a clip, and the takeaway line stays honest.

Shunde, a Cantonese city with UNESCO gastronomy status, doesn't get much representation in Sydney, which is what makes this Hurstville restaurant worth knowing. The menu leans into dishes you won't find on every dim sum trolley, including fried milk, which arrives either savory with fish cakes and roe or sweet with mango, and fried milk rolls that land somewhere between a spring roll and a cannoli.

The lamington, Australia's beloved chocolate-coconut sponge, gets a full reimagining at this specialty cake shop in Newtown. The original comes with raspberry jam and carries a quietly personal backstory, but the fairy bread version, popcorn buttercream and all, is the one that stops people mid-sentence. Yuzu meringue and black sesame round out a menu that treats a childhood staple with enough seriousness to make that feel completely reasonable.

The wild yeasts here come from flowers collected across New South Wales, which the brewer describes as something like collecting dreams. Wildflower is a craft brewery and taproom in Marrickville's industrial brewing corridor, where the beers taste deeply local because they are, down to the plum varietals. The grilled Jersey cheese from a nearby dairy is reason enough to eat, and the collaborators propping up the menu read like a who's who of Sydney's food scene.

The dough here starts with single-heritage emmer wheat grown up north and ferments for three days before it sees fire, which is a longer backstory than most pizzas get. Westwood is a pizza shop in Newtown where the team sources everything, salami, vegetables, cheese, honey, and the timber in the oven, from within New South Wales. It reads like a provenance exercise but eats like a neighbourhood pizza night.

The awarma and egg pizza here tells a small family history: confit lamb preserved through Lebanese winters, combined with a daughter's preference for sunny-side-up eggs, folded into a man'oushe. This old-school Lebanese flatbread house in Guildford has been around forever, and the menu has grown to include things like a haloumi spring roll wrapped in deep-fried phyllo with za'atar, which is either an identity crisis or a perfectly reasonable Tuesday lunch.

Tucked into a laneway between downtown Sydney and Surry Hills, Alberto's Lounge is a late-night wine bar that has made a home in a stretch of city the city forgot, all carparks and gloomy office blocks. The room fills fast, queues forming by six on Fridays, so a booking is less optional than it sounds. Walk-ins aren't turned away, but patience helps. The kind of place you stay longer than planned.

The centrepiece is a long juniper-blue bar that keeps your eyes on the bartenders and nowhere else, which is exactly the point. Eileen's is the Sydney cocktail bar from Australian gin brand Four Pillars, and it sidesteps the usual branded-venue trap of feeling like a pop-up in disguise. The room is minimal and deliberate, the drinks list built around their own spirits. Expect gin in most of its forms, done with more care than novelty.

A bar built around a bottling operation is an unusual anchor, but PS40 commits: the house sodas, made from local ingredients with no preservatives, drive the whole menu. The bush tonic alone runs through Peruvian cinchona bark, lemon myrtle, and native lemongrass. Cocktails pair those sodas with equally niche spirits, and the list reads like a festival lineup. Find the entrance down Skittle Lane, which feels about right.

A basement at the end of an alley off Clarence Street, the kind of door you'd walk past twice before finding. Inside, 456 bottles of mostly single malts climb a seven-tier back-bar that basically functions as wallpaper. It's a whisky-forward cocktail bar, serious without being solemn, and the queue outside on any given night suggests the city has quietly figured out where the door is.

There's no menu at The Everleigh, just a bartender who asks what you're drinking and means it. This upstairs cocktail bar on Gertrude Street runs on hand-cracked ice, fresh juice, and the kind of unhurried service that makes you feel like someone's actually paying attention. The team came up through Milk & Honey in New York, and the influence shows, with the rigidity quietly left behind on another continent.

A basement steakhouse beneath Sydney's CBD, The Gidley feels like a very good secret: dark timber, velvet banquettes, polished brass, and low light that flatters everyone equally. Dry-aged Australian beef goes over an ironbark and charcoal grill with the kind of restraint that lets the meat do the talking. The wine list leans into serious Australian regions alongside European classics. It ranks among the World's 101 Best Steak Restaurants.

The glass-walled dry-ageing chambers aren't decoration; they're the thesis statement. Victor Churchill is a steakhouse-meets-butcher-shop in Armadale where premium Australian beef is aged, cut, and grilled with the kind of restraint that lets the meat do the talking. The amber-lit interior runs to polished timber and bronze detailing, and it lands on the World's Best Steak Restaurants list. The wine programme skews deep and serious.

Bistecca alla Fiorentina, one cut, one fire, no negotiating the menu. This Tuscan steakhouse tucked along Dalley Street runs on dry-aged Australian beef over ironbark and charcoal, in a brick-ceilinged room lit mostly by the glow of the grill. It landed on the World's Best Steak Restaurants list, and the stripped-back conviction of the place makes that easy to believe. The pace slows the moment you sit down, which is either the point or the warning, depending on your evening.

Marble counters, brass fittings, and a wood-fired grill visible from the dining room set the tone on Flinders Lane. This is an Italian-leaning steakhouse where Australian beef, aged both wet and dry, meets open fire with a lot of restraint and very little fuss. The room manages glamorous without stiff, and the service follows the same instinct. It landed on the World's Best Steak Restaurants list, which tells you the kitchen is serious about the meat programme.

The open grill at the center of the room sets the agenda here: this is a flame-led steakhouse inside a Western Sydney club, and Dany Karam runs it with the kind of seriousness that earns a spot on the World's 101 Best Steak Restaurants list. The kitchen dry-ages beef with patience, has access to whole-carcass Wagyu, and doesn't pretend the grill is the only idea. The copper-and-marble room seats six meters high but still reads warm.

A basement steakhouse on Little Collins Street, lit by the glow of a custom-built ironbark-fired smoker and a grill that does most of the talking. The kitchen dry- and wet-ages Australian cuts before they meet the fire, so the flavour has been building long before service starts. It ranked 81st on the World's Best Steak Restaurants list, which feels about right for a room that's industrial without trying too hard about it.

Marble surfaces, pale timber, and enough natural light to make Brisbane's notorious heat feel intentional set the tone at this modern Australian steakhouse inside The Calile Hotel. The wood-fired grill handles both dry- and wet-aged beef with restraint, while oysters and seafood sit alongside the meat as equals rather than afterthoughts. It ranked 77th on the World's Best Steak Restaurants list, which gives you a sense of the room's ambitions.

Sandstone walls from The Rocks surround this wood-fired steakhouse, which lands at number 93 on the World's Best Steak Restaurants list. Australian beef is aged wet and dry before meeting the grill, where the kitchen uses flame for depth rather than theatre. The room runs to timber, leather, and warm lighting, serious enough to feel like an occasion without making you straighten your back. The kind of place that suits regulars and visitors equally well.

The roasters are right there, visible from the espresso bar, which gives this sprawling industrial warehouse on Graham Street a refreshingly honest energy. Vertue is a coffee roaster that also happens to welcome you in, so the single origins and house blends you're drinking were likely roasted a few metres away. A low-key spot favoured by people with laptops and a serious interest in what's in their cup.

Scarlet velvet curtains frame the main bar like a stage set, which is either a bold choice or a perfectly accurate one, given the theatrics of serious cocktail-making. This is a cocktail bar spread over three floors, with the ground level doing most of the heavy lifting. The name nods to the year the word cocktail was first defined in print, so the whole room is a love letter to the form. Vintage shakers, period details, but no stuffiness.

A cocktail bar in Darlinghurst where the drinks arrive with a bit of performance baked in, not just poured. The menu moves between classics and quietly tweaked versions of classics, the kind of place where the bartender knows why a recipe changed in 1947 and will tell you if you ask. A devoted local crowd has kept it busy for years, which is its own kind of argument.

Dark red banquettes, ceiling fans, black-and-white photos on the walls, and a vintage football table set the tone at this elegantly retro cocktail bar above Porteño in Surry Hills. Named for tango legend Carlos Gardel, it leans hard into its Argentine identity with a six-page all-Argentine wine list, more than twenty available by the glass. Bar snacks keep things light if the asado downstairs feels like a commitment.

Velvet in every direction and a semi-covered terrace that lets you smoke while pretending you're in Manhattan: Hemmesphere is a cocktail bar that has been setting the Sydney standard since before most of its regulars knew what a coupe glass was. It started as a members-only room, dropped the velvet rope without dropping the velvet, and now just lets anyone in to enjoy well-made drinks and the kind of room that makes you order a second.

A spiral staircase drops you into a basement rum bar done up with faded wallpaper, plantation chairs, and tropical plants, all of it named for Julio Lobo, the sugar king of Havana who lost everything to Castro. The CBD address is quietly absurd, tucked next to an unassuming Chinese restaurant on Clarence Street, but downstairs the Caribbean fantasy holds. The list leans deep into rum, and the room rewards lingering.

Red velvet curtains and Victorian mahogany panelling inside what was once a Greek restaurant: LOW 302 is a Darlinghurst neighbourhood bar that layers its charm on thick without feeling like it's trying. Local bands play a few nights a week, craft beers and a short cocktail list cover the classics, and the scavenged furniture gives the whole room the feeling of a very well-curated skip.

A 4am license is already reason enough, but Palmer and Co earns it. Tucked into an arched brick basement down a back alley, this Prohibition-era cocktail bar from the Merivale group goes all-in on the speakeasy concept: floor mosaics, period glassware, aged mirrors, and enough taxidermy to make the late Mr. Palmer feel at home. The kind of place where staying until closing time is less a decision than a natural consequence.

A cocktail bar in Potts Point where the menu leans on classic riffs and the room leans on black leather, cabinets of cocktail ephemera, and a rock 'n' roll soundtrack. Liquid nitrogen turns up in a few of the drinks, including a martini shaken with the cold stuff. The nitrogen trolley that once made tableside rounds now sits marooned in the middle of the room, a victim of local legislation, which is perhaps the most interesting piece of bar furniture in Sydney.

A cocktail bar on level three of a Bourke Street building, reached by a creaky elevator that fits seven at a push and opens onto a room dressed in full garden-party drag: wicker, pastel, and waitstaff in tennis whites. The drinks lean fruity and come in jugs, which is either charming or a warning depending on your afternoon. Melbourne's day-drinking set has been making the ascent for a long time.