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The best regional wine lists in Australia aren’t trying to compete with the cities. They’re doing something else.Tighter. More local. More personal.

25hours Hotel The Olympia doesn’t try to recreate that exactly, but it does something close enough to matter, tapping into that same looseness and giving it structure again.

The menu reads familiar at first. Dumplings, barbecue, seafood, fried rice, the kind of ordering muscle memory Sydney diners know well, but it doesn’t lean on nostalgia in the way you expect.

It’s got the look of a New York chophouse and the confidence of a footy player in a suit jacket and tie.

Utterly light, bright and crucially, only 8% ABV. Which means Aunt Joan can stay merry, engaged and upright well past the prawns.

A cosy, nostalgic drinking hole that makes you feel like you’ve stumbled into someone’s gloriously curated living room. The sprawling verandah, communal tables, reclaimed jarrah and charcoal grills give it warmth without fuss.

The Little Plate might be bowing out after 13 years, but they’re definitely going out swinging. A splendid visit for a couple of hardened foodies who have very high expectations.

Just like the famous Mexican cactus juice that has had many of us cactus on the floor of a dive bar, the agave is harvested whole, cooked, crushed and allowed to ferment before being triple distilled.

In the glass, it’s all translucent ruby and quiet confidence. Aromatics of blackcurrant, red cherry, pomegranate and subtle undergrowth drift up like a well timed sigh. There’s a bit of char here, and some spice too, nutmeg and a flirt of clove but it’s woven in with such finesse you almost miss it.

Their 2024 Speedo Gris takes Pinot Gris by the hand, walks it into a lo-fi fermentation room and tells it to strip down and get dirty. Skin contact? Yes. Funk? Absolutely. A label that looks like a pool party got printed on an old photocopier? Of course.

This one struts in with confidence, is medium-bodied but it’s got a spring in its step. There’s lift, there’s poise, but don’t be fooled because it’s not here to make friends. The tannins are silky but know how to throw a punch, the acidity is razor sharp and the whole thing fits together like a custom blazer flung over a vintage band tee.

If Billy Button’s Saperavi were a person, it would be the wealthy emo trust fund kid you knew at school. It is mysterious, brooding and frankly too dark for a 2 pm tasting without some food, but here we are.

When you set out to create a fine dining version of street food, with a nod to a specific regional cuisine, you ha...e to get it right. From end to end, you are setting yourself up to be judged. Kolkata Cricket Club is a mix of triumphant innings but very poor work in the field from Mischa Tropp.

The space is airy, nay gallery like, but without the cold pretension. It's all natural light, soft timber, and a little sense of hush, the kind that makes your first bite feel like an event. Residence isn’t just a restaurant. It’s a living, breathing chef’s notebook in real time. It’s generous, it’s curious, and it’s got just enough arrogance to know it’s special without needing to shout about it.

The hours run blessedly late so whether you’re ending a big night, starting one or just chasing the soul healing crunch of a perfect Korean dumpling, May Q is your spicy little salvation in the City of Churches.

The man who helped define the city’s dining scene in the 2000s, gave it edge with The Smith, and heat with Lucy Liu has returned after a few quiet years up north, and he’s not here to warm the bench.

Perched beside the ghostly bones of the former Pentridge Prison, The Glass Den is part greenhouse and part minimalist fever dream. There are so many hanging plants it’s unclear whether they’re decorating or plotting something. Either way, they frame what might be the best brunch in the north

It may or may not be a rumour that I once mulled red wine in a hotel kettle and I don't regret a thing. It is turning cold, especially in the Southern states of Australia and while we reach for the slippers and the Oodie to keep us warm after a hard day's slog down the mines, we also need to think about the drink.

If wines were people, Harriet would be that enigmatic aunt who arrives unannounced, bearing tales of Tuscan lovers and a suitcase full of exotic spices.

Don’t bother arriving with a posse because this place isn’t built for brunch mobs or laptop loiterers, nor is it the haven of the pouty lipped influencer. It’s for those who appreciate the fine art of sitting still with a soft-boiled egg, anchovy-laced toast and something chilled in a stemmed glass.