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.

From the buttery horrors of the early 2000s to the don’t call me Chardonnay era of overcompensation which left them thin and insipid. Chardonnay had more identity crises than a Melbourne uni student on exchange in Berlin.

Rhône roots, Yarra swagger. If you want to taste what modern Aussie Syrah should be doing, not trying to win arm-wrestling matches with Barossa Shiraz, this is it. No jammy bombast, no oak overkill and no need to shout.

Madam Pommy stands out as an affordable option for those who like their bubbles French and expensive. Lets face it, this cost of living crisis bites and occasionally, we have to ditch the posh stuff for something a little more fiscally approachable.

Taste on the Gold Coast is like sunscreen on a British backpacker. It is rarely seen and usually applied too late. This is a bar lounge hybrid, almost part Hemingway and part Hamptons. And somehow it works.

So next time someone offers you a neat pour of something special, ask if it has been fat-washed? If not, it’s just regular booze and you, my friend, deserve much better.