Conversation with a chef

Reaching 350 episodes feels a little surreal, and I couldn't think of a better guest to mark the moment than someone I've spoken to before and genuinely admire. Sitting down again with Ian Ho at Yum Sing House reminded me why I love these conversations so much. Ian is one of those chefs who gives generously with his time, his stories, and his honesty and this time around, we went deeper than ever into the mindset behind the craft. In our first chat, we talked about food, creativity, and the energy of a busy kitchen. This time, we explored the inner workings of a chef's psyche: how Ian navigates pressure, how he's learning to draw boundaries, and how he's growing his style of leadership while stepping into an already established team. He spoke openly about adapting to a new kitchen, finding his rhythm, and learning to let go of the things that don't matter. We also talked about nostalgia, collaboration, and the evolution of Yum Sing House's menu, including the radish cake he's transformed from a humble staple into something personal and expressive. Ian's reflections on creativity, constraint, and identity in food were thoughtful and grounded, and they made this milestone episode feel especially meaningful.

I visited Spaghetti Club just as everything was arriving. There were boxes everywhere, glasses and pots still wrapped, that slightly frantic but very exciting feeling of something about to begin. It already felt warm and full of personality, even mid unpacking. I sat down with head chef Michael Flemming to talk about what's taking shape here: cooking over fire, handmade pasta, Italian family rituals, and the road that's brought him to this opening. This is a conversation about food, internal pressure, leadership, as well as about trying to recreate the feeling of sitting around Nonno and Nonna's table on a Monday night. Michael told me this was the first time he had done a chat like this and I think you'll agree, he's an absolute natural: easy, generous, and with a great radio voice to match.

When I first came across Raffaele Pelligra on Instagram, what struck me was his honesty. He was travelling, cooking, thinking deeply, asking questions, and sharing what he was learning and I really wanted to hear more. Now, I love a pull quote, those gems where people reveal their passion in such a perfect way. Honestly, every second sentence felt like gold in this chat, the kind you screenshot and save because it captures something bigger than food. Raffa had a lot to say about culture, creativity, community, and what it means to learn by doing. At one point, he asked me why I'd invited him onto the podcast at all. He said, “I'm not trained as a chef. I'm not a sous chef or a head chef.” And that is exactly why I wanted him here. This conversation isn't about titles or hierarchy, it's about perspective. It's about what happens when you approach food as a traveller, a listener, and a human being who genuinely wants to understand where flavours come from and what food can do beyond the plate. This chat is a refreshing one. It's about Sicily and Melbourne, tradition and fusion, adrenaline and meditation, stress and flow. It's about learning in kitchens, markets, family homes halfway across the world and it's about being open enough to change your mind along the way. Raffa is a young Sicilian traveller who loves to cook, and who is still very much becoming who he's going to be. And I think that makes this conversation especially worth listening to.

From growing up in Port Melbourne, cooking alongside his Greek mother, to working across kitchens in Athens, France and Australia, Alex Meimetis's story has been shaped by movement, patience and an unwavering love of food. It's a story about learning by watching, earning trust over time, and understanding that leadership, especially in a kitchen, isn't something you announce, it's something you show. Now heading up Koi Toy, set within one of Victoria's most historically complex sites, Pentridge Shopping Centre, Alex cooks in a way that reflects that path. We talked about learning on the job, moving between cultures and cuisines, bringing a team together, and the happiness that comes from creating something and seeing someone else enjoy it.

People often ask me what my favourite conversation with a chef has been, and I usually say that I don't have one. I love them all. Everyone has a story to tell, and I feel genuinely privileged to be able to hear and share those stories, which makes it hard to single one out. But sometimes a conversation lingers. Sitting inside Greasy Zoes in Hurstbridge, after that gentle shift from city to rolling hills, it became clear. What Zoe Birch and her partner, Lachlan have created here, with intention, conviction, and deep connection to place, people, and produce is the result of years of quiet confidence and commitment. This was a glorious conversation about choosing risk, staying small, cooking honestly, and building a life that makes sense. And now if you ask me what my favourite conversation has been, I have an answer: Zoe Birch.

I went in for lunch at Little Black Pig and Sons before talking with David Lakhi, head chef and co-owner. After lunch we sat down in the inky and acoustically excellent dining room out the back, its walls hung with my favourite Klimt paintings. David has been cooking in Heidelberg for nine years now, quietly building a restaurant founded on seasonality, restraint, and a deep respect for cooking from the land. His work draws on Italian cucina povera, shaped by how he grew up eating, what he learned in the Italian kitchens that trained him, and the way he cooks now. It's deliberate, thoughtful, and grounded in care for produce, craft, and the people who come through the door. This was such an enjoyable conversation, and it is easy to see why Little Black Pig and Sons holds such a fierce place in the hearts of the diners that have eaten there.

I finally caught up with Chef Morris Danzen Catanghal at a Boodle Brunch during the Melbourne Food & Wine Festival, after circling this conversation for months. A boodle brunch is based on a traditional Filipino way of eating: food laid out generously on banana leaves, eaten together, by hand. It's casual, communal, and built around connection rather than ceremony, and for Morris, it's a reflection of how he grew up eating. The brunch was also a collaboration with Filipino food content creator Abi Marquez, for whom the day marked a personal milestone; her first time cooking service in a professional restaurant kitchen. Morris was clearly proud to be part of that moment, guiding her through the intensity of cooking for a room full of people while watching her passion translate from screen to service. The food stayed true to its Filipino roots, with gentle nods to Australian produce, making the whole experience feel generous and thoughtful. Morris moves between kitchens and cultures with ease. He cooks modern Italian at Buono in Parkdale, while CMD Supper Club gives him the freedom to explore Filipino flavours, techniques and stories on his own terms. Talking to Morris at the end of the service, what came through most clearly was his gentleness and generosity as well as a genuine pleasure in cooking for and alongside others. Now, I do just need to say I chatted to Morris while the café was being packed up, so there's tables being dragged across the floor, and excited post-event chatter and occasional shrieks. So it's absolutely real and you are now very much a part of it!

#343 Abi Marquez | Lumpia Queen by Jo Rittey

After a few years working across Australia, Asia and London, Maltese chef Jonathan Brincat went back home to Malta to cook his own food, his own way. He opened Noni in Valletta, a restaurant built on the flavours he grew up with and refined through years in other kitchens. Six years on, it holds a Michelin star. Noni is about Maltese food, but not as you might expect. Dishes that start with memory and familiarity are reworked with technique and precision. The flavour stays front and centre. The rest follows. Jonathan is in Melbourne for the Food and Wine Festival, bringing a version of Noni to Maha using Australian produce. It's the first time a Maltese chef has been part of the global series, and a chance to put Malta, and his take on it, on the table here.

Elias Salomonsson is firmly at the helm of Circl, continuing to shape a kitchen that leans Nordic in philosophy but grounded in Australian produce. I've spoken to Elias before here and this time, he's joined by Derek Kim, former head chef of Tetsuya's and now leading the kitchen at Garaku, part of Prefecture 48 in Sydney. Derek's cooking carries the precision and discipline of Japanese technique, shaped by years in one of Australia's most exacting kitchens. Together, for the Melbourne Food and Wine Festival, they're not trying to meet in the middle. This is a side-by-side conversation. Scandinavian restraint alongside Japanese structure, both anchored in produce, both underpinned by a shared belief that kitchens work best when the people in them do too. It's less about fusion and more about flow. Two distinct voices, one menu that moves between them.

Sam Field is head chef at Molly Rose Brewing in Collingwood, but his way into kitchens started much earlier as a 13-year-old kitchen porter in England, working after school and learning by watching. Since then he has cooked in pubs, fine dining venues, cafés and now one of Melbourne's more interesting brewery kitchens, where the menu leans European by way of local produce and very drinkable beer. Sam is thoughtful about kitchens, about the culture inside them as much as the food that comes out. He still carries the discipline of fine dining, even if these days it shows up in something as deceptively simple as a very well considered schnitzel.

George Calombaris is back in Melbourne with Auto Greek, a pop-up at Bar Yarra in the Ovolo Hotel in South Yarra. A week in, the room is full of familiar faces and new ones too. For George, the project feels a little like bringing the band back together. In this conversation he reflects on nearly three decades in hospitality and what he still believes Melbourne can be as a food city. He also talks about the food itself. Neo-classic Greek cooking that is simple, generous and deeply personal. Think watermelon with feta, lamb chops over wood fire and vegetables grown from heirloom seeds. George is thoughtful, philosophical and still completely animated by the power of a good plate of food to make people happy.

Axel Archenti arrived at Bottega in 2017 on a working holiday visa and never left. He broke down three goats at his trial, worked his way through the kitchen, and became head chef in 2023. It's his first head chef role, and he has embraced it. Axel cooks Italian food with an Australian accent, celebrating local produce and native ingredients. The menu is seasonal, but ever evolving, practical, and grounded in the reality of a busy dining room that fills fast before curtain-up at the nearby theatres. Axel talks thoughtfully about simplicity, about knowing when not to experiment, and about building a kitchen culture where people actually like coming to work. This was a generous conversation, and I loved every minute of it.

Hospitality is a team sport. You feel it most on a busy service, when everyone's tired, slightly wired, and relying on each other to get through the shift. Jean Baptiste Dumas, JB to his friends knows that world well. He worked at France Soir for years, and noticed something familiar: the same people who thrive in service also light up around sport. In 2019, he turned that overlap into something practical. A five-a-side soccer tournament for hospitality venues. It began as a kick about in a Melbourne park. It's now the Hospitality Cup, with tournaments across Australia and the US. The Hospitality Cup has united teams from some of Australia's most iconic venues and groups, including Rae's, Icebergs, Aria, Merivale, the Scott Pickett Group, Attica, DOC Pizza, Freddie's Pizza and the Reymond Group.

I love getting to check back in with someone I've spoken to a few years on. When I last spoke to Aidan Robinson from Chic de Partie Cake Couturier in 2022, he was figuring out life after Dinner by Heston. Now his cakes have found their way to Lady Gaga, Chappell Roan and Yungblud, yet the operation is still just him, a spreadsheet and beautiful buttercream. We talk about what the in-between years actually looked like: three-day bakes, clients who want childhood memories encapsulated in cake, and why fondant superheroes are a firm no. There's also the unglamorous side: rising food costs, Valentine's Day roulette, and literally doing everything on your own. It's a relaxed catch up about craft, taste and the reality behind the polish.

I sat down with Aitor Jeronimo Orive, who's in Melbourne right now for a pop-up at Nobody's Baby in South Yarra. He was born in Madrid, raised in Australia, trained in Valencia, and went on to work in Michelin-starred kitchens in Spain, the Basque Country, London including Nerua, Mugaritz, and The Fat Duck before running his own one-star restaurant in Singapore, Basque Kitchen by Aitor. His cooking is grounded in Basque home food: charcoal, seafood, stews, big cuts of meat, and that's what he's cooking here. We talked about growing up between countries, his family's cooking, life in high-pressure kitchens, and what brought him back to Melbourne.

Nick Deligiannis and I last spoke almost three years ago at Audrey's in Sorrento, in the thick of summer service and seafood season. Now he's at Bar Sophia in Glen Iris, a Greek wine bar built around one key limitation that's also its best feature: a woodfire oven and no stoves. We talk about how that shapes everything, from menu thinking to prep discipline, plus his recent time in Greece, the Athens Riviera influence, and his focus on simple food finished with bold dressings, freshness and acidity, including house-made halloumi made from scratch each week.

Ben John is the chef behind BistroX at The StandardX in Fitzroy. He trained in Aotearoa New Zealand, came up through some of Naarm's most exacting kitchens, and has led teams at places where standards are high and pressure is constant. At BistroX, he's building something deliberately more relaxed: a neighbourhood bistro inside a hotel that doesn't really feel like a hotel at all. We talk about suppliers and seasons, teaching young chefs properly, breaking down whole animals, and what leadership looks like now compared with when he was coming up. We also talk about balance, longevity, and how to stay generous in a demanding industry. I really enjoyed this conversation. Ben is thoughtful, grounded and deeply committed to the craft.

It's been a few years since I last saw Punit, back when Elichi was still open in Black Rock and the world and hospitality felt very different. In the time since, he's lived what feels like several careers' worth of experience: closing a restaurant, cooking through lockdown with his family, stepping into senior hotel roles, winning AHA Chef of the Year last year, and quietly building the foundations for something deeply personal. That something is Bombay Meri Jaan, Punit's Richmond restaurant and love letter to Mumbai. Not the shorthand version of Indian food most of us think we know, but a layered, regional, memory-driven expression of western Indian cooking shaped by coastal spices, street snacks, family recipes, and the rhythms of a city that never stops moving. In this conversation, Punit talks about slowing down, learning when to step back, and what it means to cook food that actually reflects who you are. We cover hotel kitchens and home cooking, leadership and letting go, butter chicken (of course), and why some of the most important dishes are the ones tied to trains, fishermen, and late-night streets.

I first spoke to Esca Khoo a few years ago. Since then, he's travelled, cooked and learned his way across Southeast Asia. What's stayed constant is his generosity and the size of his heart, something that shows up as much in the way he runs a kitchen as in the food he cooks. Now he's back in Melbourne, leading the kitchen at Tyga on Koornang Road in Carnegie. I came to the opening, and could not wait to go back, largely because I couldn't stop thinking about the wood-fired bone marrow with crab sambal and roti. This conversation picks up where the last one left off and I loved it every bit as much as I loved the first.

Moondrop has only just opened, but it already knows exactly who it is: a Shanghai-1920s fever dream on Gertrude Street, all low light, Mahjong tiles and jazz-era swagger, it's the kind of bar that looks effortless. Of course, it isn't. When a venue with a big past goes dark, it leaves behind more than a fitted-out bar. It leaves pressure. The easy move is to inherit the room and keep moving. Chef Jacob Muoio along with co-owners, Steve Chan and Jesse Kourmouzis chose the harder option with the space that was previously The Everleigh: strip it back, repaint the mood, and refuse to wear someone else's suit. That's where this conversation starts, before moving quickly into the good stuff: cocktails built on fabulous puns and excellent balance, food designed to keep you drinking happily past midnight, and a working philosophy that favours calm, curiosity and not being a dick. Jacob talks about learning Chinese ingredients in real time, juggling Sleepy's and Moondrop, and raising a young family alongside opening a new bar.

What happens when a chef wanders off the line and into biotechnology? In George Peppou's case, you get Vow, a company growing meat in a new way, not instead of animals, but with far fewer of them. Cultured meat starts with a tiny sample of animal cells, nurtured in a stainless-steel tank the way yeast is nurtured into bread or grapes into wine. Feed those cells well, let them multiply into muscle, fat and connective tissue, and in a matter of weeks you have meat without needing to raise whole flocks or herds. It opens questions most of us have never had to ask. What if meat could be produced with less land, less resource intensity, and a fraction of the animals? What if foie gras could be indulgent without the ethical weight? What if the future of meat is less about taking something away, and more about curiosity, flavour and abundance? George is chasing a future where meat is abundant, sustainable, and joy-giving. I wanted to know how he got here, what it all means, and what it looks like on the plate.

I sat down with Culinary Creative Director Michael Stolley and Head Chef Hung Hoa Duong at Disuko, the new terracotta-glowing, disco-ball-speckled takeover of the old Madame Brussels space. Michael is the big-picture force, the one thinking in concepts, mood, music and menus, while Hoa brings a grounded precision shaped by Nobu, Kisumé and a long, steady engagement with Japanese technique. Together they've built a venue where omakase discipline meets Shibuya-fun dining, where a fillet-o-ebi sando with prawn katsu, tartare, and American cheese sits happily alongside chicken wings painted in black garlic schmaltz and an udon carbonara. They're honest about the grind, the joy, the burnout and the strange compulsion that keeps chefs in kitchens long after logic tells them to leave.

There's something genuinely uplifting about sitting down with someone who's spent over forty years in hospitality and still lights up when they talk about food. That's Darryl Hand. He's been in kitchens since the days of Hilton Melbourne's grand dining rooms in the '80s, cooked for queens and rock stars, and seen hotel dining evolve from silver service to share plates and open kitchens. But what's most striking is that he still exudes pure, uncomplicated joy when he talks about cooking. He's the Executive Chef overseeing not one but two new hotels in the heart of Melbourne: Hotel Indigo and Holiday Inn on Little Collins and yet he is still the guy who gets excited about discovering a different kind of prawn in Sicily and wishing we could get them here.

Francesca Giorgi Monfort didn't set out to become Melbourne's most interesting pie maker. The Swiss-born chef's path has been anything but straightforward: from PR and art galleries in London to restaurant management in Europe, and finally to the kitchen where she found her true calling. After working at Farmer's Daughters, Marion and heading the kitchen at Noisy Ritual, Fran decided to do things her own way. What began as an experiment with puff pastry has become Frankie's Pie Shop, a cult favourite at the Carlton Farmers' Market known for pies with personality. Her cauliflower cheese pie, inspired by a Tesco recipe but elevated with charred vegetables and proper technique, is a perfect example of her ethos: simple done brilliantly. For now, she's beginning a residency at Superette on Sydney Road in Brunswick, selling two flavours of pies and two sausage rolls every day. I met Fran at Superette and am especially grateful for her patience. It was my first video podcast, and she couldn't have been more generous as we talked about pastry that gets more rest than she does, the quiet resilience behind Frankie's, and her belief that vegetarian pies can, and should, be far more than vegetable stew.

Sincero in Malvern is the second restaurant from chef Mirco Speri and the team behind Buono in Parkdale. While Buono captures the easy warmth of a bayside trattoria, Sincero brings a quieter confidence to Glenferrie Road. Open since April 2024, it's already known for what Mirco calls Italian my way: familiar flavours, local produce, and the occasional twist; like seaweed inguine with Moreton Bay bugs and blood orange jelly. Mirco has spent three decades cooking around the world, from Michelin-starred kitchens in Europe to Melbourne's evolving dining scene. At Sincero, that experience shows in food that feels both grounded and instinctive. He's not chasing trends or nostalgia; he's cooking with sincerity, curiosity, and the kind of calm assurance that only comes from doing something you truly love. buymeacoffee.com/conversationwithachef

Today I'm chatting with Anuj Sanghi, who's opened Bar Mercado on Peel Street, right across from the Queen Victoria Market. The name Mercado means “market” in Spanish, and that's really the heart of what Anuj has created, a place for people to gather, share food, drink, stories, and cultures. Every morning he walks over to the market to hand-pick his produce, chatting with the traders and letting what he finds inspire the day's menu. The food at Bar Mercado is a vibrant mix of South American, Spanish and Latin flavours; think wood-fired chorizo with chimichurri, oysters with chilli and lime granita, slow-cooked lamb sandwiches and churros with dark chocolate. It's not fine dining, but you can feel the finesse of someone who's worked at places like Maha, Rockpool and Entrecôte. Anuj moved from Delhi to Melbourne to study at Le Cordon Bleu and never looked back. We talked about how his mum inspired his love of food, what he's learned from his mentors, and how he's building something that feels like community.

Atta in Albert Park has quietly and confidently become one of Melbourne's most enduring modern Indian restaurants. It's been ten years since it opened, which is no small feat in this city, and behind it all is chef and owner Harry Dhanjal. Harry has spent that decade redefining how we think about Indian cuisine, balancing innovation and tradition, respecting the roots of each dish while bringing them to life in a contemporary, elegant way. Atta isn't fusion, as Harry says, it's modern Indian: thoughtful, beautiful, and deeply grounded in flavour and culture. We talked about the early days of Atta and what it took to get people to see Indian food differently, the fine line between innovation and tradition, and why for Harry, being a chef is as much about discipline and joy as it is about technique.

When I walked into Aegli in South Melbourne, the first thing I noticed was the light: soft, golden, everywhere. Then I met Ioannis Kasidokostas, and it makes even more sense. Aegli was a goddess, Yanni tells me: elegant, dazzling, radiant, and that's exactly what he's built here. The space, the food, the feeling. Yanni doesn't see hospitality as a job. He calls it a culture. It's about philoxenia, the Greek art of making a stranger feel like they've come home. It's there in how he talks about his team, the way he refuses to rush a service, and the stories woven through every dish. We talked about patience, trust, and what it means to build something that glows from the inside out. We talked about a raw prawn and nectarine dish that started as a lesson from his fisherman grandfather, a 90-day kopanisti that's worth the wait, and a philosophy that Greek cuisine doesn't need to reinvent itself, it just needs to remember where it came from. Aegli means light, but it's also warmth. And I think that's exactly what Yanni is serving. This was a wonderful conversation and I feel all the better for having met Yanni and chatted with him.

Today I'm chatting with Rachel Miyazaki from Niji Sweets. If you've walked through Queen Vic Market lately, you might have stopped in your tracks at a stall that looks more like a jewellery counter than a lolly stand: trays of shimmering kohakutou, those jewel-like Japanese sweets that catch the light and your imagination all at once. Rachel trained as a pastry chef, working everywhere from LuxBite to Marvel Stadium, but with Niji Sweets she and her friend Yiying are doing something entirely different. We talked about how a childhood love of baking, a detour through computer studies, and a trip to Japan all converged on these edible crystals. From the patient, days-long process of crystallising agar to the thrill of seeing someone's face light up when they bite through that crunchy shell into soft jelly, Rachel is bringing something rare and beautiful to Melbourne and I am very happy to have had the opportunity to sit down with her and hear all about it.

When Luke's Bánh Mì opened in the CBD, the response was extraordinary. Queues ran down Little Bourke Street, and more than 1,200 bánh mì were sold that first day. In fact, customers were averaging two or three each, so the real number was far higher. I went to the preview and then couldn't resist coming back the very next day just to see it all unfold. I even filmed the line, and for the first time ever, something I posted went viral. But the real story is bigger than one opening. Luke Vu is a third-generation Vietnamese baker whose journey began in his family's bakery in Ho Chi Minh City, with memories of wood-fired bread and early morning deliveries on his bike. After moving to Melbourne and completing a university degree, Luke still couldn't shake the pull of the bakery. The lure of bread, pâté and pickles was too strong, and he soon set up his own shop, first in Reservoir, then in Moonee Ponds and South Melbourne, where the bánh mì quickly became local fixtures. That history, and the hard work behind every detail, made the leap into the city all the more powerful.

Collingwood has no shortage of bars, but Babines stands out, thanks to the two Juliens behind it, Julien Pascal and Julien Wurtlin. When I first ducked in not long after they opened a year and a half ago (on the recommendation of a French friend, naturally), I was hooked: the cocktails, the anchovy toasts, the way the place already felt like it belonged. Since then, the pair have kept shaping and reshaping the space themselves into something great; renovations, late nights, a little trial and error. What started as a cocktail bar has grown into a neighbourhood dining room, where you can order salt cod fritters with that sharp little Caribbean sauce, or a Victorian hanger steak that rivals anything in France. The drinks list shifts with the seasons, equal parts French roots and Melbourne edge, and the late-night kitchen has made Babines a magnet for the industry crowd. I sat down with both Juliens to hear how they pulled it off: the DIY headaches, the Collingwood quirks, and why taking their time was the best decision they made.

I've spoken to Sunny Gilbert at Melbourne's Hofbrauhaus before and it was such a delight to catch up with him again, especially at this time of year. He'd just flown back from Munich, where Oktoberfest really is as big, loud and joyful as everyone says: ten beer tents, each crammed with 10,000 people, steins thudding on tables, bands lifting whole crowds onto benches. Back in Melbourne, at Hofbrauhaus, Sunny and his team are keeping that spirit alive all October: bigger bands, stronger beer, stein-holding contests, and plenty of schnitzel and knuckle to go around. Get your Dirndls and Lederhosen on and let's go! Now, I have a spring head cold, so I apologise for my voice. I'd like to think it sounds resonant and alluring, but I am fairly certain it just sounds like I have a cold. The show must go on.

Lorcán Kan has one of those reputations that precedes him, not in the loud, headline-grabbing way, but in the quiet way that matters more. Mention his name to other chefs and their response is usually the same: “He's such a lovely guy.” Kan, now head chef at Etta in Brunswick East, carries that reputation with the same understated composure he brings to food. Born in Donegal to an Irish-Malaysian family and in Melbourne since he was one, Kan grew up resisting his dad's Malaysian cooking (hot dogs seemed more appealing at the time) before circling back to it as comfort food. His path has been anything but linear: New York fine dining, German art studios, years of travel guided by one-way tickets and kitchen doors that opened when he knocked. He's studied food science to answer the “why” questions, explored fermentation before it was fashionable, and learned that creative control is as much about restraint as it is about freedom. At Etta, his cooking sits at that intersection; comforting but restless, grounded but curious, waste-aware but playful. Talking with Kan feels like talking to someone who still finds wonder in the work. He's calm, thoughtful, and very much the real deal.

I'm upstairs at Eleni's Kitchen in Yarraville with Eleftheria Amanatidis. The room feels like a taverna: a criss cross of dark beams, low light, and the sense that food is at the centre of everything. Eleftheria has captured not just the dishes of her Yiayias and Papous, but the atmosphere too: the smells, the rituals, the family gathered around a table. Hospitality runs in Eleftheria's blood: her family opened Yarraville's first Greek restaurant opposite the Sun Theatre in the '70s, back when Greek films screened on weekends and the jukebox played until late. That history of feeding Melbourne's Greek community is part of what she carries forward now.Her recently launched book Ela na Fáme (Come and Eat) is both a collection of recipes and a love letter to that heritage; filo rolled thin with patience, pork and cabbage stew simmering on a winter's day, and the call that anchored her childhood: “Come and eat.” While we were talking, her Yiayia Eleni wandered upstairs to look at old photos, a reminder that in Greek kitchens, the past is always at the table.

When I first spoke to Kyle Nicol back in late 2020, he was head chef at Rascal, and Melbourne was lurching in and out of lockdown. He was already thinking deeply about sustainability in kitchens, not just in terms of produce, but of chefs themselves. Five years on, Kyle's covered a lot of ground: Lilac, Hazel, a string of pop-ups, consulting, foraging, and even a side project in charcuterie. He's also hit burnout, had knee surgery, and taken a step back to reset. What hasn't changed is his generosity, both in cooking and in spirit. Kyle's the kind of chef other chefs call when they need help, the one who'll share knowledge, jump on a service, or roll pasta at home just because. We caught up to talk about balance, identity in hospitality, and what it means to give your all without giving yourself away.

Brooke is a pastry chef with a flair for precision and a competitive streak that's taken her from Sydney kitchens to the World Food Championships in Indianapolis, where her buttermilk cheesecake earned her third place in the world for dessert. She's now preparing to return in October to take out the top spot all while juggling recipe testing, private chef gigs, and her educational platform Capture the Chef as well as packing her own sugar for the competition because, as she puts it, “Australian sugar tastes better.” Talking to her when she was in Melbourne, I got the sense of someone who thrives on high stakes but carries it lightly: meticulous yet unflappable, and deeply in love with sharing food and technique with anyone curious enough to watch.

The name Odette House came to Jojo Parkinson at 4.30 in the morning. Later, she discovered it meant “prosperous,” which felt right for a venue with three distinct levels: an all-day café downstairs, Uday restaurant upstairs, and a rooftop bar with a view of the city. Uday means “sunrise” in Sanskrit, a nod to new beginnings. Over her ceremonial-grade Matcha on a Cloud, Jojo spoke about building a neighbourhood space, steering clear of the word “fusion,” and keeping a loyal team by her side for nearly a decade.

Joe Vargetto has turned his restaurant into a truffle wonderland. Step inside Mr Bianco's little bar, Bianchetto right now and you'll find moss, fairy lights, oak leaves, and, if you're lucky, a truffle-hunting spaniel on duty. Some chefs talk about truffles as a luxury. Joe talks about them as if they're alive, creatures that seduce trees, steal nutrients and transform the soil they grow in, but he'll also describe them as magical. He'll tell you they work just as well on a toasted cheese sandwich as they do on a tasting menu. There are plenty of restaurants in Melbourne celebrating truffle season, but only Joe thought to bring the farm indoors. I always love catching up with Joe. He's so generous with what he shares, and he really wants to share everything. We roamed the restaurant, taking in the enchanted forest in Bianchetto, which means white truffle in Italian, the Staub range of ‘white truffle' crockery Joe is working with for this venture and upstairs to see the photo from 2001 when he took part in the Bocuse d'Or, encouraged by his friend and mentor, Philippe Mouchel, and of which one of the sponsors was Staub. Long story short, it is all very serendipitous and absolutely charming.

In Carnegie, there's a little patisserie turning out some of the most beautiful cakes in Melbourne. Tommy Er's T6 Patisserie has been open just over a year and already has a loyal following, very definitely including me. Tommy's pastries are French in style but layered with the flavours he grew up with in Southeast Asia. There's pandan sponge with custard inspired by his great-grandmother's onde-onde, mango lime cheesecake, glossy, precise cakes that look almost too perfect to eat - definitely eat them - and a Hazelnut Rocher cake that tastes exactly like the chocolate it's named after; a crowd favourite and Tommy's personal pick. Tommy has been in kitchens since he was 13, learning both Malaysian and French techniques, and still tests and tweaks every creation until it's exactly how he wants it. It turns out that Tommy's secret ingredient isn't pandan or chocolate or caramel, but patience.

The drive into The Dining Room At Lancemore Lindenderry in Red Hill takes you past rows of vines and manicured gardens that open out to 38 acres of rolling lawns, a tennis court, wood-fired hot tubs and 41 elegant rooms. It's the sort of place you can settle into for the weekend or drive down for lunch and wish you'd booked a room. In the kitchen is executive chef Nick McGonigal. He started cooking at Red Scooter Events before moving into Melbourne institution Cecconi's, before crossing the world to spend two years as chef de partie at Brett Graham's three-Michelin-starred restaurant The Ledbury. Back in Australia, he cooked at Bentley Restaurant and Bar in Sydney, before moving home to Melbourne and working at Society then Paringa Estate. Ten years after his apprenticeship, he's leading the kitchen at Lindenderry. We talked about the move from winter to spring, a citrus and lavender dessert served with a burst of liquid nitrogen, the balance between creativity and spreadsheets, and why the story behind an ingredient matters to him.

I had dinner at The George Hotel in South Melbourne the night before this conversation, and I'm still thinking about that prawn toast. The parma came on the bone, the romesco on the pumpkin was deeply smoky, and the vibe was spot on. Fire crackling, carpet slightly retro, and classic pub food done with care, generosity, and just the right amount of zhuzh. Usually on this podcast I speak to chefs, but hospitality goes far beyond the kitchen. My guest today is someone who's been quietly transforming the pub scene across Victoria. Scott Connolly is a publican, but not the kind who simply owns the building and turns up for the soft launch. He's a former actor and musician who's worked every inch of the floor and now oversees venues like the Healesville Hotel, the Orrong, and most recently, The George. We talked about pub culture, people, parmas, carpets, and what it means to be a custodian of these places that mean so much to so many.

Two years after our first conversation, Pawan Dutta has made the kitchen at The Royce Hotel entirely his own. The Showroom Bar still gleams. The menu is bolder, with flavours that travel from Peru to France and back again, yet nothing feels forced. He's as hands-on as ever, still on the pans, still chasing that perfect balance of craft and instinct. We talk about how the team has evolved, the trust that keeps the kitchen running smoothly, and why hotel restaurants like this deserve to be taken seriously.

Stéphane Nguyen is the founder of the French Cooking Academy alongside his wife, Kate. Stephane has built a global following by teaching classic French techniques in a way that actually makes sense: clear, methodical, and with a real focus on understanding the why behind each step. But it didn't start there. Stéphane moved to Australia, missed French food, tried to make a Boeuf Bourguignon and realised he actually had no idea how. So he taught himself, using proper French culinary textbooks, and documented the whole process. What started as a personal project is now a full-blown online cooking school with thousands of students from around the world. We talked about everything from confidence in the kitchen to why a sieve might be the most underrated tool you own. We talked about how the Academy came to be, what it means to build confidence in the kitchen, and why the simplest dishes are often the hardest to get right.

If Pepe's Italian & Liquor is all swagger and spectacle: snow machines, themed decor, and a big personality, then Pepe's Parlour offers something quieter and more composed. The original venue opened in 2019 in a former synagogue on Exhibition Street, serving Italian American classics in a space that leans into old-school New York glamour. Next door, Pepe's Parlour channels the elegance of a London members' club, softened by a Melbourne sensibility: martinis, soft light, hand-painted tomato murals. It's also where Antonio Loffredo is doing quietly brilliant things in the kitchen. Antonio grew up in Campania and then the Amalfi Coast and started making pizza in his father's shop at 16. He has worked across just about every section of a kitchen since arriving in Melbourne more than a decade ago. Now head chef at the Parlour, he's turning out focaccia made from a slow-fermented dough, fresh pasta, and light, lunch-friendly plates that still manage to feel generous. We talked about the emotional pull of food, why he won't use bread with a 15-ingredient label, and how a baking course during lockdown completely reshaped the way he cooks.

It's not every day you get to have a chat in a former ship's chandlery from the 1860s, but that's exactly where I found myself with Dan Livingstone, chef, self-taught cook, ex-pop songwriter, and co-owner of The Chandlery in Port Melbourne. I first met Dan at one of his collaborative events a few weeks ago, a night of incredible wine, thoughtful food, and genuine connection. In this episode, we talk about how his creative path led from music studios to fire-fuelled kitchens, the philosophy behind zero-waste catering, and how vegetables cooked over flames can be just as thrilling as meat. We also talk about the realities of running events, building community, and finding meaning in the stories behind every ingredient. Dan's approach is generous, grounded and deeply human.

Mike McEnearney doesn't follow trends. He follows his gut, his growers, and the seasons. He's worked in some of the world's toughest kitchens, cooked for Damien Hirst, and lived off the land in rural Wales. He opened Kitchen by Mike in a converted factory canteen in Sydney's CBD, another Kitchen by Mike at the International Airport and will soon open one in the National Gallery of Australia in Canberra. He has been the Creative Director of Carriageworks Farmers Market for the last ten years and now brings that same produce-led simplicity to From Here by Mike at Melbourne's newly opened 1 Hotel. His approach is thoughtful, grounded and refreshingly direct, much like the man himself.

You can tell a lot about a chef by how they talk about repetition. For Aaron, it's not tedious, it's essential. He grew up in Perth, found his culinary footing in a small seafood kitchen, and went on to cook in some of London's most intense and celebrated restaurants. Now heading up the kitchen at O'Connell's Hotel in South Melbourne, Aaron brings with him the calm authority of someone who's done the hard yards. Aaron's career spans Michelin-starred restaurants, big-name mentors like Jason Atherton and Shane Osborn, and some of Melbourne's best-known venues like Cumulous, Scott Pickett's restaurants as well as Oakridge Winery. He still keeps recipe notebooks, mostly lists of ingredients, and draws inspiration from everywhere: books, produce, places, memory. And after all these years, he still genuinely loves being in the kitchen. That short, sharp burst of service? It's where he feels most at home.

II.II.VI is freshly open and in soft launch mode at the time of recording, which means the team is still getting into the rhythm of service and the full menu isn't live yet. The grills haven't yet been installed, which is significant, because open flame cooking is central to what head chef Haitham Richani has planned. I sat down with Haitham and executive chef Kerry Lam to talk about the thinking behind the restaurant. Haitham has worked in both front and back of house, and that range of experience has shaped everything; from kitchen layout to the way the team works together. Kerry is also behind Ministry of Crab upstairs, and at II.II.VI, he's given Haitham the reins to create something new. We talked about designing kitchens that actually make sense, the role of team input, how seasonal produce drives creativity, and why a notebook can be as valuable as a knife roll.

This week I sat down with Alberto Borghi of Del Bocia Butter, although calling it “butter” barely covers it. This is butter with soul, butter with story. I first came across Alberto's work at DOC in St Kilda, where a seaweed butter and a very memorable Alfredo pasta got me hooked. I imagined the maker must be an old Italian man with a wooden churn…and then I found Alberto on Instagram. Not an old man. No wooden churn in sight. But every bit as traditional as you'd hope, and just as passionate. From 30 kilos a week made in a shared kitchen with a planetary mixer to importing and restoring vintage machines from the Dolomites, Alberto's journey is full of energy, joy, and a stubborn devotion to quality. He talks about butter like some people talk about wine or poetry. And I'm here for it.

Giorgio Linguanti arrived in Australia from Sicily with no English, no cheese-making experience, and no plans to start a dairy empire, and yet, here we are. That's Amore Cheese, the company he founded, is now beloved across the country and beyond our shores for its fresh, authentic Italian cheeses, from silky ricotta to smoky scamorza, and of course, the show-stealing burrata. Giorgio introduced burrata to the Australian market and has built his business and his reputation on passion, perseverance, and a very good palate. I last saw Giorgio at the launch of his Burrata book, the first and only book in the world dedicated to this pillowy, cream-filled cheese. It's not just a collection of recipes, though those are glorious; it's also a deep dive into the backstory of burrata; its history, its evolution, and the politics of production in its birthplace, Puglia. I sat down with Giorgio in his Thomastown HQ, to talk about how the book came together, what happened when he went looking for burrata's origins, and why he believes obstacles are often just gentle nudges in a better direction.