Finally, this food bible’s coming to Australia. But Sydney and Melbourne must wait

September 26, 2026 — 5:00am

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I’ve spent much of my adult life plotting vacations around what to eat. I fancied myself a sort of less-tattooed, less-concussed Anthony Bourdain: wandering the planet in search of communion, revelation, and lunch.

I’ve pricked my fingers on sea urchins in Sicilian markets, tiny grenades glinting in the baskets of sun-dried fishermen. I’ve scaled Uzbek hills in search of beef, pre-marinated from within on a diet of mint-scented grasses. I have, not once but twice, cried over razor clams.

So, naturally, the Michelin Guide became my compass. While ordinary guidebooks sent readers dutifully towards beaches and monuments, Michelin answered the question that really mattered to me: where was the best butter hiding, and who was whipping it properly?

For the uninitiated, the Michelin Guide is the little red restaurant book whose anonymous inspectors dine in secret and emerge with judgments capable of rearranging a restaurant’s future. Stars are awarded, chefs unravel, investors purr, and diners suddenly find themselves very interested in beetroot foam. Michelin’s power lies in its theatre of whispered rituals, imaginary expense accounts, and persistent “forklore” about inspectors dropping cutlery on the floor to test the speed and precision of service. I imagine them a group of sexy foodie spies with frequent flyer miles.

The Guide is less mythologised, and arguably more useful, when it wanders beyond the cult of ruinously expensive microherbs and those who tweeze them. Michelin also awards “Bib Gourmands” to kitchens........

© The Sydney Morning Herald