From the curled prawn toast to the subtly spiced salt and pepper squid, Grandfathers respects traditional tropes enough to pay homage where it should, then bends the rules without really breaking them.
Cantonese$$$
Is there a Chinese restaurant in the history of Sydney that has installed so many fish tanks and stocked none of them with live seafood? At Grandfathers the creatures aren’t coral trout or abalone suction-cupped to the walls, they’re dragon-blood cichlids darting through streams of bubbles under blue lights, wall to wall, by the entrance, upstairs, downstairs.
The tanks are one place to look, then there’s the carpet, zig-zagging across the room, past mahogany tables, sunken leather booths, all glowing in red and gold. Visually, it’s as immersive as restaurants get, but Grandfathers engages the senses in every capacity. Cantonese-language Bowie covers stream from custom speakers. White napkins are soft, hand-towels are warm, truffled scallop spring rolls scented with orange zest come puffed up like freshly laundered pillows then crackle at the first bite.
Order a clutch of appetisers, and the clash and clatter of textures, temperatures and flavours jolt your palate to life. Pickled cabbage reverberates with chilli paste, black fungus drinks in black vinegar. Alongside it, a porcelain bowl holds cold sticks of eggplant, soaking in garlic and sweet soy and flecked with a lively crush of salted chilli. Pick the tingling prawn and jellyfish salad and it’s all coolness and crunch.
Nostalgic but fresh, familiar yet novel. These qualities, plus detailed worldbuilding, have been trademarks of Dan Pepperell, Mikey Clift and Andy Tyson since they first opened Bistrot 916 in Potts Point in 2021, then followed it up with Pellegrino 2000, Clam Bar and Neptune’s Grotto, before opening Grandfathers in September.
Five restaurants? In this economy? That’s some knack. Even now, the four still standing (the 916 site was always scheduled for demolition) remain the city’s hottest tables. Want a week-of booking outside 5pm and 10pm slots? Forget it.
It’s not really possible to reinvent French, Italian or Chinese cooking. These are the mamas. But Clift, Pepperell and Tyson have quickly established themselves as a voice for the next generation, one inspired by classic tropes, but hungry to see them through a new lens. Their greatest trick is to know and respect them enough to pay homage where they should, then bend the rules where they can, without really breaking them.
Take the salt and pepper squid: lightly coated, subtly spiced, classically Cantonese. Or see how they interpret prawn toast, by curling a butterflied prawn over sourdough, coating it in almonds and frying it until golden. It’s not classic, but it’s clever, with the arched tail serving as a handle, the crags from the nut-crunch soaking up sweet and sour sauce.
Other dishes are just good examples of the trio’s love of scrapbooking and restaurant lore. They make no secret of the fact that the masterstock-braised crisp-skinned pigeon was inspired by a meal at Xin Rong Ji in Beijing (and it’s a very good rendition – almost as juicy as Hurstville Chinese Restaurant’s). Or that the seeds of poached red emperor in a fragrant broth, crunchy and bright with green chilli and Sichuan pepper, were sown in Chengdu.
On the floor, Tyson has the wide-eyed energy of someone who’s been collecting ideas for years before this whole thing condensed into something real. It means it feels lived in, like the kind of place where Jake Gittes might take a meeting in Chinatown. There are parallels with Bonnie’s in New York, too, but then there’s a whole selection of aged riesling that Tyson picked up when wine writer James Halliday auctioned off a bunch of his cellar – something you can’t replicate anywhere else in the world.
He even managed to dust off enigmatic sommelier Charles Leong, who says he’s here for the long haul. Leong’s presence as part of an assured all-star drinks team feels right, whether he’s pouring, thirst-quenching beaujolais, skin-contact wine from north-central China or 2020 Keller Hubacker riesling by Coravin for $150 a glass.
Not all waiters have the same poise. Dumpling names are mispronounced, queries are side-stepped. On my first visit, the execution wasn’t always there, either: dumpling skins fell apart, snow pea shoots stir-fried in schmaltz were choke hazards, the juices from the salt and pepper squid leached out.
By visit two they’d signed more dumpling chefs and the dim sum – from pear-shaped ham sui gok to glistening har gau – were plump and sweet, the shoots were softer, the squid was crisp as fresh snow.
If there are issues, count on them being addressed. If things are good, count on them staying that way, from supple strange-flavour chicken right through to sticky rice steamed in a lotus leaf, sweetened with date caramel and softened with a scoop of roasted-milk ice-cream. Sticky date like you’ve never had.
Turns out there are live tanks, just in the kitchen, housing lobster and pipis, the selection listed on a very Golden Century aquarium-styled specials card. There’s XO sauce too, but then this is no tribute act, it’s just a group of very clever operators looking out at the world, swimming free.
The low-down
Atmosphere: Immersive, grand old Chinese restaurant in the old Long Chim site, doing lunch-dinner daily, plus service through to 1am Thursdays to Saturdays
Go-to dishes: Tingling prawn and jellyfish salad ($26); crispy skin pigeon ($62); red emperor under fragrant green chilli ($58); sticky date pudding ($24)
Drinks: Reds with low tannin, whites geared for spice, with plenty of big-name sweet rieslings poured by the glass. Oh, and one incredible fat-washed sesame sazerac
Cost: About $200 for two, plus drinks
Good Food reviews are booked anonymously and paid independently. A restaurant can’t pay for a review or inclusion in the Good Food Guide.
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David Matthews is a food writer and editor, and co-editor of The Sydney Morning Herald Good Food Guide 2025.
