I was impressed by Chef Josh Niland then. I’m even more impressed now.
Back in 2023, I finally made it to the original St. Peter in Paddington, Sydney. Tiny space. Intimate kitchen counter. Tasting menu at dinnertime. The kind of restaurant that makes food nerds lose sleep over reservations.
And yes, I was one of them.
Before visiting, I had already read The Whole Fish Cookbook and Fish Butchery. My first thought was: Who is this guy, and why is nobody talking about fish the way he does?
While most chefs were obsessed with dry-aged beef, Josh was busy proving that fish deserved the same respect.
Bones. Skin. Fins. Fat. Everything had a purpose.
The way he broke down fish completely changed how I looked at seafood. It wasn’t just sustainable—it was creative. Borderline genius.
Of course, I booked one month ahead. Party of two. Special occasion noted: anniversary dinner.
And because I can never fully switch off the marketer inside me, I was also there for research purposes. Purely professional, obviously. (Not true. Mostly.)
The moment we walked in, the host smiled and said:
“Happy anniversary.”
Simple.
But I immediately noticed it.
Someone had read the booking notes.
It’s such a small detail, yet so many places miss it. Those tiny moments are often what separate good hospitality from great hospitality.
Then came the food.
Because the kitchen was completely open, we watched everything unfold in real time. Every movement felt intentional. Calm. Precise.
Some dishes were brilliant.
Some dishes, in my opinion, were slightly unbalanced in flavor. Clean? Absolutely. Technically excellent? Without question. But taste will always be subjective.
What wasn’t subjective was the creativity.
A fish-eye gelatin in gelato.
A perfectly executed tart crowned with an impossibly beautiful meringue.
Dishes that made me pause and think:
“Who even comes up with this?”
Beyond the menu, St. Peter felt like a showcase of Australia’s best boutique producers. Oysters. Wines. Seafood. Farmers. Fishermen.
And then, my favorite detail of all.
A handwritten anniversary card.
Featuring an illustration of Australian red snapper.
As someone who gets ridiculously excited by good collateral, I was sold.
Completely.
A couple of days later, I visited Petermen.
Sadly, it’s now closed.
Located in St Leonards, the restaurant felt very different from St. Peter. Larger dining room. More refined atmosphere. Beautiful lighting. More polished.
And there was Chef Josh himself.
Busy in the kitchen.
Quiet.
Focused.
A simple smile and nod.
That’s it.
I laughed to myself because somehow I’d imagined him to be loud and charismatic. The way he writes about fish is so enthusiastic that I expected someone larger than life.
Turns out he was the opposite.
Which taught me another lesson:
Never build an entire personality in your head based on a book.
The menu at Petermen was more à la carte-driven. The textures were beautiful—layered, thoughtful, elegant. Some flavor combinations didn’t completely land for me, but the craftsmanship was undeniable.
And honestly?
That’s not even the point anymore.
Because what Josh Niland ultimately taught me wasn’t about fish.
Or restaurants.
Or fine dining.
The older I get, the more I realize that travel isn’t about collecting reservations, ticking off landmarks, or chasing the next World’s 50 Best restaurant.
Those are just entry points.
The real reward is understanding people.
Why neighborhoods look the way they do.
Why locals eat what they eat.
Why certain values survive generations.
Why one city feels different from another.
Restaurants simply happen to be my favorite classroom.
And through Josh Niland’s world, I learned something bigger than fish:
If you’re willing to look closely enough, every place has a story worth traveling for.
