Let’s be real; it is of national significance to highlight the importance of brunch. The nature of brunch in Sydney especially is ever-changing, as innovators...
Jessica Westcott
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Let’s be real; it is of national significance to highlight the importance of brunch.
The nature of brunch in Sydney especially is ever-changing, as innovators and traditionalists converge to create amazing wonders out of sourdough and an egg. Forget avocado toast – here’s your chance to try the dishes the locals have been keeping secret, and add these venues to your brunching top ten.
In terms of consistency and quality, this staple of urban St Leonards is buzzing. Despite the fact it’s on the Lower North Shore, there is a distinctly Eastern Suburbs vibe to this comfortable cafe – the prices are good, and the menu is huge. There are daily specials, including the famous pulled pork eggs benedict and the kale crossfit breakfast, which makes you feel as healthy as it looks. The Wooden Whisk breakfast is loaded with protein and comes with a nice ceramic pot of home-made beans on the side.
This is the kind of cafe that deals with black pudding like it’s a regular feature on a Sydney menu. The waitresses are quick, friendly, and numerous. So numerous, in fact, that over many visits I don’t think I’ve ever encountered the same waitress – regardless, the service is wonderful.
A sign painted over the service area reads: “Where it’s not the city and you couldn’t care less”. 32 kilometres north of Sydney is a long way to go for a poached egg, but if you’ve got the weekend… it’s a lovely drive.
This light and airy cafe features locally sourced meat and dairy, and fruit and veg from orchards in nearby Dural. The brainchild of the boys behind The Baron – Ricky Row, Mike Ico and Matthew Stone – and Eels legend Nathan Hindmarsh, The Tuckshop was built out of a defunct milk bar. The coffee and bacon and egg rolls are famous across the upper North West, and don’t be afraid to try their beef brisket, or the innovative breakfast taco. This reviewer is always up for some brex-Mex (that’s breakfast Mexican for those playing at home). A highlight is undoubtedly the provided blankets in a bin, and the fact you can take yourself and your bacon down to the park and enjoy the sun.
Hosted in the community hall of the old Nestlé factory of Abbotsford, this delightful Latin-Australian menu is classic and hearty, thanks to the head chef Brock Coffrey, formerly of Rockpool. The ambience is decidedly antique, and the dining experience Melburnian. A recent change in management has seriously helped the quality of the service and the food – the latter being unusual and delicious. Patrons are served brunch options like braised beef cheeks and smoked trout with fish egg, and all ingredients are locally sourced. The sourdough bread and the cheese are home-made, rich and chewy. The Campos coffee is caramel and nutty, as expected. The leafy Abbotsford surrounds prove an ideal area to take children, with room for plenty of prams, and a secluded lawn out back – a perfect area to let small bodies run around.
More importantly, there is a fantastically rich children’s menu featuring a cheese jaffle, pancakes, and fish and chips. Upon my visit, there was a mixture of mothers’ groups, friends catching up for coffee, and a pre-bridal party enjoying a hen’s brunch. A wonderful day out is assured at this uplifting cafe – take your family, your friends, and their family. Oh, and try the fish pie.
In partnership with Grill Mates and Stubb's BBQ Sauce.
There’s something unmistakably raw about William Crighton. It’s there in his voice—deep, cracked, like bark peeling from a eucalypt—and in the stories he tells, steeped in red dirt, rolling hills, and river ghosts. But beyond the music, there’s another side to Crighton that’s just as grounded in the Australian bush: cooking.
To him, the fire pit and the fretboard aren’t all that different. “I approach music similar to how I approach cooking ,” he says, “which is, I don't know too much, and going back to that childhood curiosity and wonder.”
Bush Songs and Backyard Smoke
Crighton’s music is often shaped by time spent in nature—walking through scrubland, sitting by creeks, or staring into campfire flames. His songs are rooted in place, and so is his food. He’s not about complicated recipes or kitchen gadgets; his ideal cooking set-up is a cast iron grill over coals, a sharp knife, and the open sky.
“There’s something about the bush that strips things back to what matters,” he says. “It’s the same with cooking. When you’re out there, it’s just you, the fire, and whatever you’ve got on hand. That’s where the magic is.”
And while Crighton’s approach is humble, it’s far from bland. A believer in bold, honest flavour, he’s quick to call out two essentials in his campfire toolkit: Grill Mates seasoning and Stubb’s BBQ Sauce.
“I’m not a chef, but I know what tastes good,” he laughs. “Grill Mates have that smoky hit that just works with anything—lamb chops, kangaroo, even a grilled zucchini. And Stubb’s? That stuff’s got soul.”
Smoke and Soul
For Crighton, cooking is more than just survival—it’s ceremony. Whether he’s on tour or out bush with his family, there’s a rhythm to it. Gather wood. Light the fire. Let it burn down. Season the meat. Cook it slow. Sit, talk, eat, listen. It’s the same process as writing a song, he says. “You don’t rush it. You let it build. You taste as you go.”
That sense of time, patience, and presence defines both his music and his meals. There’s no room for distractions when you're working with fire and feeling your way through a song. It’s tactile. Sensory. Honest.
“A little bit of not knowing, that's where the best s*** comes,” he says. “Too much heat, too much spice, too many words—it’ll burn out or fall flat. But when you hit it just right? It’s unforgettable.”
Music, Meat, and Meaning
Ask Crighton about the perfect cook-up, and he won’t talk about sous-vide machines or reverse searing. He’ll talk about standing barefoot in the dust, his guitar nearby, kids running around, a bit of Stubb’s soaking into a thick ribeye as the sun drops low.
It’s not just about what’s on the plate—it’s who you’re sharing it with, what the day’s been like, what you’re listening to Will tells us. "Food and music are both about creating a moment. That’s the stuff people remember.”
As his songs continue to resonate around the world, from the stages of Nashville to the paddocks of New South Wales, William Crighton remains committed to that core philosophy: stay grounded, keep it simple, and always cook with heart.
Because whether he’s crafting a haunting verse or searing a steak, Crighton knows—the good stuff happens when you let the fire do its thing.
In partnership with Grill Mates and Stubb's BBQ Sauce.
There’s something unmistakably raw about William Crighton. It’s there in his voice—deep, cracked, like bark peeling from a eucalypt—and in the stories he tells, steeped in red dirt, rolling hills, and river ghosts. But beyond the music, there’s another side to Crighton that’s just as grounded in the Australian bush: cooking.
To him, the fire pit and the fretboard aren’t all that different. “I approach music similar to how I approach cooking ,” he says, “which is, I don't know too much, and going back to that childhood curiosity and wonder.”
Bush Songs and Backyard Smoke
Crighton’s music is often shaped by time spent in nature—walking through scrubland, sitting by creeks, or staring into campfire flames. His songs are rooted in place, and so is his food. He’s not about complicated recipes or kitchen gadgets; his ideal cooking set-up is a cast iron grill over coals, a sharp knife, and the open sky.
“There’s something about the bush that strips things back to what matters,” he says. “It’s the same with cooking. When you’re out there, it’s just you, the fire, and whatever you’ve got on hand. That’s where the magic is.”
And while Crighton’s approach is humble, it’s far from bland. A believer in bold, honest flavour, he’s quick to call out two essentials in his campfire toolkit: Grill Mates seasoning and Stubb’s BBQ Sauce.
“I’m not a chef, but I know what tastes good,” he laughs. “Grill Mates have that smoky hit that just works with anything—lamb chops, kangaroo, even a grilled zucchini. And Stubb’s? That stuff’s got soul.”
Smoke and Soul
For Crighton, cooking is more than just survival—it’s ceremony. Whether he’s on tour or out bush with his family, there’s a rhythm to it. Gather wood. Light the fire. Let it burn down. Season the meat. Cook it slow. Sit, talk, eat, listen. It’s the same process as writing a song, he says. “You don’t rush it. You let it build. You taste as you go.”
That sense of time, patience, and presence defines both his music and his meals. There’s no room for distractions when you're working with fire and feeling your way through a song. It’s tactile. Sensory. Honest.
“A little bit of not knowing, that's where the best s*** comes,” he says. “Too much heat, too much spice, too many words—it’ll burn out or fall flat. But when you hit it just right? It’s unforgettable.”
Music, Meat, and Meaning
Ask Crighton about the perfect cook-up, and he won’t talk about sous-vide machines or reverse searing. He’ll talk about standing barefoot in the dust, his guitar nearby, kids running around, a bit of Stubb’s soaking into a thick ribeye as the sun drops low.
It’s not just about what’s on the plate—it’s who you’re sharing it with, what the day’s been like, what you’re listening to Will tells us. "Food and music are both about creating a moment. That’s the stuff people remember.”
As his songs continue to resonate around the world, from the stages of Nashville to the paddocks of New South Wales, William Crighton remains committed to that core philosophy: stay grounded, keep it simple, and always cook with heart.
Because whether he’s crafting a haunting verse or searing a steak, Crighton knows—the good stuff happens when you let the fire do its thing.
