Here’s a question: if you’re served the wrong coffee, do you ask for the right one?*

I do. And it’s the same in restaurants — if a dish isn’t quite right, I speak up (though not without squirming). I am so affected by what I eat that the cost of remaining silent far outweighs the discomfort of rejecting a dish. Drinking the wrong coffee or eating a meal that misses the mark can not only throw off my entire day, it feels like I’m not being true to myself. I know it sounds dramatic, but “settling” when it comes to food just doesn’t sit right with me. Perhaps because when it’s done right, it brings me so much joy.

Last week, I ducked into a new Vietnamese cafe while shopping in Melbourne’s east. I ordered pork chop cơm tấm, broken rice with the usual accompaniments and nước chấm dipping sauce. The menu promised the customary shredded pork skin and a hunk of “rich steamed egg cake”. But when my plate arrived, the pork skin was absent and the egg cake looked suspiciously like a fried egg.

If you know me, you know I have a strong sense of justice. Yet it’s easier for me to speak up in a cafe or restaurant than in most other areas of my life — probably because food is my domain. I’ve eaten enough to know what’s right, wrong, good and bad. That said, food writers — and MasterChef judges — often cop criticism for passing judgment without having worked in kitchens themselves.

But here's the thing: we don’t expect film critics to be directors, or book critics to be novelists. What critics bring is a broad view of the field in which they operate. Culinary training and staging aside, chefs typically focus on perfecting their style, often within a specific venue. When they do dine out, it’s usually at friends’ places or buzzy new openings — often within the same culinary bubble. Can chefs review restaurants? Sure. But they’re neither experienced in examining their own biases, nor trained in writing. I don’t envy the editor who has to track changes on a chef-written review.

Criticism is always somewhat subjective, but what defines a professional critic is the awareness of that subjectivity, paired with the intention to be as objective as possible. I might not be a dessert person, but I still know when a dessert is good. Whenever imposter syndrome creeps in I remind myself to back my palate. All of this ran through my mind before I finally made my way downstairs at the Vietnamese cafe and — apologetically — asked the owner if the dish usually came with pork skin and steamed egg cake (knowing full well that it did).

He was equally apologetic, and explained they had run out of egg cake. He then returned with a generous side dish of pork skin, sliced to the consistency of thin vermicelli and tossed with fried garlic and roasted rice powder. That deeply savoury, springy, and slightly nutty side not only made the dish, it sparked a conversation about how the cafe began, revealed that the recipes were from the owner’s wife, and ended with a restaurant recommendation.

So, this week, a reminder to ask (politely) for what you want, as well as a few things I think you’ll want to know: a clever hack for finding lesser-known restaurants in your area, a look at whether drinking matcha is harmful, a wholesome Korean spot flying under the radar, and why everyone’s talking about Zareh in Collingwood.

*According to the results of yesterday’s Instagram poll (3,300+ voters), 36% of people said they would accept the wrong coffee. Given my audience is skewed towards people who love to eat and drink, I would bet this is a conservative number.

There’s a fine line between doom-scrolling and research when it comes to food – and that line is the culinary treasure chest that is Facebook Groups. In multicultural cities, migrant communities use these groups to swap tips on where to eat.

Here’s how to tap in. From the Facebook homepage, click the menu icon (top right), then select “Groups”. Then, in the search bar, type your city along with the keyword “food” or “foodies”. For example, when I type “Melbourne Food”, it returns Melbourne Foodies Group and Melbourne Foodies Official. A quick scroll of both and I’m met with Sri Lankan buffets, a Filipino seafood boil, lunch specials, home caterers, and tropical fruit wholesalers.

Dive deeper. Once you’re in a group, use the search bar within the group to hunt down particular cuisines. Bigger, more active groups with multiple daily posts will return richer results. For instance, I searched “Japanese” in the Melbourne Foodies Group and came across this soon-to-open restaurant in Docklands. You can also find tips in non-food groups. Try searching broader community groups, like “Malaysians in Melbourne”, then use keywords like “restaurant” or “cafe” within the group search tool.

A few more tips. Search for groups tied to major cultural communities in your area. In Melbourne, that might include Indian, Sri Lankan, Malaysian, Indonesian, and increasingly Filipino communities. These groups are often passionate about their food and use Facebook as a grassroots marketing platform in a way that bigger restaurants don’t. It also helps to use self-referential terms like “Desi” (meaning of Indian, Pakistani, or Bangladeshi heritage) or “Pinoy” (of Filipino heritage). Depending on your location, terms like “Halal food in X” or “BBQ in Y” can also turn up unexpected gems.

Shout out to two of my faves: Melbourne Cari Makan Group Blogs and IndozFood.

I adore the big, bold flavours of American-influenced Korean food; a rollercoaster of salty, sweet, and spicy. There’s a good time to be had in budae jjigae (army stew) and fried chicken tangled with melted cheese. But the deep, satisfying nourishment I get from traditional Korean slow food is something else. It’s less common than the kitschy barbecue joints blaring K-pop, which is why I was thrilled to stumble across Gong Gan Korean Pantry (공간) recently — a happy Plan B after a nearby walk-in didn’t pan out.

As you enter, the pantry is to the left: a wide fridge stacked with kimchi varieties, traditional salads like namul (seasoned spinach), and braised lotus root. There’s a freezer filled with take-home meals, plus shelves of ceramics, dry snacks, and house-made sesame oil. Tucked behind it is the minimalist dining space, seating no more than 24 people. The small menu offers stone bowl bibimbap, japchae, and set meals. The sets come with house banchan (side dishes), rice, and a main — like wagyu la galbi (marinated beef short ribs on a sizzling plate) or soondubu jjigae (spicy silken tofu stew with prawns, mussels, squid, and clams).

One tip: ask about the specials. I only noticed a tiny poster for samgyetang (ginseng chicken soup) after I’d finished eating — and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

661 High Street, Kew East, Melbourne, instagram.com/gonggan_mel

Matcha has come a long way since a Buddhist monk introduced it to Japan in the 12th century. Once central to sadō tea ceremonies, it’s now a global phenomenon. In 2025, the #matcha hashtag racks up millions of views, spotlighting everything from chlorophyll-green crepes to strawberry-matcha sourdough. Matcha isn’t just trending — it’s a lifestyle. The catch? There’s not enough to go around.

Despite Japan tripling matcha production since 2010, demand still outpaces supply. Major brands are routinely selling out, some imposing COVID-style purchase limits. Prices are soaring, too — tencha (the tea leaves used to make matcha) recently hit a record high of ¥8,235 per kilogram, up 170 per cent from last year. But increasing supply isn’t easy. Tencha fields take five years to mature. Heatwaves have slashed some yields in Kyoto by up to 25 per cent. Traditional methods — shading, hand-picking, and stone-grinding leaves — are slow and costly. Meanwhile, Japan’s tea farming workforce has shrunk from more than 53,000 people in 2000 to just 12,350 in 2020, according to Japan’s agriculture ministry.

All of this clashes with market projections: global matcha sales are set to surge from USD 4.23 billion (AUD 6.51 billion) in 2024 to USD 7.86 billion (AUD 12.10 billion) by 2033. Japan’s agriculture ministry is planning subsidies to encourage more tencha cultivation — but with shortages looming, should we be drinking something else? Balancing tradition with scale is never easy. But as consumers, we can at least drink more mindfully. The matcha boom may be an invitation to drink curiously — whether that’s a hojicha latte (roasted green tea that’s toastier, more dessert-like, and lower in caffeine) or seeking out cafes offering creative signature drinks.

If you are in Melbourne, start with Bottari’s Jasmine Cloud, Donatello's The Brunny, or Inbtwn's Mt Fuji: an apple-espresso coffee cocktail with an apple air cloud.

Zareh, Melbourne’s most anticipated restaurant, has officially been open for one week. It’s been the talk of the town since well before chef-owner Tom Sarafian signed the lease — and now that it's here, it lives up to every bit of the hype. Named after Tom’s grandfather, Zareh is a deeply personal project. It’s a vibrant expression of second-generation identity — in this case, Armenian and Lebanese — translated through food with unwavering integrity, warmth, and big-hearted generosity. Although Zareh is confidently cool and contemporary, it’s anchored in the heritage and memories of Tom and his partner, Jinane Bou-Assi. It’s a tricky thing to describe, but an easy thing to feel.

Though already known for his cult hummus and beloved pop-ups, Zareh is Tom’s first full-scale restaurant. For now, it’s a $95 set menu (a la carte begins September 6), and I’ll eat my hat if anyone leaves less than stuffed. Tom’s signature hummus comes dimpled and topped with chopped king prawns and spanner crab. It’s served with hot, puffy aishi baladi (sourdough flatbread), straight from the wood oven. Blushing lamb cutlets are hit with harissa and labne, while heirloom pumpkin is baked and laid over jewelled rice that’s studded with sour cherries, dried apricots, raisins and nuts. For dessert: freshly baked cheese ma'amoul with fig and sesame jam — served warm and absolutely worth the extra $10.

Zareh captures everything I love about Australian dining (see my last newsletter). Any major city in the world would be ecstatic to claim it, but Zareh is right here in Melbourne. Lucky us.

368 Smith Street, Collingwood, Melbourne, zareh.com.au