Culture / TV

This is where the ‘Succession’ characters would dine if they lived in Sydney

succession characters eat

Ever since Succession aired it's inspired an 'eat the rich' response from viewers. That's all well and good, but what I really want to know is where the rich would eat... in Sydney specifically. What would a life look like in this city through the eyes of the 1%? We take a stab at the question, below.


Kendall: Baba's Place


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Kendall has this pathological idea that he's the coolest, most forward-thinking one in his family. But any IFYKYK tastes are the result of his assistant Jess being forced to trawl TikTok and recent food reviews, probably, which is how he's ended up at Baba's Place. That and he's thinking about going into business with Alex Kelly and Jean-Paul El Tom (he's got some big ideas). Kendall doesn't touch the cherry kofta and the moment either of the owners express their own vision for a deal, he gets the ick and smoke bombs. His driver takes him to a joint in the Crown where the service is discreet and the staff know their place.


Cousin Greg: Bistrot 916


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Greg pre-big boy paycheck would have genuinely lapped up a meal at The Italian Bowl. But under Tom's wing, he's managed to make his way around town a little, building an appetite for fancy food and whatever Sydney's equivalent of Ortolan is (which if you ask me is the canard à la presse at Porcine). However, suppose Greg lived in Sydney, he would undoubtedly have an apartment in Potts Point (bought and paid for by Kendall), which would mean his local is Bistrot 916. I can picture it now: Greg getting heat at the bar from the staff, growing slightly more paranoid with every glass of wine before abruptly leaving and having to return the next day shamefacedly to pay the bill.


Shiv Roy: Quay


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Here's the thing, Shiv doesn't actually like food. Not that I think she's a salad-and-no-carbs kind of woman, as she reminds her brothers she eats "red meat" and I'm sure she'll pick at a plate if its in front of her. But you could never pin Shiv Roy down long enough to stay for the entire eight course deg. Which is fine, she's going to back you into a deal over a glass of wine and bounce anyway. Still, she likes a pretty view and to feel safe knowing that she's with her own people. You're getting the bill of course. I mean she could, but it's just not that big of a deal. Is it?


Roman Roy: Indian Home Diner

The problem is the slime puppy would be out all night, hopping between different hatted joints to busy to eat until he pins down a deal. By about 1 am he'd remember that the last thing he sunk his teeth into were a couple of danishes at the office so he'd begrudgingly end up in line at Indian Home Diner. Normally he wouldn't stoop to this kind of level, but fuck it, he's here now. Every inch closer he gets to the register, the more he loses his resolve, a process quickened by the drunk 19-year-olds gurning ahead of him. He normally enjoys the chaos, except no one here knows who he is. The man at the till says they're out of garlic naan. "Fine...fuck. Fine, I'll get just get... just load me up! FUCK." He gets his Indian kebab, takes a bite and drips a little sauce onto his suit. The kebab is tossed into a nearby bin, it's time to cut his losses and go home.


Logan: Rockpool

By mistake Logan has a table at Restaurant Hubert. He sits in the centre of Beatrix dining room, guests gawking at him from all angles. The former Australian Prime Minister walks over from his table. "What's the idiots name?" Logan thinks. Colin whispers "Scott Morrison" in his ear. Logan and Scomo exchange an awkward sentence. His bavette arrives and the fries are covered in furikake. Calvin, the drummer, starts shouting into the mic. "The fucking music, the shit on my fries". Logan gets up and walks across the road to Rockpool, cutting a line straight for The Balcony private dining room, where he can sit and eat his ribeye in peace. He looks around at the marble pillars and relaxes into his chair. This is more like it.


Gerri: Alberto's Lounge


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If there's one thing about Gerri, it's that she's eating good, preferably somewhere low lit and discreet. We imagine her sitting solo at the Alberto's Lounge bartop, sipping on a martini and carefully ignoring a young whippersnapper until the zeppole is cleared, and the two decamp to a more private setting.


Frank and Karl: Una's


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Frank and Karl are tearing into a schnitzel the size of their head at Una's – the only place in the city where the gender ratio of guests leans 90% men. They've got to inhale some sustenance before they hit up what's left of the strip clubs in Kings Cross. Little do they know they won't get that far. Logan will be buzzing in their ears, bellowing "where the fuck are you?" before they have time to order a second stein.


Tom: Shell House

Why Shell House? I don't think Tom even knows.

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Image: @nocontextsuccession