Mishy’s is like a big-hearted dinner party. So why aren’t more people talking about it?

In food media, there is much ado about “hidden gems”. You know, those restaurants and cafes people love but seldom talk about, the ones that quietly offer something special to diners in-the-know.

They’re harder to come by in the age of social media, when journalists, influencers and food enthusiasts share so many culinary discoveries online. So I was surprised when I first saw the Google Maps listing for Mishy’s, on a leafy street in Surry Hills. What was this beautiful, sunlit restaurant with hand-painted tapestries draped along the ceiling? Why wasn’t anyone talking about this menu, which reminded me of Three Blue Ducks, with a bright creativity all its own?

Mishy’s is so-named for owner Michelle “Mishy” Powell, which feels appropriate after having spoken with her. She is the owner, but she is also a chef, bartender and floor manager. One moment, she’s cooking fermented papaya hot sauce in the kitchen, and the next she is serving non-alc palomas (with a thoughtful touch of electrolytes) to lunch-goers on the streetfront terrace.

While this restaurant is Powell’s first solo venture, it’s the culmination of a long history in hospitality. She was a founding chef at Bistro Rex in Potts Point; oversaw the bar at Spice Temple during its expansion under chef Neil Perry; and launched condiment company Naturally Sauced during lockdown.

Powell has an earnest intensity about her, like the diligent host of an ongoing dinner party – surveying the dining room, dropping into conversation with regulars and wordlessly repositioning tableware.

We’re waved towards a table set with paper napkins and seated on a banquette with the yielding comfort of your friend’s living room couch. Undyed linen banners hang loosely from the ceiling, hand-painted with ears of corn, tomatoes and sunshine. There’s a long bar made of recycled plastic and a grid-paned mirror on the far wall, reflecting the greenery outside and a long canvas stretched behind us, painted with deep blue ink. Powell says there are $600 worth of crystals throughout, for positive vibes (“I need all the help I can get”).

Mishy’s main schtick is its market-to-table ethos. It’s a nod to the days when it was commonplace for restaurant chefs to wake before dawn, drive to Flemington Markets and hand-select seasonal produce. Powell goes there herself several times a week and says it allows her to keep prices down. Main courses hover around the $35 mark, but the express lunch specials (served with a selection of iced, fruity teas) start at just $18 for a roast chicken and avo sandwich, and it feels like good value.

A waiter arrives with menus. She’s friendly, maybe a bit nervous, but pleased to offer suggestions.

Together with head chef Pablo Parmentier, Powell has created a menu filled with honest and enriching fare, brightened by pickled, seasonal and native produce. You could spend an entire meal grazing the starters, while working your way through a glass or two of mostly minimal-intervention wine (largely available by the glass) or botanical-forward cocktails (pear bellinis garnished with mint, “Mishy’s mule” with double the ginger and makrut lime).

There’s also an unusually large selection of non-alcoholic drinks, ranging from Hiatus beer to a sweet punch made with rooibos tea, hibiscus and makrut lime, bejewelled with pomegranate arils.

We try the kangaroo and anise myrtle salami from Brisbane’s Saison Small Goods, thin slices served with an acidic kick of guindilla peppers, a little olive oil and parmigiano reggiano shavings. Do as the waiter suggests, and pile it atop a well-oiled slab of house-made focaccia.

The corn salad is an unexpected standout – charcoal grilled kernels, smoky and sweet against wedges of just-ripened plums, the fruit bleeding purple into a creamy macadamia green goddess sauce. Half-moons of cucumber add a fresh crunch, punctuated by ribbons of pink pickled onions. As with many of the dishes on the menu, it offers deliciousness with an undercurrent of goodness.

Powell checks whether we’re ready for mains. They arrive on pastel pink, blue and white ceramic plates, some edged in ochre. Mishy’s subtly elevates the familiarity of spinach and ricotta ravioli. Soft, silken pieces of green, hand-cut pasta, the filling light and fresh beneath a buttery sauce, are balanced with the verdant minerality of Warrigal greens and a charred tomato and olive oil sauce.

A well-crisped fillet of grilled Murray cod is served with the same harissa butter offered with the focaccia (only now, melted like a sun atop a sphere of ajo blanco). It’s accompanied by the small half of a baby gem lettuce, more wilted than sharply grilled. The side of kipfler potatoes are cooked in tallow, their skin golden and crisp beneath a generous helping of shaved parmigiano reggiano and parsley.

Desserts have a similar understated beauty about them. The Corella pear tarte tatin is a golden, caramelised crown of poached, wafer-thin fruit and crackling Pepe Saya puffed pastry, a perfect sphere of melting vanilla ice-cream (no quenelles here) placed in its centre.

I don’t know how Mishy’s has remained (mostly) under-the-radar for the past three years. Powell has created a space with such easy appeal and personality, and it’s that kind of expression of self that enriches Sydney’s hospitality scene.

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