The Phoenix Rises: George Calombaris Brings Gazi to Sydney

One of the world’s most recognisable chefs, George Calombaris returns not with fanfare, but with fire - rekindling his love for food, family, and filoxenia at Gazi Sydney, a Greek supper club where the past is honoured, ego is left at the door, and transformation is always on the menu.

The rain pounds down upon the pavement outside Gazi Sydney on this grey winter morning, but inside, the warmth is immediate and enveloping. I settle into a plush blue velvet booth, where a hot coffee is already waiting for me - made exactly how I like it.  George’s team had called ahead. It's filoxenia at its finest, that untranslatable Greek concept of radical hospitality that makes strangers feel like family.

George Calombaris slides into the booth opposite me with the easy grace of someone who has spent decades navigating dining rooms. The first thing you notice about George is his warmth, his energy, his intensity. He is ever waiting for the opportunity to have a laugh, crack a joke.

For someone so world famous who has met a sea full of people from some of the grandest walks of life, he is laser focused, with a sincerity that makes whoever he is speaking to feel as though they are the most important person in the world. At 46, the man who was once crowned one of the Top 40 Most Influential Chefs in the World still radiates that same charismatic energy that made him a star.

"I always treat every interview like it's a fresh one," he says, his hands animated as he speaks. "I'll go anywhere you want. There's no boundaries." He pauses, that famous grin breaking through. "I don't care. I think you get to a point in your life where you just go, you know what? This is me."

The Agora of Modern Sydney

We're sitting in his latest venture, Gazi Sydney, a supper club that channels the electric energy of Athens' most vibrant district. The original Gazi, once home to the city's gasworks, has transformed into the beating heart of Athenian nightlife—a place where artists, rebels, and dreamers collide under neon lights. Calombaris has bottled that essence and uncorked it in Darlinghurst.

"Gazi isn't just a place. It's a feeling. It's the heartbeat of Athens after dark—raw, real, and always alive."

"This has nothing to do with Melbourne Gazi," he insists, leaning forward. "Sydney Gazi is totally different. This is about the first-ever Greek supper club that's more about the feeling than the food." He catches himself and laughs. "Don't get me wrong, the food is incredible. But I think the narrative is really important - that we start showing a different light of who I am progressing to be."

The space pulses with life even in these morning hours. But come Thursday through Saturday, DJs and live performers transform it into something between a restaurant and a revolution. The collaboration with Maybe Sammy - ranked the world's most influential bar - brings cocktails that would make the gods jealous. Local partnerships with SiP Coffee for espresso martinis and Olympus Entertainment for authentic Greek performances root the venue firmly in Sydney soil while its soul soars to Athens.

"I think if anything, Gazi is becoming more of an agora, a meeting place for like-minded Hellenes and also, importantly, non-Hellenes. My biggest ambition is to make non-Greeks love what we do and love our culture. Because we should be proud of it."

The Weight of Wings

Calombaris' journey reads like a modern Icarus tale, though his version includes multiple resurrections. From hand-rolling pasta as an apprentice to helming Press Club at just 26, from earning global accolades to becoming the face of MasterChef Australia during its golden years, he has flown higher than most dare dream.

"You know, it's not normal," he reflects, his voice dropping. "It's not normal to do what I did - work my arse off, earn the recognition at a young age, probably too young. And then you go on this journey of experiencing the public's perception."

"But when you get put on television, there's no way to prepare for that. You're on your own."

The walls of Gazi bear witness to his philosophy. Descending the stairs, guests encounter a quote that stops them cold: "Αν γεννιέμαι απ' τις στάχτες μου, κανένας θάνατος δε θα με τρομάξει." If I'm born from my ashes, no death will ever scare me.

"Life has its challenges," he says simply. "But still, I fly close to the sun. I'm not interested in sitting in the grandstands, watching the game. I want to be in the game. I want to be in the arena. I want to be next to the sun."

The Currency of Love

Talk turns to family and Calombaris speaks with the same passion that infuses everything he touches - but with a rawness, a vulnerability that comes straight from the heart. The recent move from Melbourne to Sydney for George, wife Natalie and children James, 13, and Michaela, 12 was a transition requiring an adjustment period, especially for the kids. But beyond the geographical shift it also becomes metaphor for the conscious rewriting of inherited patterns.

"I miss my dad. I really do," he says quietly, then reflects on how different generations show love. His father, like many men of that era, simply wasn't taught how to express affection. "I smother my kids," Calombaris says. "I think that is so important - to show your kids affection and to tell them that you love them. And also to show them it's okay to be vulnerable."

"I always say to my kids, look at life as an opportunity. Yes, it might be a little obstacle you've got to jump over, but you're going to be faced with bigger challenges in life when you're grown up. It's good to teach them resilience."

In moments where his own father might have raised his voice, Calombaris consciously chooses a different path. He believes in teaching rather than exploding, in helping his children understand that they have to live with the consequences of their decisions. "Your Pappou would have yelled at me," he tells them. "I'm not going to yell at you. But I am going to remind you that at the end of the day, you have to live with consequences so try your best to make the right decisions."

This evolution from his upbringing shapes everything - his kitchens, his hospitality, his approach to life. "The ego of the chef is their worst enemy," he wrote in his cookbook Greek. "You soon learn that humility, care, and love unlock the secret to success. Lots and lots of love."

Sweet and Sour Memories

When I ask what he'd cook if he could make one last meal for his father, Calombaris doesn't hesitate and he doesn't cite Michelin stars or television triumphs. Instead, he speaks of sweet and sour pork.

"My dad loved it - LOVED it," he grins. "Six months before he passed, he came to stay and I asked what he wanted me to cook. He said sweet and sour pork. Mum was horrified - 'It's fatty! You shouldn't be eating that! What about the doctor?' I told her, 'Mum, he's 84. Let him have what he wants.'"

"So I made him sweet and sour pork with hot chips on the side. Dad loved hot chips. Loved them. Poured him a little whiskey when Mum wasn't looking."

This memory now infuses Double Happy, his Chinese restaurant inside Annandale's Empire Hotel, where nostalgia meets innovation. "Everything we've done there has been taken from those memories of going to the local Chinese restaurant in Mulgrave. There are bags of prawn crackers in the freezer - I love that."

While his father's tastes inspired Double Happy, his mother had her own ways of navigating food and family. Growing up as a Greek boy, all Calombaris wanted was to be like his neighbours. "They were always eating chicken nuggets, so I begged Mum to make them." For years, he devoured his mother's delectable creation - crispy on the outside, creamy on the inside. Until his brother, ten years older, broke the news. "Bro, they're not chicken nuggets.' They were lamb brains! I'm like, 'Dude, what?!'"

For Calombaris, the story speaks to something deeper. "I guess when you have struggles in life (like my mum), you don't take anything for granted. Respect your friends, respect your food and where it came from and, above all, don't take anything for granted."

The Architecture of Tomorrow

Beyond the restaurants and television cameras, Calombaris channels his creativity into new territories. Culinary Wonderland, his tech venture born during COVID, reimagines how we interact with food knowledge. The original vision was "a bit like an Apple store, but for food," he explains. "Where you could walk up to the chef bar and say, 'Hey, I've got a special date this weekend. I want to do eggs benedict.' No problem, the chef could guide you through it. Buy your ingredients, get the recipe, get all the details. And off you go."

Now it's evolved into a global platform. "It's like Spotify for chefs," he says. "With recipe content, travel guides, marketplace—a one-stop shop for anything you want to know about food." The platform features over 150 global chefs and uses AI to deliver personalised culinary journeys. "You can be in Athens, and through AI, you can get my voice in your ear guiding you—turn left here for my favourite bougatsa, go 500 metres to Kostas, one of the oldest kebab shops."

Loving the Past, Leaving Ego at the Door

As our conversation winds down, the philosophy that drives him becomes clear. He speaks of focusing energy only on those who matter - his family which also includes the loyal team members who have stuck by him over the years. "I've got a responsibility to my team," he says. "They're investing time with me and I'm investing time with them. I owe it to them." People like Terry, who's been with him for 15 years, or Seridan and Anthony with 20 years combined. "They are people who have stuck by me."

"There are three types of people," he says. "Those that hate you, those that sit on the fence, and those that love you. I put all my energy into the people that love."

Those that hate? "I wish them the best in life." This clarity comes from understanding what's permanent and what's fleeting.

"What I've learned is never forget where you came from. I was born a servant, I was born a chef, I'll die a chef. Television comes and goes. Restaurants come and go. But truly your family is forever."

On my way out, I stop to admire the black grand piano standing silently on Gazi’s stage. "George plays it really well," a staff member confides. "We keep telling him he should play for the diners in the middle of service."

Hidden talents. George Calombaris, in the public eye for almost two decades yet still full of surprises. Here is a man who has tasted both ambrosia and ashes, who has learned that true success isn't measured in accolades but in the ability to transform, to love without reservation, and to keep flying toward the sun despite the singed wings.

As Gazi Sydney extends its run into June and Saturday bottomless brunches beckon the curious, one thing becomes certain: this isn't just a pop-up or a comeback. It's a metamorphosis. The phoenix has risen, and he's teaching us all how to dance in the flames.

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