Page 15 - foodservice magazine September 2019

“People want to be a part of the narrative you’re spinning, the stories you’re telling. To tell a story well, it takes time. It takes commitment, grind and humdrum. It takes mistakes and massive fuck-ups.”
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I ask them if they could have found the same people for their first venue, they both say absolutely not.
“We spent the last six years sticking to our guns and sticking to our word. Being as honest as we can be. That built a reputation where people start to listen to what we want to say,” Graham says.
“People want to be a part of the narrative you’re spinning, the stories you’re telling,” adds Smyth. “To tell a story well, it takes time. It takes commitment, grind and humdrum. It takes mistakes and massive fuck-ups.”
That’s a good summary of why they thought they could pull off such an ambitious venture. Think about it this way: they’ve opened a 110-seater restaurant at a time when many are closing; they’re posting daily live bands in the knowledge that many live music venues have recently shut; and they’re selling it all at a price point that competes with some of the most renowned restaurants in Sydney. When I put this to them, how utterly unprecedented, ambitious and risky Mary’s Underground is, Graham says this:
“Not to sound obtuse or anything, but there are no fucking rules. Mary’s was a starting block – having fancy McDonald’s, listening to loud rock music and drinking Jack Daniel’s but with a high level of service and the opportunity to buy a $300 bottle of Burgundy.
“It’s about your engagement with the people. Most restaurants that fail, they have zero personality, they don’t give a fuck about you coming through the door. You could have the greatest food in the world, but you might not want to go back. It’s the about care factor, empathy and honesty.”
This is typical Graham and Smyth. All they care about is how people feel.
That’s what I think my 60-year-old friend was getting at. It’s not a fine diner because of the chef, the idea behind each dish, or how
it looks. It’s because of how it makes you feel. Maybe for her, before technique and innovation were the heralds of a fine diner, it was just about how special a night out felt.
Graham and Smyth have achieved that, but in their minds, they haven’t finished. They’ve got bigger goals. “The story isn’t told on Mary’s Underground yet,” says Smyth. “We want to be a great restaurant. I want this to be an iconic restaurant in Sydney. That doesn’t get told just through time, it gets told through fucking blood, tears, sweat, laughter and passion. That’s the most exciting part of the venue for me. It’s not that we’ve opened it – opening it is the easy part – the hard part is turning up every day and getting better.”