What is it about The Grounds that has Sydney so spell-bound? Is it the rustic warehouse – converted from an old pie factory and lined with green subway tiles, wooden cabinets and recycled industrial hardware? Is it the food – served on a wooden board and exploding with fresh ingredients? Is it the animals – the hens and pigs that make the children (and their parents) squeal with glee? Is it the garden – where fresh herbs grow between the cobble stone path? Is it the market stalls – selling rosewater lemonade, seasonal blooms and farm picked fruit? I can’t quite put my finger on it. Something about it takes me to a happy place. A place where I don’t mind the perennially long queue, or sharing a communal table with strangers. Whatever it is, the wholesome integrity of The Grounds wins me over every time.