IPSOS Restaurant & Bar — Restaurant in Lorne

Pitstop on the way to pick up fish n chips for the family: Ipsos—Lorne’s jewel, glowing with the kind of effortless cool that only comes with confidence and repetition - both from skill. It’s a modern Greek joint perched by the ocean, spinning contemporary beats that pulse just loud enough to blend with the crash of the waves. This wasn’t chaos; it was a symphony of precision. Crowds spilling out, linen-clad, Melbourne’s eastern suburbs elite—the kind of people who drop “the beach house in Lorne” as casually as ordering a flat white. A sea of privilege, sure, but tonight the energy was democratic: here, it wasn’t about the money, it was about the vibe. And Ipsos had it in spades.

The host was slick—a young Greek Adonis who clocked my brother and me from across the packed dining room. No hesitation, no pretense. He sized us up in a heartbeat. “What’s happening, boys?” The kind of line that says, I see you, I get you, I’ve got you. Chablis and squid? Damn straight. None of that tired “do you have a reservation?” routine. Just a quick, knowing nod, and suddenly, a table materialized out of nowhere, perched on the edge of the world—ocean view, salt air, and the glow of the Mantra green spilling into the night.

And then, in an instant, the Chablis hit the table—cold enough to bring a tear to your eye, fragrant enough to transport you straight to Burgundy. Crisp acid cutting like a blade through high citrus and white flowers, kissed with just enough minerality to taste the ocean before the squid ever arrived. And oh, the squid. Rustic and unapologetic—perfectly light batter crackling, the tentacles curling with that unmistakable Barcelona swagger, plump, generous. There was no aioli cop-out here, but something distinctly Greek—cool, creamy, zesty enough to brighten the briny sweetness of the squid. Green dust—a subtle punch of freshness—and bread so good it might have been baked by the gods themselves, dripping with olive oil you’d happily drink if no one was looking.

We laughed—maniacally, uncontrollably—the kind of laughter that only comes when the moment is so perfect you have to wonder if it’s real. Two more glasses of Chablis slid onto the table as seamlessly as everything else that night. The place, the food, the host—it all hit a rare note of balance. Bustling, but serene. Refined, but raw. The waves crashing just beyond the dining area, reminding us where we were, where we’ve been.

For my brother and me, Lorne is more than just a dot on the Great Ocean Road. It’s where our family’s been coming since the ’70s, a place heavy with memory and meaning. Our dad who passed last year would have loved this—he would’ve been right there with us, laughing as we stalled on the fish and chips order, soaking up the absurdity of it all. And in a way, he was. We heard him in the waves, felt him in the cool breeze coming off the water, saw him in each other’s faces as we tipped back another sip of that perfect Chablis.

Ipsos wasn’t just a bite. It was a moment. One of those rare, unplanned, perfectly imperfect moments that stays with you long after the taste of squid and Chablis fades. It was...

Ipsos wasn’t a restaurant. It was a vibe. The kind of place that doesn’t beg for your attention—it just owns it. Perched on the edge of the ocean in Lorne, it thrummed with a low-level chaos that wasn’t messy, just electric. Linen shirts and designer sneakers filled the joint, that Melbourne beach-house money dripping off every table. But it wasn’t pretentious. It didn’t need to be. You knew as you were walking by: this was the place to be. And they knew it too.

The host? A goddamn assassin. Young, slick, sharp. The kind of guy who could clock you at fifty paces and know exactly what you needed before you did. “What’s happening, boys?” he threw at us with a grin that could sell ice to a penguin. No do you have a reservation? No sorry, we’re fully booked. Just Chablis and squid. Hell yes. He didn’t ask if we wanted it—he knew we wanted it. And just like that, he conjured a table from thin air, slapping down two chairs on the edge of the universe. Behind us, the place was packed to the rafters. In front of us, the ocean stretched out like an invitation.

Then the Chablis landed. Ice-cold, with a nose so clean it sliced right through the salt air. Citrus, white flowers, a whisper of stone fruit, and that oyster-shell minerality that hits you like a sucker punch. It tasted like the coastline itself, bottled and chilled to perfection. The squid followed—a plate of unapologetic beauty. Tentacles twisting like they’d just come out of the sea, battered so crisp it shattered under the slightest pressure. The oil tasted clean, like this batch was made just for us. No lazy aioli here. Instead, a creamy Greek sauce that cooled the heat of the batter and lit up every bite. Green dust sprinkled over the top, like the cook decided to sprinkle a little spring on the plate.

And the bread. Oh, the bread. Dense, chewy sourdough stuffed with black olives, slicked in olive oil so rich it practically begged for a wine pairing of its own. It wasn’t just bread—it was foreplay.

My brother and I sat there, grinning like idiots. Two grown men with a family waiting on fish and chips at home, laughing so hard the Chablis nearly spilled. It wasn’t just the food, the wine, or the view. It was the moment—the perfect storm of balance and chaos. Behind us, the hum of the restaurant—busy, relentless, alive. In front of us, the ocean—endless, timeless, serene. And somewhere in the middle, us.

Lorne’s been ours since the ‘70s. Family holidays, endless summers, Dad pointing out every landmark like it was the first time we’d seen it. He’s gone now—six months gone—but he was with us in that moment. We heard him laughing in the crash of the waves, felt him in the salty air that clung to our skin. He would’ve loved this—sitting there, stealing a moment for ourselves before heading home with fish and chips for the hungry mouths waiting for us.

Ipsos isn’t just a restaurant. It’s a goddamn time machine. A place where the food and the wine and the moment crash together like waves on the shore. It doesn’t try too hard. It doesn’t need to. It’s grit, and salt, and beauty wrapped up in one fleeting moment...

Ah, IPSOS, a beacon of seaside charm where the salty breeze mingles with the aroma of grilled delights. Stepping into this beloved Lorne institution felt like a homecoming, greeted by the owner's warmth and a bottle of Santorini white wine, each sip whispering tales of Aegean sunsets. But it wasn't just the food that left an impression; it was the impeccable service embodied by Nico and Milly the lovely wait staff serving us, their genuine warmth and attentiveness added an extra layer of delight to our dining experience, making us feel like honored guests in this culinary haven. The starters, a vibrant symphony of flavors, showcased the mastery of Greek cuisine: tender calamari fried to perfection, accompanied by a velvety fava bean dip that transported us to the shores of Crete. And let's not forget the generous bowl of fresh bread, with olive bread for the fortunate few. The scotch steak was a carnivorous delight, cooked to a flawless medium-rare and served with creamy roast garlic and a vibrant tomato salad. Each bite was a testament to the chef's skill and dedication to quality ingredients, creating a gastronomic symphony on the palate. And what better way to accompany such a feast than with a red wine? Its velvety texture and fruity undertones complemented the richness of the steak, elevating the dining experience to celestial heights. But the pièce de résistance, guided by the staffs expert recommendation, was the Labne cheesecake served with mastic ice cream. It was a revelation in dessert-making, a perfect blend of creamy indulgence and exotic flavors that left us in awe.In the realm of seaside dining, IPSOS shines bright like the Mediterranean sun, a testament to the beauty of simplicity and the power of passion-infused cuisine. With Dom the owners impeccable service and the culinary delights awaiting, a visit to IPSOS is not just a meal, but a journey to be savored time...