When first arrived in Australia, he was surprised by what passed as 'Turkish' cuisine here.
The kebab shops weren't like the ones in Istanbul, where he was born. And the ritual of grabbing a kebab after a boozy night out? That wasn't a thing in his homeland.
"We never eat kebabs after we drink in Turkey and the version that's in Australia doesn't exist in Turkey," says the chef behind Sydney's , and restaurants.
So no one orders kebabs at 3am after a night of clubbing or dancing in Turkey? "No, you go and eat sheep's head soup or you eat different offal soups or intestine soups. You don't eat kebabs. They wouldn't even be open at 3am," he says. "It's more of a lunch thing."
Sivrioğlu first moved here in 1995 so he could study a at the University of Technology, Sydney – and avoid Turkey's military service in the process. Besides Australia's kebab shops, he was mystified by the 'Turkish' bread he saw here. "We don't have a bread of that kind in Turkey," he says.
"The closest version would be the Hungarian or Vienna bread – so it's like a loaf," he says. What's offered as 'Turkish' bread here is more like the round that's served during Ramadan in his birthplace.
He suspects the Australian 'Turkish' bread was inspired by this, albeit reconfigured into longer, skateboard-like proportions for practical reasons. "Because it's easier to make it into a sandwich if you do it in that shape, so I think that's why people started to produce it that way."
Cuisines evolve when migrants transplant them to other countries. The kebab shops in Australia seemed foreign to him, he realised, because they're inspired by "the German kebab fast-food chains, instead of Turkish doner kebab shops", he says.
Still, he thought there could be better representation of Turkish cuisine here. So after completing his studies, he worked for various hospitality franchises and tried to convince people to open a restaurant that served the food of his homeland.
"Why would we open up a Turkish concept?" he was told. "There are enough kebab shops in Australia."
So he did it on his own, showcasing how diverse the cuisine could be – first with in 2007, then in 2016, and now , which recently opened in Sydney's CBD.
His newest restaurant is inspired by the vegetable-focused dishes of Turkey's Aegean coastline and is named after the Turkish word for parsley.
"There's a Turkish saying for people that do everything: 'they're like parsley – they go with everything'," he says. "[Parsley is] so common in Turkish food, especially if you do something with a vegetarian, vegetable twist."
There's a Turkish saying for people that do everything: 'they're like parsley – they go with everything'.
Maydanoz's menu includes a broad bean dish that his mum taught him when he was a teenager.
"My mother was one of the first female chefs that ran meyhanes – meze bars – in Turkey," he says. "[Her dip is] like a pâté, so you can cut it through with a knife. It’s delicious, it oozes with olive oil and obviously with parsley, dill and fresh broad beans."
It's a significant addition to the menu.
"It's one of the first recipes I ever learnt, so I always put it in my restaurants if I have time or room, as an ode to my mother."
And though the chef respects traditions, he likes to innovate and add his own touch.
"I always like putting a twist, but my mum doesn't like it," he says and laughs. So at Maydanoz, Sivrioğlu crowns her broad bean purée with plenty of greens, like Brussels sprouts (instead of tucking them inside, which is the traditional way).
Besides his family, the zeytinyağlı method is another big influence on Maydanoz's menu. This approach – using olive oil and water to gently slow-cook vegetables – is something he's demonstrated at various culinary events. "Chefs would be amazed by it because it's a cooking style that's not very well known around the world," he says. After 10 hours, it turns tough, teeth-jolting vegetables – like celeriac – into softened, sweetened ingredients. Presented at room temperature, they become stars of a meze tray.
The stereotype that Turkish food is just meaty, hangover-cushioning food is also countered by the cabbage kebabs at Maydanoz.
"That's something my executive chef, , came up with," he says. White cabbage is skewered and slowly charred over a fire, and plated with labne and pul biber (the Turkish name for Aleppo peppers). It's a popular dish – the only one served both at Maydanoz and the Istanbul outpost of Efendy. While this is far from a traditional dish, the cabbage is cooked in typical kebab spices. "So when you eat it, it's the closest you'll get to a meat kebab – having all the flavours, but not the texture of the meat."
The menu also features a smoked eggplant version of ("the most famous vegan Turkish dish probably in the world", says Sivrioğlu), so vegetables are clearly the headline act at Maydanoz.
But this isn't a meat-free restaurant – one of its key dishes is a sheep's head soup, actually.
"I didn't put it for the shock factor," he says. "I put it because it's such a common dish in Turkey." Particularly when people get married in the Aegean.
"If you have a wedding in the village, it means the whole village is invited," he says. The bride's village and the groom's village – and any villages in between their homes – are all welcome at the ceremony.
"You might invite 2,000-3,000 people. And the only way you can afford it is if you put plastic chairs in the village centre and serve things like the wedding soup and plain simple rice," he says. The soup might be flavoured with sacrificed lamb or goat – or, if you're wealthy, a whole cow.
"They always give the head to the bride and groom, because that has the best meat, as a sign of respect," the chef says.
The version at Maydanoz isn't designed for thousands (the restaurant's biggest table seats 12) and is presented with a garlic and apple vinegar sauce, and an egg yolk you drop into the soup for extra creaminess.
They always give the head to the bride and groom, because that has the best meat, as a sign of respect.
While the average diner might not be familiar with this Turkish delicacy, they probably know of , given how ubiquitous these ingredient-stuffed flatbreads are at markets, food courts, festivals and other outlets.
"There are a lot more gözleme shops in Australia than in Turkey," says Sivrioğlu. In his homeland, the grilled pastries are a roadside food sold by farmers. "They had the field behind them, the silverbeet or spinach, and some cheese from their animal, and they served it to the people passing by in their car," he says.
Turkish people are shocked when the chef explains how popular they are in Australia.
"People go, 'are you serious, people sell gözleme?'"
He tells them that gözleme vendors "always have the biggest queue".
So is he open to doing a version at Maydanoz, perhaps by filling the traditional yufka dough in interesting ways?
"Why would I be against it?" he says. "It's part of my culture."
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