Michelin hasn’t forgotten how to award stars – it’s forgotten who they’re for

As the Michelin Guide prepares to announce its 2026 stars, Hannah Twiggs looks at who’s likely to gain, lose or miss out – and what the surprising restaurants still in the running tell us about what is really getting rewarded

Michelin stars are awarded on the plate, but the decisions behind them are shaped by far more than what happens on the pass (Getty/iStock)

Trying to predict Michelin stars has always been a fool’s errand, and not just because taste is subjective. Michelin is a famously opaque, fickle awards body, prone to abrupt changes of heart, long-held grudges and sudden bursts of enthusiasm that often seem to owe as much to politics and personality as to what’s actually on the plate.

Stars are supposedly awarded to restaurants, not chefs, but history suggests otherwise. When head chefs move on, stars wobble, if not disappear entirely. Restaurants that feel “due” can wait years; others arrive fully formed and are rewarded immediately. Bad behaviour, rumour and reputation matter too, even if Michelin would never admit it.

Like the Oscars, it has its favourites, its blind spots and its long-running snubs. Leonardo DiCaprio went home empty-handed for years; plenty of British restaurants know the feeling.

That’s what makes this year’s Michelin Guide Great Britain & Ireland ceremony, taking place in Dublin on Monday 9 February, feel particularly charged. Not because the cooking has suddenly changed, but because the context has. Fine dining is no longer riding a wave of cultural optimism. Cost-of-living pressures, punitive tax burdens on hospitality and a waning appetite for ultra-expensive tasting menus have forced even the most ambitious kitchens to rethink their models.

The question hanging over Michelin this year is whether the guide is capable of adapting too, or whether it will continue rewarding excellence as if the world outside the dining room hasn’t shifted.

No restaurant embodies that tension more sharply than Ynyshir. Until recently, Gareth Ward’s remote Welsh restaurant was widely regarded as a strong contender for a third Michelin star. The cooking remains some of the most distinctive and technically audacious in Britain. But earlier this year, Ynyshir received the lowest possible food hygiene rating following an inspection by local authorities, a result that landed awkwardly in the middle of Michelin prediction season.

For clarity, a one-star hygiene rating does not automatically imply unsafe food. Inspectors did not cite a specific incident of food poisoning, instead raising concerns around systems and documentation. Ward responded robustly, saying the restaurant operates at an elite level, with extensive testing and controls, and arguing that some of its practices were misunderstood during the inspection. He said changes were made immediately and that a re-inspection is under way.

Still, the optics are uncomfortable. Michelin may not assess hygiene directly, but it does recommend where people should travel, stay and spend serious money. Can it credibly encourage diners to book a £500-per-person-plus destination tasting menu at a restaurant officially deemed to “require major improvement” in food safety?

Whether Michelin chooses to look the other way and simply pause Ynyshir’s momentum, or, more dramatically, scrutinise its existing stars is ultimately less revealing about the restaurant than it is about the guide. How Michelin responds will tell us a great deal about how much public trust still figures into its decision-making.

Then there’s Gordon Ramsay, or rather, the sheer number of Gordon Ramsay-backed restaurants now circling Michelin attention. At one end sits his flagship, Restaurant Gordon Ramsay, Britain’s second-longest-standing three-star restaurant, now operating under new head chef Kim Ratcharoen following the departure of Matt Abé. Transitions like this are rarely neutral moments, particularly at the very top of the guide, where continuity is prized almost as highly as brilliance. Here lies an opportunity, should Michelin choose to take it, to broaden the picture: women still make up just around 8 per cent of starred chefs in the UK, a statistic that has shifted painfully slowly despite years of conversation about change.

Abé’s own new opening, Bonheur, arrives weighted with symbolism. It has taken over the former Le Gavroche site, a restaurant that famously became the first in the UK to achieve three Michelin stars in 1982, held them for more than a decade, and maintained two until its closure in January 2024. Bonheur’s unapologetically classical ambitions feel like a deliberate nod to that lineage, and a test of whether Michelin still has the same appetite for the ultra-formal, old-school fine dining it once championed.

Ynyshir was once tipped as a strong contender for a third star – but a recent hygiene rating has complicated the question of what Michelin is willing to stand behind (Ynyshir)

Elsewhere, there’s the quietly excellent and arguably under-recognised 1890 by Gordon Ramsay, overseen by chef James Sharp and awarded its first star in 2024. There’s High by Gordon Ramsay, his high-altitude City project that opened in February 2025 with former Evelyn’s Table head chef James Goodyear. It forms part of Ramsay’s £20m takeover of the top floors of 22 Bishopsgate, an ambitious deal that has not, so far, been without its financial challenges.

Individually, these restaurants make a strong case for Michelin recognition. Collectively, they raise a more awkward question: does Ramsay’s name – literally above every door – and institutional backing count as a blessing or a curse? Michelin has always insisted it resists celebrity, yet Ramsay has been steadily rebuilding his Michelin footprint in recent years. Whether inspectors reward that momentum or quietly hold back to avoid accusations of favouritism will be fascinating to watch.

Elsewhere in the capital, there are restaurants that appear to be actively courting Michelin recognition, and others that seem to attract it regardless. Ikoyi feels like one of the clearest cases for promotion this year, its cooking now more assured and internationally relevant than ever. The Cocochine has become a near-universal critics’ favourite, while underdog Planque has gathered serious momentum after five years of quiet consistency.

Restaurants such as Angelo Sato’s Humble Chicken and Tom Sellers’ Restaurant Story are clearly pushing – refining their offering and signalling ambition – something Michelin usually responds to, even if it pretends it doesn’t. Row on 5, too, is widely regarded as having long performed at two-star level. Its chef, Jason Atherton, came under industry fire last year after saying he had never personally witnessed sexism in professional kitchens, making the question this year less about the food than whether Michelin makes decisions in a vacuum.

But this year’s story cannot be told through London alone.

Beyond the capital, the momentum is increasingly hard for Michelin to ignore. In Manchester, Skof, run by Simon Rogan alumnus Tom Barnes, is operating with the kind of quiet precision Michelin tends to reward when it wants to signal seriousness beyond the M25.

Liverpool, too, is edging back into the conversation: 8 by Andy Sheridan has made a persuasive case that tasting-menu dining outside the capital can still feel relevant and well supported. Further east, JÖRO, in Sheffield, has become something of a test case for Michelin’s regional credibility: long praised, frequently predicted, still waiting.

In North Yorkshire, Hansom represents a different kind of challenge to Michelin orthodoxy. Ruth Hansom’s cooking is confident, personal and increasingly polished, yet it tends to be spoken about as deserving rather than inevitable – praise that carries weight, but not always momentum, in Michelin terms. If the guide really means what it claims about regional excellence and openness, Hansom is exactly the sort of restaurant that tests that claim.

Then there are the destinations: restaurants that ask diners to travel, commit and spend. Vraic, run by Ynyshir alumnus Nathan Davies, but without the same baggage, theatre or overwhelmingly loud disco soundtrack, has emerged as one of the Channel Islands’ strongest contenders. In Scotland, Inver by Pam Brunton and Rob Latimer, already holding a Michelin green star, embodies the values-led fine dining Michelin increasingly champions: seasonal, restrained, rooted in place.

Even relocations complicate the picture. One-starred Osip remains a restaurant Michelin clearly admires, but history suggests moves often pause momentum rather than accelerate it. Inspectors like continuity; disruption, however elegant, tends to trigger reassessment rather than reward.

Taken together, this year’s guide feels less like a referendum on cooking – which remains strong, inventive and resilient across the country – than on what Michelin wants its stars to mean now.

I would like to see more women included among the winners. Not as a corrective gesture, but because there is no shortage of female chefs doing work that is distinctive and star-worthy, and because the guide still struggles to reflect that reality. And I would like to see Michelin acknowledge, even implicitly, the pressures facing both restaurants and diners: the tax burden, the cost of living, the recalibration of what fine dining looks like in 2026.

Michelin hasn’t forgotten how to award stars – it’s forgotten who they’re for. The guide’s original purpose was simple: tell people where it was worth eating. Somewhere along the way, that clarity has been replaced by a system that often feels designed for chefs first, critics second and diners last.