I haven’t told anyone that I am stepping down from my role as chief restaurant critic of The Sydney Morning Herald, until now. Mainly because I know what they are going to say when they hear the news. They’re going to tell me I’m stupid.

Why walk away from a weekly gig reviewing the best restaurants in town? From a column that I’ve made my own since arriving from Melbourne in 1994? From all that charred Fremantle octopus, lobster mafaldine and dry-aged Maremma duck? Granted, I may well be crazy, but I think it’s time, for a number of reasons.

In my years on the beat, the hospitality industry has ridden the ups and downs of economic and global financial crises and soldiered on. This time feels different. Everyone is working so much harder, for less. It makes it tough for a reviewer to be tough.

I’m also a bit over deadlines, to be honest. They’ve gotten me out of bed and to the desk for a long time now, and it’s going to be very weird without this one. I’ll probably be like the laboratory rat that still jumps on the treadmill and starts pounding away because it doesn’t know what else to do.

And I’m really looking forward to booking restaurants under my own name, because at least I’ll be able to remember it when I turn up at the restaurant door. Hopefully. When you run four or five false names across half-a-dozen online reservation systems, it can be a struggle. (I know, the pathos – you can feel my pain, right?)

Food has always made me feel better. So when I started earning money, it made sense to seek out ever better food, and to pay attention to it.

I was born to be a restaurant critic. When you know what it’s like as a youngster to be both hungry and lonely, you have a special relationship with food that lasts all your life. In my teens, I was living in cheap lodging houses and eating half a can of soup a night. Food has always made me feel better. So when I started earning money, it made sense to seek out ever better food, and to pay attention to it.

I found I also responded to the particular processes of dining – the rituals, the pacing, the timing, the tension, the theatre, the way staff members resolve issues with grace and humour, the smells, the spills, the whole shebang.

And I love the writing side of reviewing. The frustration when you can’t quite nail the description of a dish so that the reader can taste it. The satisfaction when you can.

I’ve had a great run. I’ve edited eight different Good Food Guides, I’ve won all the awards, written books and moved to London to review restaurants for The Independent on Sunday. Together with my wife and partner-in-crime Jill Dupleix, I’ve travelled the world, met some amazing and inspiring chefs and restaurateurs, and traced some of my all-time favourite ingredients back to their source.

I’ve watched the restaurant scene shape itself from the cocky young self-taught Australian chefs of the 1980s and 1990s, to the private equity-backed restaurant groups of the next couple of decades, to the current explosion of small indie diners that reflect our many cultures. What a trip.

The other thing that makes me feel good about this giant leap into the void is that there are now so many excellent voices reporting on the restaurant scene. In particular, I commend to you a young bloke called Callan Boys, who came along with fire in his belly 10 or 12 years ago and is now editing the Good Food Guide. You’ll be in good hands.

What I will miss, though, is a certain sense of duty I’ve had to you, my fellow diners. I’ve always gone out with the aim of finding somewhere great to eat. When I find something I really like, I think it’s been pretty obvious. If it doesn’t meet my expectations, then I’ve tried to let you know without crucifying anyone for cheap laughs or to get extra clicks online – something I despise.

I am grateful right down to my socks for having such a great audience for my work. You’re an informed and slightly sceptical bunch who, in our correspondences, have generally proven to be wise, fair and funny. I’ve also had the support of some great editors, sub-editors, photographers and journalistic colleagues who have paid me the ultimate honour of trusting me to do it my way.

Thanks all, it’s been a blast. You can still catch me in the pages of Good Weekend, but my final review for Good Food will run on Tuesday, December 17. And it’s a beauty.

After that, do say hello the next time you see me in a restaurant. I’ll be the one at the bad table in the back corner near the loo.