Rockpool Bar & Grill

I have eaten in a lot of dining rooms that try this hard. Rockpool Bar & Grill is one of the few that pulls it off without looking like it is trying.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: 1936 art-deco banking hall, brass everywhere. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with French onion soup with the cap of cheese intact, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a quiet Brunello from the back of the list, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: cape grim grass-fed sirloin, the dish that puts Rockpool Bar & Grill on every short list. It arrived faintly hissing on a heated plate, the kind of small detail that tells you the kitchen still cares about the last twenty seconds before service. The signature touch — Neil Perry's full-spread room — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for wild mushrooms in butter and hash browns the size of a hubcap. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was tiramisu, just barely too much, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

I paid the bill, walked out into the Sydney evening, and put the address back into the notebook with a star next to it.