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 a wedge of iceberg with blue cheese, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a heavy California zinfandel, no apologies, 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. Cut through it and you found that deep, beefy, almost iron-tasting interior that only comes from time and dry air. The signature touch — Neil Perry's full-spread room — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for creamed spinach so rich it should embarrass us and wild mushrooms in butter. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was the bread pudding with bourbon sauce, 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.