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 half-dozen oysters from the raw bar, 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 thick-cut onion rings, stacked and grilled radicchio with anchovy butter. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was crème brûlée with a proper glass crust, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

A perfect Sunday lunch, which is what I came for.