Georgia H.
Google
We won’t be back.
We arrived for our 7:45 PM booking with high hopes, but apparently, the table wasn't on the same schedule. We weren’t seated until 8:15 PM. To their credit, the staff were apologetic and brought out some sourdough that was, frankly, delicious—though we didn't realise at the time it would be our primary source of sustenance for the next two hours.
The entrees were a mixed bag. While the tuna was fresh and vibrant, the calamari was the culinary equivalent of a beige wall: dull, forgettable, and weirdly yeasty.
Then came the "Big Wait." Our mains didn't grace the table until 10:00 PM. By 9:45 PM, the table was unironically scouting the nearest Macca’s on Google Maps. For a "top restaurant," a staggering hour-plus gap between courses is less "relaxed dining" and more "test of human endurance."
When the mains finally arrived, we were introduced to the $68 Murray Cod. At roughly 180g, let’s just say you should forget the gains, bru—this isn't the place for a protein fix. The inconsistency was the real kicker: while two guests received decent fillets, I was "blessed" with the tail end—over-grilled, dry, and pathetic (see photos). How a kitchen of this supposed caliber sends out such wildly different versions of the same expensive dish to the same table is a mystery. Also, a pro tip: if you don’t have a clinical obsession with capers, avoid the cod. The fish was essentially drowning in them.
As for the rest: the pork was "nice" once you performed the surgical extraction required to find meat amidst the fat, and the duck was admittedly delicious.
The sides? We’ll never know. They were completely forgotten by the staff, and by that point, we were too over it to even consider dessert.
Agnes, you have the reputation and the price tag of a world-class establishment, but the execution on this night was amateur hour.