You don’t give your fancy new restaurant a marquee name like Society without raising expectations. Accessorised with a top-end city location at the so-schmancy-it-hurts 80 Collins development, Chris Lucas’ new darling is a bold assertion for the ye olde verities of occasion dining. It’s out for your heart and your wallet. It succeeds mostly on the first count and completely on the second.
You probably know the somewhat tortured backstory here: of Martin Benn, the ex-Sepia chef attached to the passion project who walked no sooner than the first caviar-infused Martini had sallied forth. Unexpectedly promoted to the top job, his lieutenant Luke Headon (whose CV is littered with names like the Fat Duck and London’s Restaurant Story) has turned what could have been a poisoned chalice into a PB.
There’s a chance diners of a certain age will be reminded of Rockpool in its heyday. Society’s looks owe a debt to the eternal design Esperanto that could have been plucked from New York, Paris or Milan – the dark, clubbish, testosterone-drenched good taste of it all, with the addition here of enormous satellite-esque chandeliers popping against the muted room. The menu’s à la carte free-for-all might also raise some connections in the hippocampus.
The key dish is the seafood platter, which costs $125 but induces a handy case of amnesia with the arrival of its luxe canapés-for-two arrangement: a crisply buttery two-bite crumpet crowned with uni, taramasalata and caviar; a jewel-like wodge of tea-smoked ocean trout with a tickle of bee pollen; the jellied perfection of a cured king prawn with the subtle tart-tangy kick of tomato ponzu; a salmon roe-topped crab tart that ought to be served in the Birdcage come the racing carnival. Just add Champagne, dahlings.
On that note, it’s easy to spend some serious coin on a list designed by super-sommelier Loic Avril, which travels first class to Burgundy and Bordeaux while also representing the pinnacle of the Australian wine industry (mere mortals will be relieved to hear the Oz foothills also get a showing).
It’s high-end stuff uninterested in chasing revolutionary ideas. Instead, Society focuses on delivering the classical appeal of deboned quail breast in a foamy sea of sauternes-spiked hazelnut butter – all swoony tang and soft-textured harmony. Five of its six mains follow the hero-protein-with-sauce template, which is not a bad thing when the hero protein is a perfect piece of coral trout, plucked from Queensland waters not 12 hours earlier, we’re told. It’s served with the due deference of cauliflower puree and a fruity-sour sea buckthorn sauce, a few Akoya oysters – native to WA, they taste like a cross between an oyster and mussel – playing back-up.
Society is thoroughly enjoyable, great in places, but the waiters are strangely inert to audience expectations. To wait ten minutes for the first drink order to be taken is a crime demanding two years in the slammer at this end of dining. It’s unreasonable to expect they’ve all been to charm school, but it’s telling when the biggest display of enthusiasm is seen at the bill-paying part of the evening.
But we’ve bypassed dessert, which is a crime in itself when it involves the Metropolis – a faceted lid of wickedly glistening dark chocolate designed to mimic the building’s exterior. It would all be too clever by half if it weren’t for the sheer deliciousness of it all – the crack of the choc spilling gooey innards of blood orange-spiked white chocolate.
It’s an early signature: a Benn-created, constantly evolving symbol of what Society is, and what it wishes to be. With a bit of work, it ought to get there.
