UPDATE: From March 6, 2023, the Charles is offering a Champagne afternoon tea experience involving its roving dessert trolley, for $99 per head.
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There’s a certain stereotype associated with any fancy white-clothed (in this case, ‘grand’) brasserie, especially one where the wine list soars up to $38,000 bottles, the cocktail ice is embossed with the institution’s logo, and the menu throws out phrases like ‘signature caviar service’. For some, that stereotype is ‘pomposity’.
The Charles, though, manages to evade the clichés and make fine dining, believe it or not, fun. In fact, they tackle the problem head-on. As their culinary director, Sebastien Lutaud, explains, the team has set out to “celebrate the charm of old-school hospitality without the stuffiness”.
To thank, we have Etymon Projects, the hospitality company behind Lavender Bay’s Loulou Bistro (and its next-door neighbour, Loulou Boulangerie & Traiteur). They come equipped with executive chef Billy Hannigan, who brings with him eight years of experience at London’s two-Michelin-starred the Ledbury, plus pastry chef Rhiann Mead, whose CV features Sydney fine-dining heavyweights Bennelong and Quay.
A scroll through the restaurant’s Instagram doesn’t quite do the place justice. It’s infinitely cosier, friendlier and more wholesome than the flash décor and polished photography let on. Much of the space is open plan, with rows of plush seating offering views of the brass-plated pass, while other diners are tucked away in small booths and upstairs in the hard-to-book mezzanine-level gallery. Set in a 14-storey Art Deco ‘skyscraper’ at 66 King Street, the restaurant is named after the original 1938 building, ‘Charles Plaza’, and inherits some of the same old grandeur, to help transport you to a bygone era.
When it comes to the menu, meat is high on the agenda. The headliner (if only in terms of price) is the Canard à la Presse – a whole dry-aged roasted and pressed duck. We’re told that somewhere tucked behind the walls of the kitchen is a dedicated duck and poultry room, where 100 glazed birds are dry-aged for ten days at a time before being roasted to crispy perfection. The meat underneath comes sliced and supple, shining in a coat of fresh fruity jus.
As you might sense, a big part of the charm is the performance. Your steak and anchovy tartare is prepared at the table, the beef tenderloin first mashed to a zesty, buttery mince with shallots, capers, parsley, preserved lemon, black pepper and anchovy mayonnaise, before being draped with three hefty Spanish anchovy fillets and topped with red velvet lettuce leaves. Your black opal Wagyu rump cap is carved in front of you – a single thick slice of beef stretching the length of the dinner plate in a pool of red wine gravy. There are no well-done cuts here – it’s brought out a juicy, dripping medium-rare, so tender that a butter knife might’ve done the job, with three choices of mustards on a scale of sharpness to cut through the richness of the centrepiece.
Then there’s the dessert trolley (repurposed between 3 and 5pm each day as an afternoon tea service), which rattles around the restaurant floor like a living, breathing reminder to leave some space for afters. And be warned: declining dessert may result in the maître d' (the brilliant venue manager, Steven Lebreuilly) furrowing his brow, shaking his head, then wheeling out the trolley anyway.
It is, after all, a three-tier cart for full-blown cakes (Le Marjolaine – hazelnut praline buttercream with dark chocolate and vanilla), bite-sized confectionery (madeleines, cannoli, handmade chocolates), and a daily revolving door of what could be test-kitchen experiments (watermelon sour jellies, spiced teddy bear marshmallows). They’re stacked top-heavy across a quirky collection of plates, bowls and cake stands that’s equal parts Wes Anderson and Roald Dahl.
The crown jewel is the Russian honey cake. Your waiter will cut a towering slice comprising 28 wafer-thin layers of honeycomb biscuit, cream cheese and dulce de leche before easing it onto your plate side-down. One forkload tells you that it’s that perfect balance of rich, creamy indulgence and, somehow, featherweight density that doesn’t fall too hard on bloated bellies.
Beyond these lavish meats and sweets are vegetable dishes that don’t just come across as a token favour for veggies. Case in point, the market crudités – a wreath of sweet, crunchy carrots, broccolini, zucchini and radishes, raw as if freshly plucked from the ground, served over ice and weaved around a pot of smoked almond praline.
To drink, beyond the impressive wine directory offering up more than 600 bottles, the Charles has a small collection of house cocktails, of which the Gimlet comes recommended. Part gin, part sweetened lime juice – and arriving in a dainty little glass – it’s an easy way to make you feel like you’re part of the ensemble.
And if there wasn’t already enough novelty, the Charles has two sister venues that opened at the same time in the same spot: the Charles Bar is adjoined to the restaurant, while downstairs there’s Tiva, a luxe basement lounge with live music. A triplex of pure opulence for those fortunate enough to cop the expense.