If we lived in a parallel universe, there would be space for two reviews of Oncore, the sequel restaurant to the London-based Core, by Clare Smyth. One review would find its sole focus on the impeccable service courtesy of an entire fleet of floor staff dressed to the nines in suits, ties and brass buttons. Personable, knowledgeable and professional service, complete with good humour and one of the finest waiter’s swoops you’ll see outside of France. Intimate and personal touches chosen specifically by Smyth range from off-white leather bound tables, a sprig of wheat and lavender on each plate, and antique green velvet stools to rest one's handbag. It’s a glowing, five-star take on opulence, set on the 26th floor of the Crown Tower – a castle’s keep so fortified it requires two swipe cards and a 15-minute wait to even breach.
The second and inarguably more important review, however, would be of the food. Starting at an eye-watering $240 per person for three courses, and rocketing up to $330 for seven courses (not to mention the $190 per person wine pairing), it sets the expectations high, reasonably so – especially since Smyth is the first British-born woman to hold three Michelin stars. Not that Smyth has actually spent a service at Oncore: that role goes to New Zealand-born head chef Alan Stuart, who has worked with Smyth both at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay and her own Core restaurant in London's Notting Hill.
In what the floor staff explain to be Smyth’s signature brand of hospitality, a series of snacks arrive before the first course and believe us when we tell you, these might be some of the most delicious morsels we have ever eaten. The pumpkin gougère releases a smooth torrent of umami-packed béchamel, while the jellied eel so typical of London fare packs all the rounded deliciousness of a dashi stock more commonly associated with Japanese cuisine. A wafer-thin shell of pastry is topped with a square of madeira gel, secreting away a smoke-infused chicken liver parfait that offers no resistance as it coats the tongue. Finally, a skewered sausage of duck wing with orange and master stock spices is faultless, flavourful and crisp.
But then come the entrées, which is a far less steady experience. Up first is a kingfish sashimi of sorts, served atop a crown of sea vegetables, and formed into a pretty little rose with the addition of radish rounds. The nage sauce it swims in is reminiscent of the vodka lime and soda you forgot about then went back to after all the ice had melted. You likely wouldn’t drink it if you hadn’t just spent your hard earned coin on it.
A signature dish of ‘potato and roe’ is presented as a Southern Highlands spud grown by the Hill Family, and is an homage by Smyth to her Northern Ireland childhood on a potato farm. Each waxy potato is cooked low and slow for over six hours in kombu butter, then topped with herring and trout roe and tiny fermented salt and vinegar potato chips amid shoots of sorrel, chives and rocket. It’s fine in terms of flavour, but surprisingly dry for something that has just spent half a day in a bath of butter.
Things get a little meatier with the roasted coral trout, which is cooked beautifully and flakes with only a little force. Clarence River school prawns, Swiss chard and brown butter sauce complete the dish with a slightly confused addition of nutmeg that does little to add to the dish outside of flexing a classical French technique from the kitchen. An unnecessary bed of shredded wood-ear mushrooms muddles the flavour of the fish. Aged Maremma duck breast and red grape sits on a pool of sticky and one-dimensional jus while a pastry boat conceals a tartare of the duck's heart with thyme, wild honey and other woody herbs. It’s not for the squeamish, but the iron-rich meat is worth the cognitive dissonance it may take to get it down in one bite. Circles of pickled red grape offset the richness of the offal in a very pleasing way and provide respite from the richness of beurre blancs and demi glaces that have come before.
There is a particular joy to be found when it takes three waiters to present your dessert to you. This style of service rarely seen on Australian shores, and so it is a joyful moment when the palate cleanser of apple mousse, stewed apples and a calvados shimmer arrives with an entourage. The tart mousse is light and familiar, and once the stewed, almost candied apple cubes inside are revealed, the cinnamon-heavy gel harks back to 1980s dinner parties. Not that there’s anything wrong with that – we’d happily dive into it at the next potluck. Dessert actually begins with ‘the other carrot’, referring to a main of heirloom carrot steeped in lamb fat. The sweet version of this is a carrot gel concealing a log of cream cheese and a thin stage of Christmassy carrot cake. It’s tasty in the way that a bake sale carrot cake hits the spot. There’s no reinvention of the wheel, for better or worse.
Opulence seems to be the name of the game at Oncore, and this doesn’t stop short when it comes to the wine list. Head sommelier Remon Van de Kerkhof has created a selection of over 3000 bottles, where he illustrates his crush on Australia's most classically made wines – Pikes, Grosset, Balnaves – and showcases many of them on the wine pairing. Wines by the glass start at $22 and swing all the way up to $330 for a Coravin poured Penfolds ‘Grange’ shiraz. We are aware that Oncore isn’t of course an everyday sort of venue, though we have to wonder who is benefiting from dropping $9,990 on a 2018 riesling.
Oncore straddles the line between nostalgia and flavours that could genuinely be recreated at home. Perhaps Australians have been spoiled with our typically bright, complex and intense flavours that come from a sub-tropical climate and freedom to cherry pick from the cuisines of a young, postcolonial country (and increasingly, from native ingredients where appropriate). While it’s certainly an honour to have been chosen by such an accomplished chef to host her only venue outside the UK, and the excellence of the floor staff simply cannot be overstated, it is entirely possible that the richness and heaviness of such a menu is a little less hit and a little more miss on this side of the globe.