A bold venture; drama on the floor, and in the kitchen; the lashing of a pandemic. There have been some big storms in Melbourne recently, but the perfect storm feels like Society. Imagine spending literally millions on the bones of a three star restaurant, and no longer having the star chef, or star maitre’d?

There is a postscript here about what fine dining means (and more specifically how sommeliers should interact with their guests), but I don’t want to take anything away from a tremendous lunch. The imagination behind Society, and the ability to pull it off, during a pandemic, is mind boggling. You feel like it is a big day out.

We dressed for the occasion, incredibly excited for our 2pm lunch sitting. At a new precinct, 80 Collins, Society sits as the flagship, a beautiful brooding dining room, with three grand, but modern, chandeliers taking centre stage, stage right, and stage left, with lengthy shadow curtains creating the backdrop. There is grandeur and refinement.

I do not know if the menu has changed since the sudden departure of Martin Benn, who back in July (before three pandemic driven cancellations) was the reason for our booking, having loved our time at Sepia in Sydney. Either way, it reminds me of Gimlet, which is just down the road, with a broad sheet of great dishes, allowing you to choose your own adventure. We had our usual negotiation, but I was pleased to find Catherine was also interested in the entree “Society Seafood”, especially given the lobster ravioli had run out (which gladly we were told before we set our hearts on it).

It’s not dainty, but for a big eater, I’m glad it is not called a “platter”. For Catherine and I the portions on this plate are perfect. Starting with the delicate crab tart, mixed with yuba (dried tofu skin), and some spice, which had me reminiscing about curried egg sandwiches, each bite was memorable. Next the soft scallops, on the most divine cornbread like vessel, topped with caviar, were rich and delicate, as only scallops can be. The smoked trout took me back to one of my favourite dishes at Farmer’s Daughters only months ago, and the scarlet prawn with tiny cubes of ginger, was an equally delicious finish to the plate.

After such an extraordinary seafood extravaganza we needed some equally incredible mains, and we got what we asked for! First we need to mention the 2014 Montrachet we were drinking was about as elegant (and expensive) wine as we’ve tried, perfect with the entree, and even better with Catherine’s Murray Cod. I tried some and was swept away by the intense beauty of this fish. Richer, but no less beautiful, was my duck breast with the amount of jus that you dream of, engulfing the plate, and a generous disc of black pudding with juniper and blackberry further showcasing the technique of the kitchen. The nebbiolo I tried with the duck was a match, but the chardonnay with the Cod far outshone it.

To say we were excited by dessert by this stage is an understatement. The options, all four of them, all were so difficult to make that we found ourselves talking to nearby tables about them. My choice, “Metropolis”, is stunning and to perfect script with the restaurant. Behind the dark chocolate crack of the literal facade copy of the building, you have utterly delicious cherry and biscuit, and the playfulness doesn’t get old to the last bite. Catherine was equally stunned with the delicate feel of her tart, but the strength of the technique, and more importantly, the flavour spectrum, to create something that is unique in her blueberry and white chocolate tart.

While there had been times where service was not as precise as Chris Lucas’ script from day one; the effort, and mostly the experience of the staff was there to be seen. You have to give praise to the fact that a very expensive restaurant opened for five weeks, then copped a three month lockdown, and lost a head chef that had been in the world’s 50 best restaurants with Sepia. If we didn’t know we couldn’t have told.

In particular, the help of staff at the end of our meal when we had lost a $600 voucher we’d purchased a month prior, was terrific. They could have quite easily have made us pay, but they could see we had made the purchase and honoured it.

I do have to say that it wasn’t quite the same feel as my social media had filled my imagination with though. It is certainly beautiful, and a big day out feel, but there were quite a few diners (gents especially) that didn’t get the memo and dressed like they were off to a nice lunch at Young & Jackson’s. Each to their own, and all power to those less discerning dressers, because what they got to enjoy on the plate would have made them feel amazing anyway.

Society is very close to what it was intended to be and I hope they strive to get there. We’ll be back once we save our deposit again!

Postscript: is fine dining supposed to be comfortable?

Fine dining is supposed to be the height of hospitality where exceptional food, service, and setting, come together in perfect harmony. In my personal opinion, whilst there are a lot of intimidating factors (especially the cost of exceptional dining), if you put aside expense, to many, fine dining should be about comfort. Not comfort in the sense of tracksuit pants, rustic food (though there is nothing wrong with rustic food), and sloppy manners, but comfort within the bounds of fine dining society. Do you see what I did there?

Well, I have dined in some very intimidating places and have been schooled fairly well. I love restaurants, and I am experienced, but certainly not expert. The best restaurants I’ve been to have a manner of putting you at ease to allow you to enjoy the experience, even though you know you could be walking out poor! The reason for my lengthy introduction to this topic is one interaction with the sommelier on Sunday at lunch.

I’ve put this at the bottom of the review because it shouldn’t take away from the meal itself, but it, like other negative experiences, does stand out. I feel I need a little explanation to begin. Catherine doesn’t drink a huge amount, and favours white wine, especially chardonnay. I love chardonnay, but normally need at least one glass of red to enjoy with any heavier meat dishes. Many years ago while in Biarritz we had our first (and only) premier cru Montrachet, and it still vividly lives in my memory.

Today, I wanted to recreate some of that experience, so I perused the menu and realised that there are many areas of Montrachet, and I wouldn’t know one from the other. I noticed that for up to around $250 I could get a special bottle for our 12 years of knowing each other anniversary (yes, we celebrate that!) It is the most I’ve ever spent on a bottle of wine with Catherine, except for Dom Perignon on other special occasions. I asked for the sommelier and said that we would like a bottle of premier cru Montrachet, for up to $250. I thought the request was more than reasonable.

The sommelier said they have something off-list that sounded like it would be perfect for us, and that she would go and try to find it. In the meantime Catherine said something like “I bet she comes back with something more expensive” and I said something, as I normally do because I am optimistic like “no, she heard what we asked for”. When the sommelier came back she said she found the bottle and it is a 2014, giving a great description, which we were excited about, before saying “it’s $290”. I thought I misheard so I did say “did you say two-ninety” and she replied “is that alright? I know you said $250.”

This is a situation that a tax professional of over 20 years, who has got through school and uni and post-grad, and 20 years of work, still cannot handle. I wanted to say “what the” but what came out was “sure, it sounds great”. Think of the scratchy voiced kid in the Simpsons. I think she realised we were unhappy with the underhandedness of the gesture and came back with an offer of two glasses of Margaret River blanc de blancs by Vasse Felix, but only I could properly take her up on the offer because Catherine wanted to just have a couple of glasses. Given they knew this was an anniversary I’m a bit skeptical, and it may have been on the house anyway.

The whole situation was uncomfortable because Catherine and I would not even normally look at bottles that far over $100 in the first place and we had been upsold on the most expensive bottle we’ve ever bought at a restaurant. To come back to the initial question, what the sommelier did, whether intentional or not, is not my definition of hospitality, and not the service you should expect in fine dining.

Twenty-one years ago I ate at Rockpool in Circular Quay and could barely afford the Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc, but no one in that fine establishment made me feel uncomfortable about that. That is service. Oh, and Neil Perry was dining on the table next-door (for some reason in his own restaurant) which I realised as I flew home the next day to Perth, given he featured as the new executive chef for Qantas!