Quay was always going to be a hard act to follow. How does its replacement stack up?

The George Freedman disco pattern. The eggplant-purple of the mid-2000s. No restaurant has had more column inches dedicated to its carpet than Quay. Even as Sydney’s most lauded fine diner closed and The Oriana Restaurant, its replacement, went in, questions were pinging around. Would they keep it? Rip it out? Finally, an answer.

Gone is the deep blue rolled out during Quay’s renovation in 2018. In its place, the new proprietors – the blandly named Australian Venue Co, owned by Luxembourg and Hong Kong private equity, who’ve also flipped The Squire’s Landing downstairs into a swish beer garden and pub – have laid acres of mottled orange pile, reminiscent of the blazing wheat fields in Terrence Malick’s Days of Heaven.

How do you even attempt to follow Quay? Maybe don’t, says the carpet. Ignite the sage, then bump in boucle chairs, pull out the room dividers and shrug off the weight of history in one aesthetic shift.

On that count, The Oriana is a success. This isn’t a restaurant crafting a cutting-edge tasting menu, where luxury lies in coaxing exceptional depth of flavour from rare and exotic ingredients. But what restaurant is any more? It’s the 2020s, babe, Trump’s in the White House. Give us lobster, steak and profiteroles. Give us star power.

Crucially, The Oriana has set its own terms. The room feels lighter, more energetic, and the menu leaves space for the awe to extend to the Bridge and House, rather than just what’s placed in front of you.

And those dishes can’t help being enjoyable, even if they look a lot like what everyone else is serving. The pick of the snacks is the finely layered potato pavé, topped with beef tartare prettily concealed beneath a slice of wagyu bresaola, the only fault being that the cured meat blocks your palate from savouring the tartare itself.

The platter of “autumn” crudites might be offered in winter and feature mainstream spring produce, but it’s crisp and bright, with basil-infused chimichurri, fermented chilli and thick, herb-flecked yoghurt to scoop and dip.

Those first two sauces are offered alongside four steaks, of which the Little Joe pasture-raised rib-eye is the most balanced. It’s rested well and neatly plated. Skip the too-thick bearnaise and go for mustard service, presented, like the rest, with expertise and easy charm.

Chef Jason Roberson (Bopp & Tone; The Butler) oversees all floors, and it’s a feat of menu-building to cover so many bases so thoroughly. Based on experience, the beer garden is a light and leafy place to drink a Heineken, split a steak sandwich – smoky and satisfying – and watch the USA lose to Belgium on the big screens. I haven’t tried the schnitzel, but if it’s anything like the prawn rolls, I’d expect it to hit the spot.

The Pub level (one up) lacks the buzz of the ground floor, and despite things coming from the same kitchen, the dishes here are strangely lacking, including a mafaldine with kale and spinach pesto that doesn’t taste like much at all. One quirk is the presence of just a single “chef’s pick” stamped on the three-column menu, dedicated solely to the barbecued lamb skewers, but if it convinces you to order them, know they’re brilliant: charred, smoky and iron-rich with aioli and guindilla peppers honing and lengthening the flavour.

Upstairs, the raw tuna crudo is Roberson’s recommendation. It’s a tautological entree that’s as pleasant to behold as it is to eat: the ruby flesh, salmon roe and ice plant in high-gloss, the turmeric and harissa dressing in high-contrast. The “signature” lobster tagliatelle? On the wrong side of al dente, but the restrained bisque sauce softly scented with tarragon means it deserves the billing.

Duck breast can be spongy, the salted caramel creme brulee is no Snow Egg (what is?), but in general, the mood is warm, the food is satisfying and the view remains unrivalled.

Squint, and Quay lingers like a phantom limb. The Oriana’s promise is that it isn’t running scared, even plating some dishes on Quay’s old bespoke ceramics. We miss them, too, it says, but we aren’t them – let us show you who we are.

Good Food reviews are booked anonymously and paid independently. A restaurant can’t pay for a review or inclusion in the Good Food Guide.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine