The Star’s signature restaurant has an identity problem

Aloria has a messaging problem.

Since opening in October 2024, this 120-seater has billed itself as The Star’s signature fine-dining experience, perched 23 floors up at the imposing casino and hotel complex, with knock-out views across the river, the city and beyond.

Yet, 90 minutes. That, according to Aloria’s website, is all the time you get at your table (for dinner; lunch is two hours), regardless of when you book. Ninety minutes? Really? I like dinner and a show, but only when there’s a show.

I get that first clench of anxiety. I call my dining partner.

“We only have an hour and a half … Yep, the lifts … No, the other lifts … William Street … Wait, let me pin it on a map.” And so on.

The dissonance continues upon arrival.

We’re directed to a dedicated elevator for Aloria guests, rather than having to share with the hoi polloi headed to its neighbours, Babblers and Cicada Blu (actually, it’s a back door to the elevators for The Star Grand Hotel, but it’s an upmarket touch either way).

Yet what we find at the top is, sure, an occasion restaurant, but mostly because of the views. It’s not a fine diner in the traditional sense of the world. This is also a hotel restaurant, so it needs universality and approachability. And it also needs to have you out in 90 minutes.

Turns out, Aloria is equipped for both of these things: the menu is succinct and well priced, the style of service professional but casual (if not always relaxed).

We check in with our server as we sit down. What time do you need the table back? She leaves, returns and says no one is booked after us – we’re free to stay as long as we like. She smiles like she’s done everyone a favour.

She probably has, in a sense. Imagine having to enforce a 90-minute dining rule at a place like this? We arrive early for our 6.15pm booking, and our mains end up being cleared at 7.30pm. There are just two of us, ordering relatively efficiently, and by this stage, everyone – us, the staff – knows the pressure’s off. But a six-top for nan’s birthday? I’d be concerned.

To be fair, the restaurant is clearly willing to work with you on this, and having it upfront on the website isn’t unusual – it’s just that, fine diner or not, two hours might be more suitable for Aloria.

Admin done, we take in our surroundings.

Aloria, like its neighbours, is an open-air dining space at the north-western end of the sky deck. You could quibble with its design, which throws together glass brick, blush-pink furniture and timber floorboards, and adds up to something that feels slightly unfinished. But really, you’re here for the views and, once the sun sets, the restaurant’s lighting is dialled down just so, giving it a lovely vibe.

Executive chef Shayne Mansfield will tell you his food is all about capturing local produce at its best, whether that’s in-season or via pickling and ferments. He talks about his grandmother a lot, but it doesn’t feel like a stunt. There’s a comfort to his food and – after stints at Newcastle’s Flotilla and QT Newcastle, as well as The Long Apron in Montville – a touch of “regionally trained chef returns to the big smoke”.

We take our cue from a seafood-heavy list of entrees to order miso buttered spanner crab, and roasted tiger prawns with fermented chilli butter.

The crab, finished at the table with a chicken skin cream, is luscious in flavour and texture, and cut through with an aniseed earthiness via a clutch of fried curry leaves. God intended miso to go with crab, and it’s no different here, the chicken skin cream lending the dish a lovely, velvety mouthfeel. Once poured at the table, it’s slightly cooler than it perhaps should be, and you therefore eat it faster than you perhaps should, but not enough to completely derail the enjoyment.

The meaty Yamba-sourced tiger prawns, served with a fermented chilli butter, are more or less what they say on the box, the chefs finishing the dish off with a house-made roasted shellfish oil. This is point-blank stuff for someone of Mansfield’s skill, and he doesn’t miss. Boom.

For mains, a roasted fillet of coral trout with pink fir potato, lemon aspen and an oyster veloute reads on the palate like an upmarket fish and chips. It’s lovely, but it’s upstaged by hay-aged duck breast with beetroot, goats curd, fermented garlic honey, and a duck neck sauce.

This one dish captures so much of Mansfield’s cooking, from the hay-ageing of the duck for two weeks, to the fermented garlic honey – something that was introduced to him by, yep, his grandmother – and the repurposing of the duck neck to create the sauce. It’s all done with purposeful restraint, and it eats beautifully.

Dinner comes powered by a wine list that’s more expansive and less expensive than you’d think. The by-the-glass selection plays it relatively safe – we order a Jim Barry Lodge Hill riesling and a Louis Latour Ardèche chardonnay – but that’s understandable in this kind of restaurant.

The keen price point would have encouraged some exploration into the Coravin selection but, an hour after our arrival, the floor staff are in the weeds and our glasses remain empty all mains long.

Instead, we start thinking about dessert.

A dark chocolate parfait with cherry sorbet would have been a perfectly pleasant way to end the meal, but it’s gazumped by an “urban” honey cake served with caramelised cream and a croissant ice cream. Precisely layered and topped with Italian meringue laced with fennel juice, it’s rare that a dessert comes with such a delineated flavour profile. It’s a real joy to eat.

It means we leave Aloria 112 minutes after we entered, leaning towards the positives rather than the negatives. And you can’t help but like this restaurant. The Star could have phoned it in, but instead they’ve given Mansfield the scope for proper expression.

It’s shame about the mixed messaging because, at the end of the day, this is a hotel restaurant. And that’s OK. I like good hotel restaurants – I like their democratic “come as you are” approach – and this is a good one, with killer views.

Put aside Aloria’s confusion over what it is, and it’s well worth visiting.

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