SHOULD YOU ASK AN Australian if they’re willing to dine at a hotel restaurant in their own country, I forecast the response to come as an incredulous scrunched face followed by a near-panicked plea: “There must be somewhere else?!” Historically, albeit with a few exceptions, we’ve not been all that good at hotel restaurants.
This might ruffle a few starched napkins, but look into your memories of steak Dianes sinking titanically into a buttery swamp, served in dining rooms void of discernible personality, and your heart will know the truth. Down in the antipodes, we’ve not been graced with the diverting hotel dining culture of Europe, Britain or the States, where these establishments are places to covet a booking, not pity those with the misfortune of dining in them on a Saturday night.
Here, at the
