Eighty floors above Melbourne, expect truffles, dry-aged duck, serious wine and plenty of theatre. Just not the stuffiness you might expect.
As the elevator rose 80 floors of Ritz-Carlton grandeur and my ears started popping, the doors opened onto Atria with the sort of jaw-gaping vistas you imagine from a mountaintop, the city’s expanse glittering below. I was led to my seat at the 19-foot-long bar and chef’s counter, crafted from reclaimed wood from a fallen tree in Mt Dandenong. From the moment I arrived, the hospitality felt considered and generous, but never smothering.
Tonight I was here for Table Nineteen, a five-course tasting menu served with the live theatre of chefs plating each dish before your eyes. My first sip of a perfectly dry vodka martini set the tone as I awaited the bread course: a warm laminated brioche with cultured butter, meadow flowers, and burnt honey. The brioche had an almost pastry-like pull, with a drizzle of verdant green basil oil cutting through the sweet cultured butter. The sommelier paired the brioche with a non-alcoholic sparkling wine made with Earl Grey tea and local honey. Delicious on its own, but alongside the brioche, a little too sweet for me. An intensely dry Champagne with big yeasty bubbles would have been my preferred choice.
My next course came with a wine I recognised, but had no idea was being produced in Australia: Assyrtiko, made in the Clare Valley from the Greek grape famously grown on Santorini. A generous portion of thick-cut, deeply pink-red Port Fairy tuna arrived sashimi-style, melting with each bite alongside fresh citrus, an incredibly moreish smoky tuna bone cream and just enough earthy depth from shiitake oil. The wine’s minerality, lemon pith and the kind of salinity I crave in a white cut straight through the richness of the fish and smoky cream.
Between courses, the team would stop by, curious about my thoughts and my favourite bites. There were stories about the handmade knives from artisan Mathieu Deschamps, alongside personal anecdotes about tasting certain dishes for the first time. In a setting like this, those little interactions made the experience feel personal and far less exclusive or stuffy.
A steamed ballotine of Murray cod arrived with a plump Portarlington mussel and a smoked ham hock in a delicate broth. As I spooned into the ham hock, it gently fell apart, its smoky richness becoming part of the liquid with every bite. I discreetly tilted my bowl to spoon every last drop and discovered the tart, lemony pop of ice plant as a final note. In the glass was a layered, unfiltered 2023 Orbis Albariño with melon, passionfruit and a lovely saline quality.
Atria’s dry-aged Moorabool Valley duck has been on the menu since day one. They tried taking it off once. Diners weren’t having it. So back it came, with the accompaniments changing with the seasons while the duck itself stays put. This version paired crispy-skinned, perfectly mid-rare duck with orange-braised endive and a foie gras crème brûlée, its crackly caramelised top giving way to creamy foie underneath. It was rich, meaty, sweet and zingy. Alongside it, a single-vineyard Pinot from Geelong’s Bannockburn Vineyards, released in celebration of their 50th anniversary. Light and airy Pinot it was not, and that was exactly the wildcard this dish needed. A little leather on the nose, then berry and savoury spice with each sip.
One thing to note: this tasting menu is generously portioned. So when my wood-fired venison arrived with sides of roasted chat potatoes and a heaped pile of blush-pink radicchio, I wondered how I was going to fit it all in. I started with the tender venison, scooping up the savoury bread-and-butter pudding underneath, which ate almost like mash. A sweet-tart red cherry Grand Veneur, a classic French “huntsman” sauce traditionally served with wild game, brought some much-needed zip. By this point, my pace had definitely slowed. Luckily, I had a cool-climate Syrah from Tasmania’s Meadowbank vineyard to keep me company.
Just when I needed a moment to reset, an intermezzo appeared in the form of a flower pot, complete with stems, blooms and a lemon verbena lollipop rising from the centre. One cold, intensely zesty bite did the trick. Next came a glass of Pressing Matters R69 Riesling that conjured up memories of Key lime pie. As a large domed cloche was lifted, a plume of lemony smoke spilled out, revealing the pavlova with house-made blood-orange caviar, native finger lime, Victorian honey and lemon ice cream. The first mouthful took me straight back to Pop Rocks, crackling and popping with zingy citrus. Somehow, despite feeling at my limit just moments before, I ate every last bite.
Is this one of the more decadent meals I’ve had in Melbourne? 100%. But for all the truffles, dry-aged duck, wine and theatre, what stayed with me most was how warm the whole experience felt. You’re encouraged to ask questions, chat with the chefs, tilt the bowl for that last spoonful of broth and enjoy yourself while you’re at it. So if you’re looking for a dinner in Melbourne that feels like an occasion from the moment the elevator doors open, put Atria on your list.
