Name: China Doll
Address: 6 Cowper Wharf Road, Woolloomooloo
Cuisine: Modern Asian
Good Food Rating: 1 Hat (15/20)
Twelve Hats Rating: 16/20
Total Spend: $468 (Excluding tips)
Guest post by James Martin
Arriving early for a reservation at China Doll affords the curious diner with an opportunity to wander the length of Woolloomooloo’s pretty wharf, which stretches out finger-like into Woolloomooloo Bay. We strolled along, taking in the late evening air and glancing wistfully at the yachts moored in front of their waterfront apartment homes.
All along the ground floor of the wharf are cafes, bars and restaurants, most of which take full advantage of their waterside setting by spilling out of pane-glass frontages and onto the wharf-side, with the help of candles on tables for light and gas heaters for warmth. The happy chatter of well-heeled diners and drinkers gave the whole wharf a convivial atmosphere, tinged with just a hint of inner-city yacht-club pretension.
The downside for restaurants like China Doll, that choose to take up residence in the wharf buildings is that for diners like us, who wanted a table outdoors, with a view and all of the trappings of al fresco dining, is that the atmosphere of the restaurant becomes the atmosphere of the wharf. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as the setting is beautiful and we were quite comfortably seated next to a gas heater and ensconced at a table with white linen and simple, modern silverware. The only reason to mention the ‘communal’ feel of the outdoor area is to say that the personality of the modern fine-dining restaurant comes as much from the decor, lighting design and furnishings as it does from the food, waiting staff and table decoration. So while China Doll’s atmosphere is pleasant, it is because China Doll wisely chooses to associate itself with Woolloomooloo wharf. However, there is seating inside, and from my brief transit of the restaurant on my way to the bathroom (of which, more later) I was not displeased with the interior, however, passing through a room does not permit one the same opportunity to form an impression as staying in a room for dinner.
We were cordially and competently settled into our table by a friendly, gregarious waiter who proved that professionalism in waiting is not yet dead. He was always on hand at just the right moments, assisted us with cocktail and wine choices and balanced his cheerful witticisms with our need to enjoy our own company. He could have quite easily become the star of the show, a rather disturbing quality in serving staff at modern restaurants, but he showed great restraint and left us in peace, appearing only as he was needed.
After cocktails and a hard look at the wine list, interspersed with the kind of conversational chit-chat that one finds oneself engaged in after a long period of absence from the company of good friends, we instructed our waiter to embark us upon the set menu.
The journey began with beautifully steamed scallops, which were fresh and tasty but unremarkable — fresh, tasty scallops can be had in any number of Sydney restaurants. Next came the Salt & Pepper Squid, which to me stood out as an example of blending the freshest produce with perfect asian cooking technique: Extremely lightly battered, the squid was as tender as I’ve ever tasted and melted in the mouth. The flavor was spectacular, with salt and sourness combining flawlessly and demonstrating the sophistication of the asian palate.
Following the squid, a refreshing, crunchy papaya salad was a welcome change of pace before the incredibly crispy, lightly battered school prawns graced our plates bursting with flavor.
On to the heavy hitters, caramelized pork belly was rich and tasty and by the time the crispy-skin soy chicken came along we were beginning to feel quite full.
Finishing up the evening, the deserts of sour frozen yogurt with tapioca and sago pudding was another wonderful reminder of how well balanced asian food can be, with subtle saltiness and restrained sweetness combining into a delicious dish that even the already well-fed among us could not resist.
All told, the food at China Doll is as good a representation of the trite ‘modern asian’ style as one can hope to find in Sydney. The dishes were all imaginative, well presented and extremely well executed, while the flavors remain true to what makes asian cuisine so important and distinctive; namely, a deep understanding between the balance between salt, sweet and sour in every mouthful of every dish. It’s encouraging to see chefs serving asian food that recognizes what makes its flavors enduring, and not just what makes it fashionable.
Sadly for China Doll, its big draw card — the wharf-side al fresco dining — is also what prevents it from moving into the realm of true ‘fine-dining’. It’s impossible to shape the experience when diners are sitting outside among passers by and grand yachts, as though in a seasfront cafe. It’s not a bad experience, it’s also not deliberate, which to me is the very essence of the fine dining experience: Every detail is considered, nothing is left to chance.
It is fitting to leave this review with a mention of one aspect of the dining experience at China Doll that is completely under the control of the restaurant and yet is so ham-fisted, in such blatant bad taste, that it must be called out as an example of how modern restaurants can get the food so right, but still leave a bad taste in the mouth: The bathroom. If there is one room in a restaurant where a diner should not be surprised, much less delighted, intrigued or — in this case — challenged, it is the bathroom. If there is one room in the restaurant where form should follow function, it is in the smallest room. Small, is certainly a fair adjective to describe China Doll’s bathroom (the men’s at least, and I have it on good authority from the ladies in our party that their experience was similar), but it is not the size of the room that causes the most frustration, it is the concept. Walking through the door of the bathroom one is immediately surrounded by a wall of mirrors of the kind one might expect to encounter in a fair-ground attraction from thirty years ago, the kind that bend and distort the images they reflect into warped versions of reality. For at least the first ten seconds or so after entering the room, one glances around nervously, trying to decide if one has walked into a bathroom or a bizzarre phsycological experiment. After bouncing pinball-like, off the mirrored walls for a few seconds, desperately, ineffectively pawing at amorphous shapes on mirrored surfaces like a blind mime, one may eventually discover the correct place to stand — shoulder to shoulder with an equally confused and slightly embarrassed fellow diner — or wash one’s hands, or discover the secret compartment where towels are stashed. And after eventually bouncing back out of the room, by way of every wall, one feels a certain relief as though emerging from the fog of some nightmare. I am glad that it was not until we had finished our meal, drained our glasses and paid the bill that I decided to use the restroom, as it colored my experience so unfavorably that had it happened during dinner I may have been too angry at the designer of such a cruel joke to continue.
