On my second visit to Song Bird, two months after it opened, the mood is on an upward trajectory. Service has clicked into confident and charismatic gear and there’s a newfound tempo to proceedings, spurred by the hum of family gatherings and Double Bay high-flyers exchanging air kisses.
Spencer Gulf king prawn wontons virtually quiver with freshness. A saltbush and spring onion pancake has the vital crisp-chewy proportions down pat, as does the sesame prawn toast built on Baker Bleu sourdough. Even a sceptic would struggle not to bask in the sweetness of the tres leches, cloaked in meringue and rimmed by a moat of jasmine custard.
It feels, in short, like the grand Cantonese banquet hall Neil Perry probably envisioned while developing the concept more than two years ago. But, you might say he’s been refining the idea for most of his career, as he’s been operating Chinese venues and penning cookbooks on the subject since 1994.
Still, the operation’s daunting scale – 230 seats spread across the three glassed-in levels of Neville Gruzman’s modernist Gaden House; a menu spanning more than 60 dishes – carries a not insignificant amount of weight. The design, care of Caon Design Office and ACME, is every bit as swish as you’d expect; the sourcing of A-list Australian produce just as reliably rigorous.
This made my first meal, nearly a fortnight after the burners first flicked on, somewhat perplexing. That evening, several elements seemed out of step, from the unassured tone on the floor to the staggered pace of the food, which also had its foibles.
These early hurdles weren’t lost on the chef, either, who candidly called September the “hardest” month of his working life on Instagram. As Josephine, his daughter, was quick to comment, he isn’t one to shy away from a challenge.
And he certainly hasn’t shied from this one. Almost eight weeks later, a previously lacking coral trout has found nuance and fragrance, and a one-dimensional stir-fried beef has been replaced by a version with cumin and leeks that was stupefyingly tender and hissing with warmth.
Seeing how many adjustments have been made in a short time is testament to Perry’s dogged belief in getting things right. At 67, he could have kept sailing on the success of Margaret and left it at that. His decision to take on a project like this speaks to an irrepressible desire to beat the drum for the country’s finest catchers, growers and makers.
If it really is his last hurrah, as it’s purported to be, then it’s a heck of a way to bow out. A song, some might say, well worth singing.
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