The Neil Perry era is long gone. So, is Rockpool Bar and Grill still any good?

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Australia’s most celebrated chef Neil Perry left the room, as it were, a few years ago, when his Rockpool Group was bought by a large, Sydney-based hospitality group.

The doomsayers saw it as an opportunity to accelerate their complaints about Perry. When one scratches the surface, their concerns were, typically in Australia, that he was too successful and consequently a “sell-out”.

Utter nonsense. He is undoubtedly one of the finest chefs in Australia. The more rational among us were concerned that, without Perry steering the ship, the enterprise would lose its enthusiasm for best produce, impeccable service and it would cut corners and fall into the trap of a price-based business model.

As it turned out, the doomsayers were right. It became ordinary, just another steak joint in a casino setting.

There was more than meat smoke in the kitchen. There was a distinct whiff of ennui, resignation even, in the air.

Floor staff were going through the motions. Perry’s magic had gone AWOL. Head chefs came and went. In a restaurant known for staff retention, it became difficult to find a friendly face.

When asked about where to get a good steak in Perth, I began recommending TOMA, the edgy steakhouse in Murray Street … and the only restaurant in Perth that allows the more louche among us to do the bourbon “bone luge”. Look it up, kids.

We hadn’t been to Rockpool Bar and Grill for years, but with a mate up from the bush for a few days, the time seemed right.

The procession down the dimly lit entry passageway quickly shuts out the noise and spectacle of Crown Metropole’s trashy foyer. The entrance hall is lined with many tonnes of cow behind glass in different stages of ageing. It is one of the finest meaty march pasts ever and one hell of an entrance.

First surprise was the greeting and low-key professionalism of staff, all immaculately groomed. Good grooming is an option at most of Perth’s restaurants where being greeted by waiters and floor managers in suits has gone the way of men whistling when they walk and women wearing good millinery to go shopping.

Most modern waiters look like inked-up boxing promoters or Billie Eilish clones. The Rockpool floor staff looked dapper, all booted and suited, as they say. Their demeanour was quietly professional. We hadn’t booked, but there was no opprobrium from wait staff, no passive-aggressive sigh, no furrowed brow.

Wine service is exemplary, aided by a sommelier who rightly deserved the title. He helped us zero in on wines we wanted. Brilliant choices from a wine list longer than Dumbledore’s beard.

My buddy had sworn off the gas for the time being, so I had to take one for the team with cocktail tastings. All expertly made. I like rye in my old fashioneds – not common – and the barman came to the table with two different bottles in hand and explained the flavour profile of each. I made my choice. This sort of service does not happen. Ever.

We kicked off, as they do at Rockpool, with house-made sourdough bread. It is not an afterthought. The bread was fresh, stretchy and chewy. The butter was also top-notch. The bread and unsalted butter was served with seriously good salt flakes. Bread and butter is a mere folderol in the culinary stakes, but its perfection speaks volumes about the kitchen’s eye for detail.

Next, one of our favourites from the Perry years, charcoal roasted squid and pork belly with roasted red onion.

At face value, it’s a simple dish: cubes of braised belly, tossed with pieces of squid, red onion and herbs. It is cooked in a Josper oven at temperatures approaching the melting point of aluminium. It takes just minutes and imbues the proteins with a charry, smoky flavour while caramelising the onion. It was as we remembered it, one of their finest hot entrees.

With some disquiet we noticed the passing of Rockpool’s squid ink risotto and its creamy, buttery crustacea sauce. It was our go-to over the years. It has been replaced with king prawn tortellini and a wagyu bolognese with house-made fettuccine. Fair bump, play on. But really, can we have it back please?

There are lots of steaks, as you would expect, including dairy cow and wagyu in various marle scores and cuts.

Cape Grim striploin, aged 35 days and cooked rare, was the best steak we’ve had at Rockpool in years. Thirty-five days gives it a wonderful funk without smelling like soured milk in a tennis shoe. Ageing also made it immeasurably tender and rich.

Their horseradish cream is the only condiment I use for such a lavish, bloody piece of protein, but there is all manner of condiments available from barbecue sauce to bearnaise and from Dijon to harissa.

A duck breast was cooked superbly, although, minor complaint, it wasn’t cooked hot enough on the skin side and the fat had not rendered completely which meant the skin wasn’t as crisp as it might have been. It was expertly seasoned and tender and impeccably sourced.

I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say Rockpool is back. The service is a standout. The service crew is cohesive and clever. Its wine list remains excitingly encyclopaedic. They still sell Oscietra caviar at $310 for 50 grams. The roster of sides remains the best in WA.

The dishes are, once more, some of the best plates you’ll eat in Perth. And the vibe (damn you Dennis Denuto), the all-important vibe, has returned.

Put it back on your list. I have.