What's going on with Manta?

The last time I went to Manta on Woolloomooloo wharf, a few years ago for my birthday, the guy I was with was determined to have a bad time. I’m not sure why but from the moment he booked the table (“Why do you want to go there?”) to the moment we left after a hurried two courses, he grumbled: “What do you mean I can’t smoke at our table? It’s outside! $30 for a steak? You’ve got to be kidding! Who are these people? They’re so pretentious”. Not surprisingly, we had a bad time.

This time I was determined to at least give the restaurant a fighting chance to impress me. Offered a choice of sitting inside or out, we decided on the latter and were shown to a table by the boardwalk. With the placement of the tables dictated by the limited range of the gas heaters, our table didn’t offer a lot in the way of privacy but the view of the city skyline more than made up for it.

The waiter who greeted and seated us was one of that rare breed of professionals who combine efficiency with charming and personality, making diners immediately feel at home. As he ran through the oysters available and the evening’s specials, and then returned a few minutes later to take our order, I thought, “This is going to be great”.

Ten minutes later, when we still hadn’t been asked for our drink order, I felt less sanguine. With less than half the tables filled and at least half a dozen floor staff on, there didn’t seem to be a reason for the delay. When we finally managed to order two glasses of wine, they were plonked unceremoniously in front of us, already poured. Since I didn't see the bottles I have no idea if they're what we actually ordered. Call me a cynic but would we have received better service if we’d ordered a bottle of French Champagne like the couple two tables behind us? Hmmm, I wonder…

The rest of the service wasn’t much better. If this had been a cheap ‘n’ cheerful suburban joint we probably wouldn’t have even blinked at having our plates slammed down on the table (this is Sydney, after all) but this is a restaurant with pretensions towards fine dining. Honestly, I’d rather you skipped crumbing table and concentrated instead on the small stuff. Like smiling. And not leaning across me to grab my dining companion's dirty plate. Our first, fabulous, waiter only reappeared at our table once.

Fortunately, the food went a long way to saving the evening. A shared appetiser tasting plate, featuring bite sized serves of the air dried wagyu beef, grissini; locally produced smoked salmon, pickled fennel, capers; fried clarence river calamari, rocket, garlic aioli; and pumpkin, pine nut and goats cheese arancini, while lacking pizzazz, was an attractive and satisfying start to the meal. My main course of crispy skin ocean trout, served with seasonal favourites jerusalem artichoke, Brussel sprouts (shaved and sauteed with pancetta) and chestnuts offered a depth and complexity of flavour belied by the description. Less successful were Manta’s signature ‘Angel’ chips served with truffle oil and parmesan, which sounded too intriguing to pass up. These are undeniably delicious and indulgent but far too rich to be shared between two people; four or five chips each were enough to satisfy our curiosity.

Throwing caution (or at least my waistline) to the wind, I decided to try the flourless orange cake with blood oranges, and wasn’t I glad I did? Walking the tightrope between sweet and citrus sharp, this moist and sticky dessert was a decadent and memorable end to the meal.

Despite feeling somewhat underwhelmed on the night, overall I think Manta is a good restaurant with the potential to be a great one, if they can sort out the service. I think maybe I’ll check back in another few years and see how they’re going.