Ascua: Spanish-Australian steak house is char-grilled heaven in the city

WATCH your back, Rockpool, I reckon I’ve found a contender for the city’s best steak.

It’s unexpected: a hotel restaurant that pitches itself as a Spanish-Australian steakhouse. None of those descriptors do justice to Ascua’s dark and moody surrounds, which nail the sophisticated, yet convivial and fun combo. The fine-diner, named after the Spanish word for ember, hides down the CBD end of King Street, near His Maj. Inside, there’s a glass-wrapped, Spanish wood-fire grill of dancing flames and searing meat, and no trace of the newly opened InterContinental that hovers overhead.

The house is full so we grab stools on a share table beside a visiting Canadian scientist. Turns out it’s the chef’s table, positioned in full view of the open kitchen. My cover is blown, but chef Nick Trezise tells me anyone perched here gets extra attention, as he hands out complimentary tasters of rotund scallops on green pea puree with crisp jamon wafers. That said, all diners get a welcome platter of olives, pickled vegetables and oil-drizzled bread.

Nice touches go a long way. There’s sparkling or still water, chilled or room temperature, all free. The wine choices aren’t as expansive, with only one of each style available by the glass, or carafe. Bottles are the market here.

A tomahawk steak has long been on my wish list, so when I spot someone else’s supermodel-level specimen dripping fat and juices over the coals — and then see the salt-brick fridge where slabs are dry-aged for 40 weeks — I’m sold.

While ours sizzles, we savour chargrilled octopus arms ($23). Draped over velvety, smoked potato puree and teamed with glossy squid ink aioli, the excellent value occy melds butter-soft flesh with pert, springy suckers.

Fresh and semi-dried heirloom tomatoes form a c-shape on another plate, scattered with pine nuts, basil leaves and olive crumb. Bread chips poke from mild, whipped goats curd in what’s a delightfully delicate dish ($18).

Then, the signature tomahawk. We’ve struck up a friendship with our Canadian neighbour and invite him to share our 1.1kg beauty. It comes with salad and three sauces — red wine, romesco and herby chimichurri. The full-flavoured flesh, perfectly medium rare and beautifully seasoned, bears a charry, crunchy exterior. Rendered, crusty fat adds to the hedonism. At $10 per 100 grams, sure, it’s pricey, but between three we can’t finish it. That works out to $36.65 each, which, for meat of that calibre, is tidy value.

Sides hold their own. Gently charred broccoli florets ($8) are elevated with a sparkle of chopped red chilli and fried garlic. Corn that’s spent time on the grill then tossed with sour cream and Iberian ham ($8) is another bowl of joy.

The dessert menu reels us in by marrying creme brulee with crisp shelled churos ($14). The logs lounge on a glassy sugar lid, the enclosed custard smacking of orange rind and poached rhubarb chunks. We roll out with fond farewells to our table mate and the polished staff. What a night.