Sol Rooftop | SA Weekend restaurant review

SkyCity’s crowning glory restaurant Sol Rooftop has been relaunched – but there’s a problem. Actually, more than one, writes Simon Wilkinson.

‘I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar …” For anyone whose formative years were spent in the clubs and pubs of the early 1980s, Human League’s earworm Don’t You Want Me will still resonate. “ … That much is true”. But any fondness I have for the song is gradually replaced by a deep-seated loathing as the brain-rattling doof-doof bass of an extended dance mix version plays on and then on some more, thumping from the speaker overhead and putting the kybosh on what could have been a pleasant evening.

Be warned. This is what you can expect now at Sol Rooftop, the much-hyped crowning glory of the Adelaide Casino’s Eos Hotel, where a push to have a seamless transition between different spaces means whatever the DJ is spinning for the cocktail-slurping throng at the bar outside is also relayed, at volume, into the restaurant.

Actually, that’s not strictly correct. It was a “restaurant” when it opened to much fanfare in late 2020 with a celebrated chef, Kane Pollard, at the helm, an arrangement that proved to be a meeting of square peg and round hole and lasted little more than a year.

After a brief hiatus, Sol relaunched in May with a different vision. Fine dining has been dumped in favour of a more casual, all-day offering that can work across any occasion.

The room is smartly furnished, a comfortable setting to enjoy drinks before or after your meal.

And the room itself, while still smartly furnished and boasting killer views, has been repurposed as a “lounge bar”, with tables set aside for those who want to come in with their drinks, whether eating or not.

All of this is fine in theory.

In practice, however, it seems a bit like Dr Dolittle’s pushmi-pullyu, the mythical beast with two heads at either end tugging in opposite directions.

The menu, overseen by new head chef Rhys Nicholson (ex Press and Oggi before joining the original Sol team) reflects this impasse and gives the impression of being designed by committee.

Tuna with black sesame and umeboshi dressing at Sol Rooftop, Adelaide.

Apple slice, spiced crumble and honey ice-cream at Sol Rooftop, Adelaide.

It is weighted heavily towards snacks and small plates, finding room for everything from sausage rolls to bone marrow with oxtail marmalade.

The larger, signature dishes are limited to five choices, starting at $44 and quickly escalating to $80 (for wagyu) and beyond (crayfish at market price). Not exactly the food of the people.

Some of this confusion, not surprisingly, is also evident in cooking that at times lacks balance or would be better with a few ingredients less.

In the case of the crab bun, it is a stale brioche-style roll that is the stumbling block, particularly when only a shallow slit into the bread is filled with the mix of blue swimmer meat and charred corn kernels.

Crab buns and oysters at Sol Rooftop, Adelaide.

Lightly cured blue fin tuna is overwhelmed by the double whammy of a dressing flavoured with Japanese-style fermented wild plums (umeboshi) and a grey slick of black sesame emulsion, as well as pickled wakame and sea succulents. The poor fish never had a chance.

Things do improve from here. A “small” bowl of radicchio and autumn fruits needs some work on presentation but the combination of charred bitter leaves, grilled persimmon, preserved apple and chestnuts in a mildly fruity chicken fat dressing has its heart in the right place.

A precisely cooked fillet of barramundi is dunked into a swamp-like pool of creamy roasted fennel velouté so only the crisped skin shows above the surface. Smoked pipis, grapefruit and preserved lemon are also hidden in the depths of a sauce that is way too much of a good thing.

Regardless of what you think of the food, there’s no denying the impressiveness of Sol Rooftop’s view! Picture: Meaghan Coles / Tourism SA

Slices of duck breast smoked with tea, rice and star anise are served with soba noodles, blackberries and a deeply flavoured, soulful poultry bone broth that feels as if it will ward off the worst of winter. Pretty on the plate and executed skilfully, it is the highlight of the evening.

A precisely trimmed block of slow-cooked apple slices, caramelised with brown sugar, sits beside a mound of crumble bits and scoop of honey ice-cream. These simple, homely flavours work well.

But do you really want to eat this in a nightclub? In the words of the Human League … “But even then I knew I’d find a much better place. Either with or without you.”