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They had to replace the floor at Bistro Moncur. It wore through. That’s the sort of wear and tear that will happen over 30 years, as waitstaff trek from kitchen to table with crab omelette and creme brulee, time and time again.

I’ve worn a track in it myself, from the time the White family opened Moncur in 1993, with Damien Pignolet as executive chef and Colin Holt as head chef. They set up such a benchmark for the modern French bistro that the corner site became a cornerstone of the industry for decades.

The Woollahra Hotel’s current owners, Alister and Elizabeth Campbell and Barbara Auswild, took it on in 2019, and the chef, Tom Deadman, moved into the kitchen in 2022 in time for the celebrations.

The long room with its vaulted, slatted ceiling looks refreshed – the bar has been returned to its rightful position – but feels the same. The monochrome mural painted by Michael Fitzjames is still striking; the terrace is still the spot most sought-after by couples; and the side door still takes you into the front bar of the Woollahra Hotel, now looking very zhuzhed-up itself.

The menu has also been zhuzhed. Moncur regulars still come for the Moncur regulars: the French onion souffle gratin, chicken liver pâté with fig jam and brioche, crab omelette and grilled sirloin Cafe de Paris with fries.

The restaurant fills early in the evening, and habitues stop by each other’s tables on the way out. Staff take it all in their stride. Manager Simon Tebbs has been there for seven years, Darren Barnett for 22 years. Relative newcomer Paul Loulli walks the walk. “Do you want chippies as well?” he asks one table. Not frites, not fries, but chippies – we should all adopt this as official terminology immediately.

A simple vine-ripened tomato salad has always had a place at the Bistro Moncur table; it now echoes the original with its marinated olives, basil and balsamic vinaigrette ($25). I miss the original marinated salmon, which has morphed into a very soft, gentle, confit Saikou salmon with smoked salmon roe ($34) that looks more like Tetsuya Wakuda’s famed confit of ocean trout. The two slabs of sourdough toast are probably overkill, given bread and whippy butter also arrives.

A square-cut slab of smooth Barossa chicken liver parfait ($29) is a leisurely stroll down memory lane with its dense fig jam, teeny-weeny cornichons and brioche toast.

The restaurant fills early in the evening, and habitues stop by each other’s tables on the way out.

Some of the rarer wines on the list are available by the glass, due to the preserving qualities of the Coravin system. But what’s fun about the everyday list is the ability to order by the glass, the carafe or the bottle; a boon to those couples who are divided varietally by red or white.

It means one can have the ripe and aromatic Greywacke sauvignon blanc from Marlborough, New Zealand ($18/$45/$88), while the other has the intense and spicy Dalrymple Coal River pinot noir ($18/$45/$92). It’s no match for the thick-cut O’Connor grass-fed steak ($59), however, which is literally swamped with a mottled cloak of way-too-much Cafe de Paris butter. The plate is piled high with good, finely cut chippies, but I fear the steak ends up soggy with sauce.

Aquna Murray cod ($55) is a dish that speaks to the future as well as the past. A good-sized, crisp-skinned fillet rests on a whoopee cushion of panisse (chickpea fritter) with a generous amount of creamy, garlicky bourride sauce, beautifully cooked vongole, and succulent, salty twigs of samphire. No boats have been rocked, but as a dish, it forms a bridge by appealing equally to newcomers and the rusted-on.

If you don’t finish a meal at Bistro Moncur with the light and tangy passionfruit souffle and toasted coconut ice-cream ($26), then I give up. You are beyond redemption.

So happy 30th anniversary, Bistro Moncur. And good luck with that new floor.