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One of the remarkable things about observing Sydney’s dining scene is seeing it change. On one level, it’s more expansive than ever. The range of cuisines, the blend of styles and the rise of third-culture cooking are thrilling. But what’s striking in the upper echelons is that right now, there seems to be a narrowing.

Seriously, what’s up? Grills are everywhere. Clam Bar, The Gidley, Woodcut, Shell House, The Cut. Just last week The Bentley team launched Eleven Barrack, offering – like nearly everyone else – caviar service, a seafood tower, a spin on tartare, pasta, then stuff from the wood grill of increasing size and expense.

Then there’s The Grill, the centre floor of a stack of three venues from The Point group (also behind Shell House) billed as The International, the latest addition to the revamp of the old Harry Seidler-designed MLC Centre. A friend texted me the other day saying he just didn’t see the point of it. What does it offer that every other steakhouse in the city doesn’t?

But then plates start to land. A mirrored tray of potted spanner crab set under sunset-hued shellfish butter served with a stack of pikelets and an airy quenelle of creme fraiche. A crisped-up cuttlefish-stuffed chicken wing skewered with a pin and capped with caviar. Garlicky abalone and guanciale “Kilpatrick”, sticky with tomato sauce and Worcestershire.

Everything is maximal, everywhere you look marks are being hit.

Evidently, Joel Bickford – culinary director here – isn’t messing around. And look at this thing. One edge of the snaking room open to the air, gleaming surfaces softened by triple-clothed tables and period upholstery in shades of red and gold. There’s seafood on ice up front, a mirrored bar in the back, an impeccably dressed host greeting anyone they can Google by name on arrival, and bartenders who know how to chill down a (very good) martini.

Everything is maximal, everywhere you look marks are being hit. And while this isn’t a reason to visit on its own, Grill management is clearly banking on these being the things that tip the scales.

What might tip it further is the menu, which satisfies a rampant appetite among the business crowd for familiar tropes, with just enough variation to keep it novel. Surf and turf? How about outstanding butter-poached yabbies plated with pillowy sweetbreads and pickled gooseberries? Tartare? Try a clever mix of beefy Westholme Wagyu rump cap and lush Rangers Valley tenderloin tossed with oyster cream and covered in fried shiso.

Larger plates don’t hold back, either. Sure, there’s a streak of “two-of-every-animal” – mackerel with mussels, John Dory with caviar – but in most cases it’s in service to the whole. Grilled whole flounder with a hit of chilli butter gains sweetness from just-warmed school prawns, for example, while foie gras brings richness to a quail pie wrapped in golden suet pastry, then ramped up with roasted cherries and Madeira sauce.

Nostalgia plays a part, but another trick is the energy. Where other chophouses can feel weighed down or clubby, there’s lightness, levity. This extends to wine too, led by sommelier Thomas Groeneveld, who brings a palpable sense of excitement – for classics, sure, but also for local gems and lesser-known expressions, including an intriguing section of Jurancon sec – to a list brimming with personality.

I wish the kitchen had the same enthusiasm for vegetables (I’m still confused as to why half the larger vegetable dishes were unavailable) but you better believe the expensive proteins show up. Lobster is offered three ways, while steaks range from Rangers Valley flank through hefty Kidman bistecca. A half-kilo dry-aged Kidman sirloin comes on the bone for $115, the meat crusted over ironbark, well rested and plated with lemon and watercress. The beef has intense flavour, even if it craves salt compared with the flounder, which really doesn’t. Seasoning somewhere in the middle for both would do it.

None of this is damning in fact, the technique is something to be admired. But gee, it’s not cheap. And despite the nearly 65 dishes on the carte, there aren’t many obvious ways for a table of two to chart a course and feel like they nailed it. Best bring a crowd that won’t blink at mains over $60, then submit to the spectacle: pre-drinks in the holding bar, a nightcap in the back, and that’s before you get to the neat yakitori and cocktails upstairs or the hot, puffy pizzette and carafes in the wine bar.

The Grill isn’t for everyone, sure, but The International has broad appeal. What’s more, it occupies a slice of the CBD that, since the metro launched, has suddenly become a symbol of the city’s next phase. It’s the kind of big-ticket entry that not everyone craves in their city, but it’s the kind of drawcard that every big city has – ambitious, grand, and at its best, best in class. International, even. Oh, maybe that’s the point.