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Given their ubiquity and long history, it’s surprising that restaurants are such a puzzle. Yet they can be mysterious, and subject to so many variables, that they’re hard to get right.

Across two visits over three months, Amatrice Rooftop had difficulty answering the two most important restaurant questions: who am I and what am I trying to be?

The great restaurants know themselves and can lead diners smoothly through a cogent experience. Since opening in October, though, the team here seems to be wrangling with identity, tweaking dishes and menu structure to see what lands. Hopefully, they work it out because this swanky destination has a lot going for it.

There are two Amatrices, a ground-floor daytime cafe and the 10th-floor bar and restaurant. Amatrice (“A-ma-treechay”) Caffe services Cremorne’s creatives with pastries, salads and focaccias (go the porchetta); Amatrice Rooftop attracts people from further afield with the promise of spectacular views and good times.

The cuisine pitch upstairs is Italian, with a focus on Rome’s holy quartet of pasta sauces: cacio e pepe (cheese and pepper), amatriciana (crushed tomato and guanciale – a type of cured pork cheek), alla gricia (guanciale, pepper and cheese), and carbonara (egg and guanciale).

People will eat spaghetti anywhere, I guess, but I’m not sure Melbourne wants to avidly twirl noodles in this red velvet and stone salon up in the clouds. The food is simple and honourable, while the setting is glitzy and glam.

The waitstaff – pleasant and observant – will tell you they’re serving “the Champagne of pastas”, sourced from Campofilone in Italy, and made with durum wheat and egg yolks. It’s excellent, rich pasta. But the cosy-trattoria-loving maven, who appreciates al dente pasta with minimal saucing, is probably choosing to dine elsewhere.

I could almost taste the debate between Italian chef Vincenzo Di Giovanniello’s team arguing for authenticity and the Aussie owners pleading on behalf of cocktail- and snack-loving mates.

There are small bites, too, but they’re patchy. The oysters are a big tick, but the mini cubes of lasagne were dry on one visit and cold on the other.

Other pastas are supposed to feel more premium than the peasant paragons of Rome, such as pappardelle with ragu made from wagyu steak trim. Fat-laced wagyu is a culinary synonym for luxury, but this meat turns mushy when braised, rather than collapsing into meltiness. A squid-ink fettuccine with raw prawns has wisely been ditched.

The view is a drawcard, but the best outlook is from the city-facing deck, which isn’t weatherproof and is glary at sunset. The dining room has a retractable roof and walls, but the view – over the eastern suburbs – isn’t as good. It’s baffling that something as basic as a restaurant’s outlook and amenity in a new building can be so wrong.

I know I’m on a downer, but there’s actually plenty to like. The drinks are fantastic: the olive oil martini is savoury and bracing, the sgroppino (an Italian, lemon-sorbet cocktail) is cheeky and pretty, and the well-organised wine list leans Italian.

The veal cotoletta is crunchy and delicious, there’s an exuberant burrata with peach compote and beetroot dressing, and citrus-dotted grouper crudo peeps from under a lacy ink-black tuile. I love the branded plates with fun, Italo illustrations.

Co-owners Alex Brawn (Sebastian) and Dave Parker (Sebastian, San Telmo Group) are on the front foot trying to solve the Amatrice riddle. The potential is immense.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine