French accents dance around me. The air is perfumed with the sweet maillard scent of baking bread and rising cakes. A Champagne cork pops. A dessert trolley stacked with madeleines, canele, opera cake, frangipane tart and chocolate truffles wheels by. Have I gone to sleep and woken up in Paris?

Perched at a white-clothed table on the intimate mezzanine level that overlooks the soaring Art Deco dining room, I’m still not convinced I am in Sydney. There’s a unique panache to the European brasserie experience that seems irreplicable outside of the northern hemisphere and yet new CBD eatery The Charles plates it up without fault.

The brasserie is the centrepiece of a new drinking and dining precinct by Etymon Projects (the same group behind Loulou Bistro & Boulangerie across the Bridge), so, it’s no wonder that although the doors have only been open for five days when we visit, the whole experience feels so comfortably, splendidly worn in. There’s a wine bar, all-day diner and basement speak-easy for late night drinks, but tonight we are in the grand brasserie.

A mellifluous string of “Bonjours” leads us from the front door, past the open kitchen and up the curved staircase to our table, where chairs are pulled back, linen napkins are fluffed onto laps, and straw-coloured Sancerre laps into elegant stemmed wine glasses. Immediately ensconced in the grandeur of the room, a silver tray is set by our table, where the maitre d’ artfully assembles the signature steak and anchovy tartare. 

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Are you sure I’m not in Paris? Executive chef Billy Hannigan has come from London’s acclaimed Michelin-starred eatery The Ledbury, and the same savoir-faire imbues his antipodean brasserie menu. A starter of tomato antiboise is a bright red pinata with a meaty, skinless Heirloom tomato turned upside down on the plate encasing a (slightly undersalted) filling of yellowfin tuna and whipped roe.

It’s a flavour-bomb of umami that is only upstaged by the tartare that follows. Beef tenderloin is swirled with shallots, capers, parsley, preserved lemon, anchovy mayonnaise, black pepper and anchovy oil tableside, then crowned with Cantabrian anchovies and baby leaves of red velvet lettuce for serving. It’s a dish that is so intensely rich and satisfying, it’s like a perfectly buttered piece of Vegemite toast on a Sunday morning.

A whole dry-aged Maremma duck is served on a silver platter, while silken fillets of murray cod rest atop a rocky riverbed of chopped mussels, olives and macadamias. The vegetarian main of seasonal brassicas with hazelnuts sounds so good we order it as a side to the cod, but as I spear florets of fluoro green romanesco and swirl them in the mouth-puckering salsa verde that comes with the fish, I can’t help but feel that vegetarians may be left a little hungry.

The hospitality industry was hit hard by Covid, with service the first casualty. Throughout the night, we are visited by an endless procession of smiling white-aproned staff proffering water refills and dish descriptions, a knowing sommelier who splashes Euro wines into our glasses, and the uber-attentive maitre d’ who conducts the entire orchestra with an effortless je ne sais quoi. It’s an immersive experience where the service is (back) on par with the food, and evokes the glory days of not only pre-Covid dining out, but of the drama, excitement and flurry of the European brasserie.

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