There are dishes that follow you. Not in a haunting way; more like a persistent nudge from something your brain filed under unfinished business. You eat it once, you can’t stop thinking about it, and eventually you find yourself making a plan to go back… Or, in our case, just turning up on a Friday night without a reservation and hoping for the best.

The dish in question was the duck. The restaurant had moved.

We’d visited the original Clarence exactly once, back when it was tucked into a one of the busiest streets in Woolloongabba; a small, 35-seat room that had built an outsized reputation for produce-driven cooking in a neighbourhood that didn’t quite know what to make of it. We liked it. We never got back. And then the news came through that they were closing the Woolloongabba doors entirely and starting over on Fish Lane.

The move happened in mid-2025; final service at the original location on 27 July, new doors open on 16 August. We’d walked past the Fish Lane location more times than I can count since then, peeking through the windows, telling ourselves we’d get around to booking. And then one afternoon the duck craving hit with unusual force, and that was that.

For anyone coming to Clarence fresh, the backstory is worth knowing. The restaurant is the project of chefs Ben McShane and Matt Kuhnemann; McShane came up through Umu in London (a two-Michelin-starred Kyoto kaiseki restaurant that has no business being as quietly exceptional as it is) and Nineteen at The Star on the Gold Coast. Kuhnemann adds to the Michelin lens, having worked at Elystan Street; Phil Howard’s one-starred Chelsea restaurant (see post here); as well as Two Lights, the sister restaurant to the then one-starred Clove Club in Shoreditch (see post here), before a final stint as head chef at Park Bench Deli in Singapore before making his way back to Brisbane.

Original co-owner Franklin Heaney had stepped away in the restaurant’s early days, leaving the two chefs to shape the story on their own terms!

Their philosophy has always been clear: source well, cook honestly, let the produce do the talking. The connection to local farms and suppliers (Falls Farm, Echo Valley Farm, Sunnybank Fish Market) was the foundation at Woolloongabba and it’s the foundation here. Fish Lane, for context, has become one of the better dining strips on the south side of the river; a short precinct beside the cultural district that’s quietly accumulated some of the most interesting places to eat in Brisbane. Clarence fits in without disappearing into it.

We didn’t book. Walk-ins at a restaurant that gets written up in Gourmet Traveller and Broadsheet is either brave or foolish; we got lucky. The only available seats were at the counter overlooking the open kitchen; which, as it turned out, suited us perfectly.

The new space is a proper upgrade on Woolloongabba in every way that counts. Light and airy, polished without being slick; the dining room is L-shaped, with tables running underneath generous windows on both sides of the room. Somewhere between 60 and 65 covers in total, which gives the space room to breathe in a way the original never quite could. The open kitchen anchors the room, with 8 to 10 counter seats wrapping around it; close enough to watch the brigade at work and follow the rhythm of service plate by plate.

The location is worth noting too. Clarence sits a very short walk from the Queensland Performing Arts Centre and the Gallery of Modern Art; close enough that it’s a natural fit as a pre-show dinner destination. Park, eat well, walk to the theatre. Brisbane has needed more of this kind of obvious proposition.

Things started very well. The bread arrived first; milk buns, warm and properly fresh, with churned butter heavily crusted in salt flakes. It sounds like a simple thing, and it is; but it was done exactly right, and the kitchen had been generous enough with the butter that the Girl and I weren’t rationing it across two rolls. (This matters more than it should. You always notice.) It was, without exaggeration, one of the highlights of the evening.

The tomatoes with stracciatella and fig leaf kept the momentum going. A shared plate of heirloom tomatoes in various sizes and stages of ripeness, sitting on a cloud of stracciatella so creamy it functioned almost as a sauce. The slight acidity of the tomatoes, rounded out and smoothed by the cheese, was exactly what good produce-driven cooking should feel like; nothing hiding behind technique, nothing competing with anything else. Simple, properly executed, genuinely satisfying.

The scallops arrived on a striking dark ribbed plate, thin slices of clean white flesh on an ‘tiger milk’ sauce with a fine scattering of chive. Fresh and sweet, with a warmth from the sauce that built slowly rather than announcing itself all at once. For someone who has been caught off guard by unexpected heat at otherwise excellent meals more times than I’d like to admit, this was the right level entirely. Moreish was the word that came to mind, and we polished it off quickly.

The dish that divided us was the rillette with eggplant. A crumbed, fried cylinder arrived on a pale green plate with mushrooms alongside; the exterior had good colour and crunch. The problem, for me, was dryness; and the eggplant, which should have brought moisture and an earthy depth to the preparation, simply didn’t do that job for my tastes. I’m well aware of my long and complicated relationship with eggplant; it is an ingredient I approach with suspicion and it rarely dissuades me. The Girl disagreed entirely and worked through most of it while I moved on.

And then came the duck.

The duck breast arrived on a pool of vivid green herb purée, accompanied by a dark berry compote, a roll of duck meat in a sausage on the side, and a sticky jus carrying unmistakable hints of cherry. The skin was rendered perfectly; not merely crispy in the technical sense, but properly caramelised in a way that gave you something to bite through, something with texture and depth. The breast itself was cooked exactly as you’d want it; pink, tender, with a richness the cherry-laced sauce amplified rather than obscured. The flavour lingered on the palate well after the plate was gone.

That’s the dish that brought us back. It delivered everything we’d remembered and probably a little more.

On the side, a bowl of duck fat fries with curry ketchup arrived; properly golden, properly salty, excellent alongside the red wine the Girl had ordered. We did not leave any behind.

Dessert arrived with a promising visual; the chocolate and sticky date pudding was beautifully presented and clearly given some thought in its construction. The problem was in the eating. Sticky date pudding carries certain expectations; primarily, an abundance of warm, flowing, sticky sauce. What arrived was drier than anticipated, the chocolate component not quite providing the moisture and richness that define the dish when it works. The ice cream was fine; but I wasn’t prepared to wait for it to melt and attempt to compensate for what should have come from the kitchen. A miss; and a frustrating one, because the visual suggested something better was intended.

So. Was it worth it? Without question. At $89 per person for the prix fixe; we came in at around $200 all up once the Girl’s glass of wine was factored in… Clarence is exceptional value by Brisbane’s current standards. In a city where $180 tasting menus have become unremarkable, $89 for cooking of this quality feels almost underpriced.

Would we go back? Absolutely; the duck alone justifies a return, and there’s enough on the menu we didn’t try to make a second visit compelling rather than repetitive.

Does Clarence deserve its accolades? Yes. The restaurants hat is defo warranted and the AGFG recognition is no surprise. But one hat feels right for where the restaurant sits right now. To push toward two, there can’t be misses; the sticky date needs to deliver on its promise, the rillette needs either commitment or reconsideration. This is a kitchen with real talent and a clearly defined point of view; those corrections would put it in a different conversation entirely.

One note on the counter seats: we’d have hoped for that kitchen engagement; the back-and-forth with the brigade that makes counter dining worth preferring over a table. That side of things was a little quiet; the service throughout was warm, friendly and professional, but the kitchen interaction we’d hoped for didn’t materialise in the way we’ve experienced elsewhere. It’s a minor point; but when you sit at the pass specifically to watch and connect, you notice when it doesn’t quite happen.

For now, though, Clarence on Fish Lane is exactly what South Brisbane’s dining scene deserves. Produce-driven, confident, genuinely good value, and right in the heart of the cultural precinct. If you’re heading to QPAC or GOMA, this is your dinner. Book ahead; or don’t, take the counter seats, and order the duck.