Childhood felt like one long summer for me, and probably many other Sri-Lankan Australians. We’d alternate cruising the Great Ocean Road here with Galle Road there, near my mum’s hometown, spying fishermen hauling nets of crabs and fish off pastel boats.

“Down south”, as we refer to the southern stretch of Sri Lanka, was my great introduction to seafood: freshly caught tuna in a tart ambulthiyal (fish curry); deep-fried potato-and-tuna “cutlets”; and Jaffna crab curry, a nod to the beautiful Tamil population “up north”, whose waterways bless the whole island with their bounty. We’d sit around, elbows propped up on the plastic table of a beachside shack, cracking open crab claws and sucking the juices out, the meat swimming in deep, spicy gravy. “Sha,” my amma would utter – the ultimate sound of approval.

It’s little wonder, then, that the world’s most famous crab restaurant hails from Sri Lanka. Acclaimed Japanese Sri Lankan chef Dharshan Munidasa founded Ministry of Crab in 2011 with Kumar Sangakkara and Mahela Jayawardene, two of Sri Lanka’s most celebrated cricketers.

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The cult Colombo restaurant is a regular on the Asia’s 50 Best Restaurants list and now has eight overseas outposts. The group tested the waters here with sellout pop-ups at Crown in 2022 and 2024, before opening last week in the 100-year-old Invicta House on Flinders Lane.

The dining room is slick and softly lit. Dressed in deep orange and sea-green tones, it’s unlike the Colombo original, which reps tropical modernism. Floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains block out natural light and banquette seating lines the side walls. A central open kitchen fills the space with the clanging of woks and crab shells. It’s reminiscent of a luxury hotel lobby, austere and polished, but the attentive service gives it promise. When we visit, the team is eagerly collecting feedback from diners, keen to make the restaurant worthy of its pedestal.


The dining room. Photo: Chege Mbuthi

A big, illuminated sign hangs over the kitchen, with eight lights that flick on or off to show which size crustaceans you can crack into on a given day, from medium (700 grams) up to “Crabzilla” (two kilograms).

Among other things, the restaurant is famous for its 10-part constitution, which is somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but also a genuine statement of intent. Article I: “When it comes to crab, we don’t serve them small, meatless, with one claw missing, or with unevenly sized claws – only the best of the catch.” The constitution also forbids the use of frozen or farmed crabs.

Ministry of Crab feels so strongly about the noticeably sweet meat of Sri Lanka’s renowned mud crabs, it imports them to the Singapore restaurants and others. The Australian Government doesn’t allow that, so this location relies on Victoria’s D&K Live Seafood to bring in crabs from the Northern Territory and Queensland.

Munidasa also laments the absence of Sri Lanka’s plump freshwater prawns, so giant they’re known as lake lobsters, but has subbed in marron and leader prawns on the Melbourne menu. It’s a crab restaurant, however, so you should probably just order the crab.

“To start, try the crab pâté,” Munidasa says, planning out an ideal meal for two. “Then share the smallest garlic-chilli and the largest pepper crab along with kade bread.” The pâté, only available in limited quantities, honours the earthy, umami headiness of crab liver, served with thin crackers and a beaker of kitul palm syrup not much bigger than a thimble.

With four crab flavours to choose from, we opt for the signature garlic-chilli and black pepper crabs, which arrive buttery, glossy and not nearly as spicy or intense as you might expect. As Sri Lankans, we eat with our hands although cutlery is provided but, as even “the constitution” suggests, not recommended.

I don a bib, crack shells, tear meat, mop gravy, swipe kade bread through it. The child within is roused. Kade bread, akin to roast paan, is a lighter, softer iteration here – the perfect vessel for flavour. And like a moth to pol sambol’s flame, I’m drawn to the relish’s bright, punchy mix of shredded coconut and Maldive fish, humming with lime and served in a coconut shell, from a recipe by Sangakkara’s family. I watch the other Sri Lankans in the room do the same, savouring a taste of home. For dessert, the coconut crème brûlée, again served in a coconut shell, cracks open to reveal a custard that’s cool and thick with nutty, earthy undertones.

The wine list moves from big-house bubbles like Veuve and Jansz, to smaller Victorian producers like Luke Lambert and industry titans like Mount Mary Estate. A cocktail menu is still to come. There are early nods to local Sri Lankan Australian makers too – look out for the lager by Clayton’s Two Rupees Brewing, and vodka and gin by Mitcham’s Dutch Rules Distilling Co.

Ministry of Crab
226 Flinders Lane, Melbourne
(03) 9092 5227

Hours
Tue 5pm–10pm
Wed to Sat midday–3pm & 5pm–10pm
Sun midday–5pm

ministryofcrab.com.au
@ministryofcrab.australia