A new chef with a long résumé of successes in Los Angeles offers The Mansion an opportunity to upgrade its culinary conservatism.

Since the days when culinary superstars presided over The Mansion, the Rosewood hotel restaurant has gone from one of Dallas' most celebrated fine-dining institutions to a runner-up. For a few years, The Mansion's chefs preserved a traditional experience rather than introducing the kind of individual style that Bruno Davaillon, Dean Fearing, and John Tesar offered.

This year, though, a newcomer has arrived ready to shake things up. Charles Olalia has the fine-dining résumé necessary to meet The Mansion's high technical standards, and his Filipino roots suggest flavors and ideas that haven't appeared in these dining rooms before. Based on a recent visit to try his "discovery" tasting menu, he's off to a good start. The strongest critique we can offer is also the kindest: the Olalia touches on the menu are so intriguing that we'd like to see more of them.

You won't soon forget one of the most striking things to appear on any Dallas table, ever: his salt. In the Philippines, an ancient, endangered, and time-consuming sea salt method called asín tibuók is used in the central Visayas islands. Coconut husks are soaked in seawater for months in pits that refill with the tides. The husks are then dried and burned; the resulting ash is used as a filter in bamboo funnels, into which more seawater is poured to make a brine. That brine then goes into open clay pots, which are hung over a furnace and kept at a low boil, allowing the liquid to evaporate. When the pots begin to crack, revealing solid packed salt inside, they are ready to serve.

That's exactly what will appear on your table at The Mansion: a cracked clay pot with whole shards missing and the remaining pieces clinging for life to a pillar of salt. These pots of salt sell, according to an internet search, for around $150 each. "It looks like a dinosaur egg," I mused, unaware that one brand sells itself under that name. Using a microplane zester, our server grated off some of the salt in a fluffy cloud, which then settled onto our first course.

That's not the only Filipino touch Olalia brought to the course, an aguachile of raw scallops and hamachi chopped and dressed with calamansi and cilantro, then served in a scallop shell underneath half-moons of cucumber and slivers of Fresno chile. He also created a lovely coconut, carrot, and lemongrass soup that was poured over chopped roasted carrots and fried shallots. The coconut provided richness, and Fresno peppers (again) added a gentle heat.

As the tasting progressed toward its main courses, the dishes continued to show technical chops, but unique touches faded. Sweet corn tortellini were a highlight, neatly folded, cooked to perfection, and served in a porcini mushroom broth. Fish and steak were expertly cooked, but the rest of those plates were resolutely conservative. On the side of the steak, potato purée had been piped into a semicircle, like a smiley face missing its eyes. One bacon-wrapped carrot and one stalk of asparagus sat on top of the grin. Strawberry-pistachio semifreddo, served in a fun spaceship-like shape, was a lovely finish.

There are a few hundred other places in Dallas to get steak and potatoes. Still, Olalia's menu hints at new things to come. And the dining room's ambience and service remain delights, too. Varied dining spaces, some grand and some intimate, allow a variety of customer experiences. Late on weekend nights, live music echoes down the hall from the bar. Sommelier Brian Huynh is a veteran with great taste and a cellar of treats; he can guide you through a wine list of classics or put together a pairing to go with your tasting menu.

If I could advise The Mansion's management, I would say this: let the new guy show off. This restaurant's dining space has always been a star attraction no matter who is in the kitchen. But The Mansion also has a storied history of charismatic chefs seizing the spotlight through sheer star power. Fearing, Tesar, Davaillon: these leaders made The Mansion a destination through a combination of its history and their personality.

That kind of magic can happen again. If Olalia truly does want to stick to a conservative style, offering classical gazpacho as an amuse-bouche and steak for a main, I suppose I shouldn't argue with him. But if The Mansion's management is waiting for a signal to take the training wheels off and let its chef generate the kind of excitement that previous leaders had to offer -- well, consider this the signal. We're ready for a taste of something new.