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Back when I was working in professional kitchens, so much came down to the final moments. Hours of graft, tasting and knifework suddenly flipped into absolute focus on the intricacies of presentation. Slices of raw fish draped one over the other. Herbs tossed in vinaigrette. Hunched chefs intensely focused on quenelles of sorbet, pools of sauce, layers of garnish.

That was more than a decade ago. In the years since, with so much attention trained towards the visual, aesthetics have only become more vital to the restaurant experience, often going hand in hand with curated social feeds, PR-led messaging and monthly photo shoots. But every so often, somewhere will open that sees all of this in front of it but instead decides to go its own way.

Clarence and V, which opened in November in front of where the queue for the Castle Hill Express bus ends on Clarence Street, is one of them. Here, green beans hang a limp grey, porchetta comes sans crackling in pink and white whorls, a roasted chicken drumstick sits unadorned atop a pile of orzo.

None of this is accidental; in fact, it’s integral. Clarence and V’s owner, Vito Mollica, who in the late ’90s ran cafe Latteria in Darlinghurst – winner of the 2001 Good Food Guide Best Cafe award, no less, around the time the Herald was running explainers on what the word “barista” meant – is adamant that this is a place about old-school hospitality above everything.

That means OJ, seasonal fruit and boiled eggs for breakfast, strong espresso from the La Marzocco machine, a handful of cocktails in the aperitivo vein, and a lunch-dinner menu that’s restricted to a single page but sticks the landing for straightforward, unpretentious comfort.

Unsurprisingly, it also means service that’s in no way laboured, the kind that takes half a lifetime in hospitality to relax into, which is all the more impressive given Mollica runs the floor on his own. It’s him mixing ice-filled negronis, topping up water from silver jugs and pouring wine from a one-pager dedicated to boutique, lo-fi makers in Italy, France and Spain – a skinsy chardonnay blend from Veneto; biodynamic sangiovese.

But the real trick is what’s happening in the kitchen. Young chef Stella Roditis, who draws on her Greek heritage as well as stints at 10 William Street and Bar Vincent, oversees a menu that keeps the fuss to a minimum but does everything possible to maximise flavour.

See the late-season heirloom tomatoes, kept at room temperature on the counter so they don’t seize up, tossed through soft grandma-style beans, basil and a warm dressing of bagna cauda – a rework of Piedmont’s potent anchovy-garlic dip that seeps into all the crevices. Or salted potatoes that drink in chervil-heavy salsa verde before landing atop a plate of roasted and chilled porchetta from Emilio’s Butcher in Rozelle, thin slices fanned out on white china, the fat sweet, the flesh scented with Mediterranean herbs.

The colours are muted, yes, but this is food made for eating: fluffy pane di casa to overload with warm split-pea dip; a garden salad with large cos leaves and peeled chunks of cucumber that give the impression they actually came from a garden; two grey zucchinis stuffed with scented rice looking everything like a couple of beached whales groaning under their own weight in a bowl of lemon-scented avgolemono.

There’s nowhere to hide, and some of the simpler dishes – the chicken on too-mushy, too-saucy orzo, for one – suffer for it, but it’s cooking that’s elegant in its directness, full of self-confidence and restraint. At its best, it’s reminiscent of the pared-back cuisine on show at Fontana in Redfern and Bayswater Kitchenette or Woolloomooloo’s Old Fitz when it was under chef Anna Ugarte-Carral.

Roditis clearly has a good eye, too, neatly capping rehydrated chickpeas with a fillet of grilled snapper or mirroring the folds of rare roast sirloin with radicchio leaves in a gutsy salad packed with crunchy celery and potato.

Restraint is also the keyword with the fit-out, which is a new installation, but the granite bar, reeded glass and Venetian blinds echo Sydney’s CBD in a way that makes it feel lived-in and real. There’s a kinetic projection of artist Shaun Gladwell’s work on one wall, candles on the tables and flowers in vases.

Thonet chairs and cobalt Deco-style sconces are some of the more luxurious touches, and the few brass accents extend to the outdoor tables, where city workers congregate in twos and threes for coffees or a quick lunch between meetings.

Clarence and V is not really active on Instagram, it’s not open weekends and, as of yet, it isn’t really busy. But as long as Mollica is shaking hands on the floor and Roditis is baking semolina custard into hand-stretched filo for her exceptionally flaky bougatsa to finish, something tells me a queue on Clarence Street may soon form for them, too.