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“And here are your Cheezels,” says a cheerful waiter, putting down a box of the ring-shaped snack, available in every supermarket and servo in Australia, plus the occasional pub, but surely no other restaurant. It’s one more sign that Times New Roman is doing things differently. The other major distinction between this 60-seat bistro and just about every other place in Melbourne is that a bowl of pasta starts at $6.

A $6 spaghetti with napolitana and herb oil is half the size of the full bowl ($12) but it’s actually not that small. It’s honest and straightforward, the kind of quick dinner you could make yourself. But if you did, then you wouldn’t be here, showering your spag with extra grated parmesan, drizzling it with chilli oil, maybe sipping an $11 glass of Touriga Nacional, a Portuguese grape turned into easy-drinking delight by Little Brunswick, a local community-minded winemaker.

You wouldn’t be sitting in this lovely room, a mix of reclaimed and eco-timber, bent into curves and friendly angles, the earthy base for a lacy theatre drape hung from the ceiling, turning the whole room into a stage for your actual life.

You definitely wouldn’t be in a booth laid with doilies, with mates or a book for company, listening to the music and the buzz, adding a rocket and walnut salad to your meal, not because it’s only $8, but because it’s heavily dressed and juicy as you turn the leaves, the vinegar, oil and salt, finding the luxury in the simple.

Times New Roman is a hard place to Google but easy to love. Open since April, it’s related to el cheapo staple Good Times in nearby Fitzroy North but a little more dressed up and grown up.

Owners Chelsea Davis and Jarrod Agatanovic met at Good Times, where the latter is one of the owners. Davis was a staff member for seven years and the pair spent a lot of that time brainstorming another restaurant. Times New Roman has joined a thriving food strip that includes hatted Etta, soon-to-open Daphne and Turkish Yakamoz.

The menu is mostly pasta with simple sauces. Spaghetti comes with anchovy, tuna, chilli and capers; garlicky mushroom is cooked out with white wine. Rigatoni is rumbled with bolognese or a herby pesto. Vegan and gluten-free adjustments are fine.

You can stick to nibbles too, building a fridge-rummage of chunky pickles, hard cheese, olives, ricotta and the like, or letting the chefs turn it into an easygoing snack plate – the kind of pick-and-mix array you’d put in front of a friend at the kitchen table, but 5 per cent fancier.

So why the Cheezels? “Cheezels go with everything,” Davis tells me. But also: it’s her place, finally, and you can feel the delight in doing her own thing, because no one will tell her she can’t.

Times New Roman is a whole lot of “why not?” Half portions. Jugs of punch and prosecco on tap. Clams because they’re abundant and cheap this week. Cherry margaritas for $13. (Davis’ secret hack is that margs and napolitana are a good combo. I’ll try that next time.)

The biggest “why not?” is this. If you think dining out should be accessible to those without a hundred bucks or more to drop on dinner, why not create a restaurant that finds a happy meeting place between money and mouth?

And the cool thing about cheap places is that cashed-up patrons will often get a bottle of wine rather than two glasses, order a round of peach cheesecake for the table and keep the wheels humming, while those on a tight budget can be here too.

Good Food reviews are booked anonymously and paid independently. A restaurant can’t pay for a review or inclusion in the Good Food Guide.