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What would you do if a very dear friend was an hour and a half late for lunch? I settled into Julie and had a good time. My flustered bestie intermittently messaged me anguished apologies as her day was derailed. “Don’t sweat it,” I texted back. “I’m fine.”

My oysters had arrived ($6 each), perfect oceanic capsules, clearly just opened, dotted with a finely diced mignonette. The night before, I’d had oysters elsewhere: flabby, raggedy things, their shells chipped like the nails of overworked washerwomen, and nothing like these pearly, pristine beauties.

Appetite awakened, I ordered a house-baked sourdough roll ($5), tore it apart and ate it in shaggy chunks, swiping up airy, whipped butter. I decided it would be inconsiderate not to explore the inviting selection of wines by the glass: my favourite boutique champagne; a subtle, skin-fermented sauvignon blanc; an organic little stunner from the Loire. If friends are late, wines are company, goes the old aphorism I made up on the spot.

Did I fret? Was I grumpy? As it happens, I’ve rarely had such an enjoyable afternoon. I won’t pretend I didn’t scroll on my phone, but there was a lot to keep me engaged. The light is extraordinary, entering through tall windows and filtered by mature trees. The dining room is high-ceilinged, strung with ceramic lights as delicate as paper. The walls are tiled in cream, the floor is pink terrazzo.

There’s a softness and delicacy that’s pleasant but also poignant, given that this was the dining room for the “wayward” women interned at Abbotsford Convent during its long history as a Magdalen asylum and laundry between 1863 and 1974. I can’t help but think about teen mums and sex workers eating nothing as nice as these rolls with whipped butter.

There’s a mostly female team working here; executive chef Julieanne Blum tells me later she feels a kinship with those women and hopes to honour them. The crisp tablecloths are a delight – and a whisper, too, of the past.

Often, a restaurant’s engine room is a dim cave; this one is bathed in natural light. That connection to the outside is reflected in a menu built around produce from the nearby Collingwood Children’s Farm market garden and vegetable beds on the convent grounds. I see a chef walk through with armfuls of silverbeet, then my eye is caught by a glistening tower on the kitchen pass. “Is that butter?” I ask in awe. Ah, no, it’s meringue, my chipper server tells me, cementing a plan for dessert, just as my tardy compadre arrives.

Far from denting my appetite, my while-you-wait snacks have enlivened it, so we pluck our way through the elegant, French-ish menu. Australian sardines ($21) are grilled and glazed in a sauce of burnt sugar, orange juice and vinegar; a touch of roasted chilli powers through the salty richness of the fish.

Butter beans ($18) are piled over goat’s curd and scattered with dark-toasted pine nuts. Fresh artichokes, borlotti beans, ox heart and salsa verde are magicked into a robust, boisterous salad ($26).

The spring vegetables plate ($22) is simple, steamed, seasonal bounty: carrots in all their colours, radish and leek – seasoned like a dream and dolloped with mustardy vinaigrette – all as clean as fresh-hung laundry.

People love the crumbed flounder at Julie, but we went for the cabbage roll because it’s a pleasure to see a vegetarian dish given so much consideration. Savoy cabbage leaves are rice-stuffed and steamed, served in roasted cabbage broth. For body, there’s cashew puree that’s a spin on soubise, a classic onion sauce typically served alongside meats ($32). Such respect – for diner, produce and season.

I let slip the spoiler, that we’d finish with meringue. That glossy confection ($16) is spooned from the pile, laid over pink grapefruit and torched. Grapefruit caramel is stirred through the meringue, too. It’s light and luxurious and sweet, with bitter cut-through.

Julieanne Blum also cooks at Cam’s at the Convent, in the nun’s old dining room. Namesake Cam Miller tendered for the site of 40-seat Julie, which used to be home to pay-as-you-feel Lentil As Anything. Cam’s is great, but it doesn’t have a proper kitchen, so the menu is limited.

Blum and head chef Stephannie Liu have more tools to play with at Julie, but the menu is about feeding and satisfying, not showing off. A 20-seat terrace with a more snacky menu offers a drop-in experience.

Julie may have just opened, but it’s an instant treasure for Melbourne, somewhere I’ll bring visitors and look forward to coming back to myself. It’s joyful, thoughtful and makes it easy to find the delight in tarrying.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine