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Poly is a world unto its own: a moody cavern with the lingering smell of a burning hearth, a chorus of wine-fuelled conversation and a relentless procession of smoke-tinged dishes carried from an open kitchen.

Over glasses of chilled red or iced yuzushu, diners peruse a menu which feels simultaneously familiar and novel. Rigatoni diavola is charred, cheesy, and unabashedly bold under a veil of salty fried dried shrimp; the blackened edges of braised cabbage disappear beneath an unctuous, jammy sauce of beef fat; and a fillet of Murray cod, with crisp flame-grazed skin, arrives on a neat bed of chrysanthemum greens, adding gentle bitterness to a savoury onion broth.

The time passes quickly, facilitated by attentive staff, but there’s a pause when the preserved lemon curd and burnt meringue tart lands: beautiful to behold with whisper-thin layers of pastry, but far better to eat.