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Potted crab is not something you see in Australia. It’s very British. So too is a beef and Guinness pie with bone marrow, ploughman’s plate and Scotch egg.

These are the mainstay dishes at Northbridge’s newest small bar, Edward & Ida’s.

The owner Dimitri Rtshiladze has gone full pub with his latest venture and it couldn’t be more different to the offer at his louche and celebrated Fremantle hang, Nieuw Ruin. Its menu is modern casual posh with some exemplary cooking and a massive wine list.

E&I’s, by way of comparison, has perhaps the smallest wine list in a bar anywhere – a couple of chardies and a couple of reds – and a menu that smacks of a corner pub in the good old days when corner pubs were a thing.

It’s all about the beer and the oysters. Everything else is a support act. Dimitri’s words not mine. Mind you with young enfant terrible Blaze Young in the kitchen, it’s not going to be boring food. She has cooked to acclaim at Nieuw Ruin.

Oysters are spectacular. We don’t write about oysters for obvious reasons. Their preparation has nothing to do with the kitchen, and everything to do with the blow and suck of estuarine water over a couple of years. E&I’s are worth a mention because they were expertly shucked, a good size, briny and spanking fresh.

Expertly shucked? One of the infuriating things about fresh oysters is that chefs like to show how their oysters are shucked to order by taking the lid off but not separating the oyster from the toe (the little bit of cartilage that joins it to the shell). It does my head in. Nine times out of ten, the hapless punter – me, and presumably you – destroys the oyster meat and splatters agricultural amounts of oyster juice over hands and shirt, trying to prise the bloody thing from the shell.

You’re constantly looking for more napkins to dry your hands and wipe down the person sitting next to you and the guy at the front desk. There’s nothing elegant about it. It’s a pointless, anti-customer pose by chefs. E&I’s kitchen finishes the job and their oysters are simply, pleasingly and without mess deployed to the mouth. No anxiety. No splatter. Just enjoyment. Hurrah.

Potted crab with toast was not like the famed British seaside snack. It was crab in butter, but in melted, slightly warmed butter. It was in a small pot and marvellous. Smeared over charred sourdough toast it proved yet again that crab and butter (and a pinch of cayenne) is an ambrosial blend.

Scotch egg. Bear in mind, in recent days we have eaten what we consider the best Scotch egg ever at Bertie in Bassendean, so this was gonna have to have to be spectacular. It was damn good. Runny yolk, a well tasty sausage meat wrap and a subtle curried egg flavour; nostalgia wrapped in memories then deep fried in evocations of childhood lunches.

Curried egg and sausage. C’mon. Thank you.

Pork and sage sausage roll was sliced from a large log of pastry encased and roasted minced meat. The filling was terrific, a little under seasoned and lacking oomph in the flavour department, but it was the pastry that scored big.

Brilliantly flaky and buttery and just perfectly “burnt” on its extremities. Superb.
A “whole pig ploughman’s plate” was a thick slice of chunky pig terrine with a quenelle of seeded mustard on top and a piece of bity cheddar on the side, garnished with a Branston pickle style relish and sliced radishes. It was tasty and well cooked.

To the sounds of America singing Ventura Highway and Ben Folds Five getting all harmonic with Fair, we hunkered down over a Patagonian toothfish burger. Toothfish is hideously expensive – chef did a special deal though – so we suspect the fish burger won’t always be filled with this champion fish.

It was so good. Nice bun, crisp, fresh salad bits and a big wodge of fish. It comes with chips and a well-made tartare. Anyone can make a burger, you might think. But this fishy burger makes the point that no, not all burgers are the same.

The food is daringly simple, but it is imbued with good technical skills. Some of the dishes were under seasoned. The terrine in particular could do with more salt or a bigger hit of quatre epices.

In the few weeks it has been open, its no-nonsense, simple food, chug-a-lug-a beer aesthetic has struck a chord with local drinkers and diners. It’s busy and noisy.

The long property stretches to a garden out back and a veranda eating space in between. In the front, a long bar encourages lads and ladettes to stand up, foot hitched on the bar rail and sip from a pint or two while warming up with a raclette and potato and onion or, of course, a chicken schnitty.

Rtshiladze is a collector bordering on hoarder. The bar’s walls are filled to the brim with bric-a-brac, old pub tin bar trays, pub pictures and photos and ancient mirrors. Every surface is a cacophony of Aussie pub memorabilia. In the basement, a cosy bar has walls covered in displays of miniatures, those tiny bottles of hard liquor they used to hand out on planes.

So, if you’re on William Street looking for a bar with quality, simple food and a good crowd, head into Edward and Ida’s, but you’ll have to hunt for it, they’re way too cool to have signage.