A touch of shellfish theatre is the first clue to what you’re in for at Lene. A plate of scallops is rushed from grill to table, still audibly sizzling under umami-rich roast tomato butter, the shells too hot to touch. You’ll be thinking about ordering another before the plate has cooled. .

More intense yet refined flavours follow. A rarely seen whole flathead is grilled then amped up with garlicky butter, parsley and a generous grating of house-cured bottarga.

Wagyu flank shows up in a golden mushroom jus, stacked with blackened cremini mushroom clusters on a glossy sunflower cream. Offset it with a fresh and bitter tumble of properly dressed radicchio.

There’s a freewheeling independent charm that dominates not just the menu, but the space, with post-punk classics on the stereo and big, loud artworks dominating the room. In an era of polished corporate restaurants, it’s delightfully individual.