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Some restaurant openings thrill because they bring something wholly new to the city: a vibe or cuisine or set of sensibilities we’ve not seen before. Others feel magical almost for the opposite reason: they fit so well into the landscape of Melbourne, its aesthetic and personality, that it seems they were always here, and walking in feels like coming home.

The latter is true for Reed House, the new restaurant in the manse building that was originally a home for the minister who worked at the adjacent Wesleyan Church. It’s directly across the courtyard from Caretaker’s Cottage, the cocktail bar that’s become an international darling.

The two venues have a lot in common, the most obvious being the nature of the bluestone buildings they occupy, and the repurposing of those spaces for modern needs.

The location is a huge part of the delight of Reed House: entering through the big old front door; basking in the sunlight streaming in through the arched windows surrounded by bluestone; sitting in rooms that exude history. You could be dining in a European country town, but because you’re familiar with our city’s bones, its past hidden in laneways and crevices, you know you’re in Melbourne.

The other commonality with Caretaker’s is in Reed House’s spirit, forged by young owners with passion and talent. It’s run by Mark Hannell and Rebecca Baker, a chef and front-of-house duo (and couple) who met while working at Yotam Ottolenghi’s Nopi restaurant in London.

The two moved to Baker’s hometown of Melbourne a few years ago, where Hannell worked for the Three Blue Ducks group, while Baker did stints at The Everleigh, Bar Americano, and Capitano, where she served as manager.

It’s likely to be Baker who will greet you at the door, open that same door for you on your way out, and whose warmth and welcome seep into much of the experience – her staff seem to take their cues from her excellent attitude and relaxed professionalism. (One waiter’s enthusiastic exclamation of “Let’s do that!” with every drink or dish ordered was especially endearing.)

Before I even read about the couple’s history, I remarked to a dinner companion that the menu reminded me a little of St John, the legendary London restaurant known for the simple but somehow essential cooking of its founder, Fergus Henderson.

Letting ingredients shine is a phrase used too often, but in the case of Hannell’s cooking, that approach takes on a more elemental aspect. There are hundreds of tuna tartares on Melbourne menus right now; the one here ($27), with Aleppo chilli, tangelo and buckwheat, is completely in service of the deep, meaty quality of the tuna itself, even while a component as basic as black pepper asserts itself, bolstering the fish and helping it to be its best self. There’s a lovely restraint here, and a deft attention to spicing and saucing – never too much, never not enough.

Hannell’s other prominent talent is taking items that are, at their core, comfort foods, and turning up the flavour and texture ever so slightly, enough to snap you to attention and then lust after them days later.

Welsh rarebit is here served on a sproingy crumpet ($9), giving the rich and tangy cheese sauce extra nooks and crannies to soak into. Servers deliver it with a bottle of Worcestershire sauce, encouraging you to use it liberally – what fun.

Also falling into the ingenious twist category: a scotch egg made with the kind of white and yolk you’d find in your ramen bowl ($14), cooked to a gooey half-solid in the sweet umami of soy sauce.

Ox tongue skewers ($7) come with a Davison plum glaze that tastes like very fancy ketchup, and perhaps that’s the point. Either way, the tongue itself is soft and crisped on the edges and the stuff that meaty dreams are made of.

Mains give you your standard options – fish, steak, pasta, chicken – but each aspires to be the absolute best version of itself. For meat lovers, the porterhouse with anchovy butter and mustard greens ($45) is a homage to perfectly cooked simplicity.

The whole fish – John dory the night I had it ($45) – was again a careful ode to the taste of the fish itself rather than the proclivities or ego of the chef. There was caramelised butter and rainbow chard, but what I remember most distinctly was the softness of the flesh, the subtlety of its oceanic character, the light metallic tang of its sweet fishiness.

If Ottolenghi’s influence is obvious anywhere on this menu, it’s in the roast half chicken ($39), which comes over a mellow bread sauce and is crusted in zaatar made with saltbush. It’s a beautiful example of place, experience and inspiration converging on the plate: a London aesthetic done with a Levantine edge using Australian ingredients.

Desserts are as straightforward as can be, the most fussed-over among them a rhubarb and chocolate tart ($16), which is just good fruit, good chocolate, and good pastry. What more could you want?

Of all the recent openings in Melbourne, Reed House feels the most exciting, and also the most natural, like it was meant to be here, tucked behind this church in this lovely building, run by these lovely people. I’d be surprised if it doesn’t become an instant classic.