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Never thought I’d be so excited about creamed silver beet. But here we are, sitting at a white-clothed table in the golden glow of candlelight and hospitality, eating a humble vegetable coaxed to luxury.

Sturdy chard leaves and stems are roughly chopped, blessed with cream and parmesan, and showered with pickled celery and sliced radish. It’s a clever melding of acidity and richness, give and crunch, comfort food poised on a cliff edge.

The dish says a lot about Kirbie, the restaurant and the person.

Kirbie Tate, who’s 41, has been working in cafes and restaurants since she was 14. She’s been feeding people from this spot for 10 years, first at the tiny cafe Wynyard at the rear of the premises, then Wynyard + James, which expanded to the streetfront in 2019, and from 2021 as James, a modern Korean offering, which transformed into Kirbie last October.

There’s something profound and powerful in the fact that Tate has finally given her name to the business: “Kirbie” is, literally, up in neon lights in the window.

“You get to that point as a woman,” she tells me. “I’ve always thought someone else needed to be pushed forward, but I’m ready to take ownership of the vision.”

The vision is simple but fully realised. Kirbie is a feelgood space, supported by food, wine and, of course, the professionals who bring the experience into being.

You could head in by yourself for a glass of wine and seafood pasta, come back with a date (cotoletta + salad + tarte tatin = romance) or book in a friends’ catch-up where you order just about everything and let salt, olive oil, lemon, chicken stock and chablis gather into a rollicking canter to good times.

Another day, you might sit down in the afternoon with your laptop and a terrine or pop in for a post-show supper of Tuscan bread soup.

Kirbie – the restaurant, but very likely the person as well – will be there to welcome you, plating and pouring from noon to late.

I love the space, open at the front with bentwood bistro chairs, banquettes and a blackboard with wines by the glass written in a generous cursive. The decor is layered, a bit like a French farmhouse: an old timber ladder, brick walls painted white, expressive art, wine bottles. The room is more snug at the back, giving onto an outdoor nook abutting the side lane. There’s a spot for any mood, ranging from garrulous to hermetic.

The food is broadly European, leaning variously towards France, Italy, Greece and Spain. All the vegetables and fruits come from local wholesaler Natoora, which sources from small farmers using returnable crates: their flavourful, hyper-seasonal produce is becoming a Melbourne signature, steering menus towards simplicity.

Chopped zucchini and radishes are macerated in champagne vinegar, arranged over house-made ricotta and scattered with pink peppercorns.

There’s a nod to a cucumber and smoked-yoghurt dish from the James era in a share plate that sees quartered cucumber spears set atop ajo blanco (Spanish almond soup) and scattered with smoked nuts.

You’ll want bread for all this. Glossy flatbread is served with nori butter, also carried over from James.

Black sausage is sliced and grilled, then placed in a soupy, summery cassoulet of white beans and chickpeas. More bread, please.

Kirbie is a restaurant for the times: a casual neighbourhood hangout that shifts gears according to the time, day, season and customer requirements. It’s an expression of Kirbie Tate and a wholehearted, happy and sublimely self-aware addition to inner Melbourne.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine