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Towards the end of a long, lovely lunch at Pure South Dining Room, the sun found an angle over Flinders Street Station and shone straight into my eyes. Owner Philip Kennedy walked over to adjust the window blind. Sighted again, I asked him about some of the dishes we’d eaten. He launched into tales of Tasmania, where key ingredients are sourced.

There was an anecdote about Eddie Hanslow’s ducks: the farmer recently reported that some of his birds were fattening themselves up marauding through the vegie patch. He’d send them over.

There was a story about The Boat, a discreet fishing crew that telephones Kennedy as its vessel heads towards shore so he can nominate the fish he wants dispatched to Melbourne’s Moorabbin Airport. The haul’s there by 10am and on a plate at lunchtime.

As I savoured the last sips of my Pooley pinot noir ($35), Kennedy mentioned that Pure South was the first mainland restaurant to pour what has since become a rather famous, cool-climate wine.

“We went over there, bought the wine, shipped it over and trained our staff to talk about it,” said the restaurateur, who then left us with our desserts.

“Was he crying?” asked my companion. “Definitely a little misty,” I said. When a person is that emotional about food and farmers, I listen.

I love food with a narrative, a connection to soil and sea. Even without that, I was happy to acknowledge that Pure South, which has just turned 20, is getting a lot right. When your rent is nearly a million dollars a year, you’d better be.

Pure South showcases Tasmania, but the location, overlooking the river and city skyline, is extremely Melbourne.

Downstairs is the casual, speedy Pure South Kitchen: it might serve 750 people from morning to late, including city workers for eggs and coffee, shoppers for oysters and bubbles, and families for pre-footy pizza and pasta. The window bench is one of the city’s best perches.

Upstairs in Pure South Dining, the buzz is more a burble, with well-spaced seating for about 150.

Both levels showcase Tasmania, but the location, overlooking the river and city skyline, is extremely Melbourne.

Scottish chef David Hall has been here nine years, and classic French techniques underpin his contemporary menus.

Plump lobster tail ($48) gleams on an eye-catching plate that also features kohlrabi cooked in orange juice and dots of peppery turnip puree. A version of the Scottish chowder called cullen skink is poured around the shellfish at the table; the soupy sauce is depth-charged by sea urchin and sharpened with yuzu. It’s a complex dish, but the sweet, juicy shellfish is, appropriately, the star.

Eating downstairs? That same lobster’s claws bring flavour to the pasta marinara. The sourcing isn’t just a brand position, it’s also clever.

A pretty beetroot dish ($19) makes a hero of root veg. Beetroot pieces are poached in spiced port, then arranged over Tassie goat’s curd that’s been strained to firm it up and whipped with charred bay leaf oil to create an earthy accompaniment.

Blackberries offer tart contrast, while fresh beetroot ribbons and crisp shards of sesame biscuit lend lightness and texture. A no-waste economy is threaded through this dish, too, with the whey drained from the curd used in a salad dressing in the kitchen below.

Hall has a dainty hand, but he’s not afraid of big flavours. Blue-eye ($48) is served with a peanut puree and a version of the Cameroonian stew, mbongo tchobi, rich with slow-cooked tomatoes, lifted with lemongrass and ginger. It works: the firm, flaky fish plays nicely with the bold punch of the garnishes.

Hall hangs Hanslow’s ducks for a week, increasing density and tenderness, but I found the mouthfeel of the well-done breast ($42) perplexing, the meat almost dissolving into a paste in the mouth. Think of it as a roast, not a fillet, and it makes more sense, especially alongside maple syrup-basted parsnips and a sauce finished with dark chocolate, the slight bitterness a delight.

I told you Kennedy (who owns the restaurant with Peter Leary) left us alone with dessert, which was lucky, because they were conversation-stoppers.

A white chocolate and kumquat plate ($18) is restrained and elegant, with honey-lime sorbet bringing zing to the silky caress of a glazed mousse.

A pumpkin, ginger and pecan assembly ($18) is more maximalist, a fun but busy showcase of American-pie ideas and whiz-bang technique. Both express the seasonality that is the restaurant’s signature.

When it launched in 2004, Pure South caused much excitement. It has matured into a great Melbourne restaurant: committed, consistent, creative and, in the right light, prone to making a person emotional.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine