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Nearly five years in, La Pinta’s gravitational pull isn’t letting up. A conveyor belt of regulars has the rigmarole down pat: show up early, snap a shot of the chalkboard menu, and ponder it hunched over a zesty Spanish vermouth at the horseshoe-shaped bar.

A hefty sourdough slice, cut from a leaning tower of loaves behind the bar, is a necessary vessel for smooth split-pea dip. Piquant merguez sausage comes with a tangle of buttery rainbow chard. And wallaby tartare is so luscious and textural, strewn with toasty macadamias and cumin seeds, you’d be forgiven for hoovering it by the spoonful.

Flames from the open kitchen throw an even more golden glow over the space, and dulcet jazz melds into the hum of diners as eclectic as the decor. That’s the beauty of this king-of its-’burb bar.