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If running a city restaurant is a tricky endeavour, it’s even tougher for those taking a chance on our regional towns. Should the offering be designed for locals? For weekending city folk? For international tourists? Each of these groups has different needs, different budgets, and different expectations.

This is part of what makes Messmates, which opened in Warragul in April, so exceptional. Owners Jodie Odrowaz, Michael Clark, Jess Odrowaz and Chris Odrowaz have come up with a formula that somehow caters to all the above. (Three of the four are from Warragul; all four have impressive CVs, with extensive experience at home and abroad.)

Unlike more tourist-focused restaurants, it’s located in a former bakery in a shopping centre right smack in the middle of town, rather than at a winery or in some idyllic country setting. This is better for locals, putting it in the midst of the community, but it also means it’s walking distance from the train station if you’re visiting from the city.

The room is full of people calling out from one table to another, seemingly delighted that there’s a place to be and that they are there.

The warm, wedge-shaped room has caramel leather banquettes, whitewashed brick walls, an open kitchen, and a brightly lit station where one of the chefs finishes each plate and overlooks the action.

That action is built around a short, printed menu, a couple of specials, and a killer wine list. (There are cocktails, too, that lean mostly classic.)

If you’re into wine, absolutely start a conversation with your server about what you like – there are often bottles that aren’t listed that are available. The best part? You have to try really hard to spend big on wine here – I’d guess that 95 per cent of the list is under $100 a bottle.

The food menu is short and tight – a few snacks, two or three appetisers, and three mains, plus specials. Side dishes in recent springtime weeks have included asparagus and ’nduja ($15.50), and creamed polenta with wild garlic ($12.50). These dishes are simple and seasonal above all else – one element is chosen for its freshness, then a contrast is applied.

In the case of the asparagus, the lightly spicy ’nduja is turned into a tangy, acid-driven sauce, giving lovely foil to the bracing snap of the vegetable.

The chefs here are obviously fans of acid – a plate of shelled mussels ($16) with pickles and aioli is so tart it made me pucker and wheeze, but not in a wholly unpleasant manner.

Chicken liver parfait ($19), creamy and luscious, comes with sourdough crackers and globs of pear gelee that pack a tart punch.

Main course options are straightforward: you get chook, a pasta dish, or pork. Some nights, a whole fish will be on offer via the specials board.

The pasta ($34) will be house-made, delicate, and tossed with artichokes and sage; fantastic. The pork ($42) will be juicy and crisped, in a pool of peppercorn sauce, with a heap of charred cabbage. (The menu changes often; so often in fact that the pork and asparagus dishes I ate were no longer available when we sent the photographer a few days later.)

For dessert, you might find a tart on the bar, as is appropriate for a country local. Is the crust buttery? Are the fillings irresistible? Yes, yes, yes.

The local chatter around Messmates has been ecstatic. The room is full of people calling out from one table to another, seemingly delighted that there’s a place to be and that they are there. “My friend said it was one of the best meals he’s had, ever,” my uncle, a long-time resident, told me.

I took another Warragul local and family member – a sprightly octogenarian – for dinner, and she had a fabulous time, partly because at every point in the evening they took her into consideration. Would we rather have a quiet table off to the side, or in the middle of the action? (Action!)

When she asked about the loose and milky Butterfly Factory cheese served alongside sourdough focaccia ($6), our server launched into a reverie about the cheesemaker, her husband the winemaker, and then brought us tastes of said wine.

Throughout the meal, we were spoken to with warmth and generosity, without the slightest hint of condescension. I hate to admit it, but there are quite a few Melbourne restaurants that could learn from their example – I’ve seen shocking disregard for older customers in venues that should absolutely know better.

That’s the magic of Messmates: it works for locals, it works for visitors, and I’d send international tourists there as an example of fantastic modern but simple Australian cooking.

It’s a model upon which I hope to see more regional restaurants take their cues – to be true to the best things about the communities they inhabit and represent.