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There is something curiously old-fashioned about Ruckers Hill, the new wine bar and restaurant in Northcote. The old-world space, with its bar in front and fireplace-lit cosy dining room in back, could be from any era of the past 60 years. The servers are likely to call you “sir” or “madam”. Even the gold-lettered branding painted onto the front window looks kind of old-timey, like it would fit in at Sovereign Hill or some other vintage-inspired re-enactment of the days of yore.

Very little has changed about the wine-lined, brick-walled storefront on High Street, so that the casual observer might never realise it is no longer Bar Nonno, the Euro-influenced wine bar and shop that was in this space for the previous few years.

Add to that the fact that Ruckers Hill, which opened in early March, is also a Euro-influenced wine bar and any confusion is understandable. And in fact, chef and owner David Murphy was the head chef at Bar Nonno for a couple of years, before doing time as a sous chef at Bistro Thierry and then working at 1800 Lasagne in Thornbury. Ruckers Hill is his first project as an owner.

The drinks list here is strong, with wines that lean European and Australian, and cocktails that buck the classics-with-a-twist trend, sticking mainly to true versions of classics and then veering wildly offscript with drinks such as “wine or daiquiri?” ($18) made with rum, grape and Supasawa, a Belgian mixer that delivers clean acidity, and served in a wine glass garnished with grapes. The taste is indeed somewhere between a wine and a daiquiri, sour but fruity, and the mash-up works somehow, the rummy citrus funkiness melding to create a mellow harmony.

That the bar staff can do something this interesting while also being able to deliver a masterful gin martini ($18) says a lot about their competence and care.

There is a distinctly 1990s-early-2000s vibe to this menu, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Murphy’s menu is a bit of a throwback to various eras of high-end dining, with Europe being its main inspiration. Japan and Japanese fusion show up here and there too, though, as with king prawns wrapped in crispy brick pastry ($11 each) and served with wasabi mayo.

An entree of kingfish ($29) has the buttery fish sliced and lightly seared for a treatment that’s more interesting than your standard kingfish crudo. The accompaniments on the plate harken back to Nobu-influenced fusion: pickled fennel tussles for attention with white miso, yuzu and sesame and the dish becomes a little overwhelming, the competing ingredients distracting from what is a lovely presentation of the fish itself.

Scallops ($31) are advertised as an entree but could probably be eaten as a main, especially with a side salad ($13). Served with cauliflower and pancetta and dressed in champagne vinaigrette, the scallops are perfectly cooked and so classic they feel almost nostalgic.

Duck confit ($35) is tender and rich and would be utterly fantastic were it not so overwhelmingly salty. The accompaniment of carrot, honey and orange help to quell the saltiness, but not quite enough.

An entrecote steak ($47), served with quenelles of smoked onion and a deeply flavoured bordelaise sauce, was meal enough for two, especially when ordered alongside the cauliflower gratin ($13).

Murphy’s love of classic dishes is perhaps best relished on his dessert menu, where a lemon tart ($16) stole the show, its peaks of fluffy meringue hiding a biting and silky lemon custard, ensconced in an impeccably yielding pastry shell. Dessert should be fun above all else and this dessert certainly meets that brief.

If there is a distinctly 1990s-early-2000s vibe to this menu, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Food, when done well, was pretty delicious back then and there’s no reason we shouldn’t still be enjoying goat’s cheese with our beetroot or pancetta with our scallops.

There are some dishes about which I’d encourage Murphy to consider the Coco Chanel method of removing one element before sending the plate out the kitchen door, of trusting his ingredients to speak for themselves a little more clearly.

But there are elements of old-school cooking at Ruckers Hill that are a welcome respite from the sameness of pared-back modernity seen in most other wine bars in town.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine