It was the cauliflower that did it. I popped into Amarillo for snacks with mates. I wasn’t planning to write about it. The idea was a rare off-duty meal when I wouldn’t be bossy about the ordering and might even let everyone eat their food without coming in sideways with my marauding fork.

Fortunately, the charred cauliflower ruined my plans. Its florets grilled to dark brown, resting on something pale and creamy, it presented well, but didn’t look that different from a hundred other vegan offerings around town.

Eating it was a different story: I love it when an apparently simple dish surprises with depth and complexity.

There was a walloping umami punch, thanks to miso applied before roasting, and the hazelnut paste underneath was amplified with white balsamic. The fruity scattering on top turned out to be agrodolce, a sour-sweet vinegar and sugar dressing combined here with sherry and barberries. It added up to a dish decadent and frisky.

I ordered a jalapeno margarita (excellent, made with tequila infused in-house) so I could concentrate. Who’s cooking here, anyway? Actually, it’s chef Darcy Rigby, who grew up in France with an Australian mother and French father, and worked as a chef in Ardeche and Lyon. He’s sticking to the Amarillo food formula – shareable, somewhat Spanish but really rather Melbourne – and two months into the gig, he’s developed a menu that’s appealing and joyful, particularly for the price.

Amarillo has been doing its thing since 2017 and is still in the hands of the original ownership trio of Donough Benson, Daniel Rosette and Adam Sime. When it launched, it was slightly ahead of Melbourne’s wine bar explosion but it was one of a few frontrunners that made this style of eating and drinking seem obvious and fun. Apart from a bathroom renovation and the addition of a parklet, the look and feel hasn’t changed, which is testament to the vision that created it.

Over the years, and especially now, swinging by seems like a great way to spend a lazy hour or three. You might be sitting at the front bar with a cute wine, maybe some oysters, watching northern light billowing across high ceilings.

Or you’re out back, feeling the energy and sizzle of the compact open kitchen, wondering how they keep their indoor plants so healthy, with a silky butter-spiced scallop on your fork.

Maybe you’re in the window, letting jaunty music on vinyl carry your mind away, and crunching through the radicchio, all bitter and bitey, with a scattering of sunflower seeds and a dressing that lifts the leaves up.

Some places make hospitality seem effortless. It never is. But Amarillo edges towards alchemy with a lovely space, warm and skilled people, killer cauli, and a clear vision that adds up to easy good times.