Bar Francine exudes the warm vibe of popping into a friend’s place for dinner.

That’s if you have a friend who, as soon as you sit down, offers you a shandy or a tinnie or a glass of homemade fruit cordial thrown together with locally made vodka, and then whips out an old china plate bearing French onion dip, then maybe cooks you a schnitzel and offers Jatz and cheese for afters.

If this is not in your experience, I suggest this be remedied immediately by booking at this living embodiment of a warm hug perfumed by a pleasing waft of nostalgia. It’s the work of Rick Gibson and Adrienne Jory, who also own and run the successful Mexican plant-based restaurant El Planta in nearby South Brisbane.

Here they’ve created something special, with Jory behind the bar, where her patience, knowledge and welcoming demeanour are the definition of hospitality; an inventive menu that carries a slight European accent and dips into a retro vibe but is thoroughly modern; and decor which is an appealing mash-up of clever recycling, a sense of history and DIY.

The bar, which seems to err more towards operating as a restaurant, is in a rustically restored 100-year-old Queenslander, which was used for a number of commercial operations over the years including a milk bar, on Vulture St near the corner of Hardgrave Rd.

We’re seated on stools at the concrete-topped bar and with 50 seats inside and out it’s a cosy fit. The floor tiles, revealed in the renovation, are from a few decades ago, and are supplemented by a hotch-potch of preloved pictures on the walls, crockery from op shops, linen napkins, ’70s-style wine glasses, a dried flower arrangement and shelves of bottles, telegraphing that this is not a run-of the-mill enterprise. It’s also noisy, with a full house and a pumping soundtrack.

The menu by chef Brad Cooper, most recently ex-Florence Camp Hill, includes seafood. Plant-based treats such as mushroom parfait with cherry mustard, or rigatoni with zucchini mint and pecorino are there but the likes of tuna bruschetta, and swimmer crab with creamed corn, tarragon and chilli butter add an extra string to Francine’s bow, ensuring this is not El Planta mark two.

For a snacky start, a round of pizza fritta ($8) teams well with leeks, vinaigrette, stracciatella and hazelnuts ($18). Onion fritti ($13) arrives like a deep-fried tribute to a waratah, with the onion cut into segments so it falls open to proffer loads of crisp leaves. It’s teamed with a glass bowl of mint jelly topped with a whorl of crème fraiche in an inspired ode to French onion dip. I’m sipping a Bar Francine refresher, XXXX Gold and lemonade, aka a shandy, from the seven-strong cocktail list that also includes a fruit cup as well as vodka with a house-made rosella cordial.

The beer offering is all “tinnies”, including Emu Export from WA, Heaps Normal Lager and Melbourne Bitter. The all-Australian wine list from small producers offers a dozen by the glass.

Larger plates include a robust serve of thickly crumbed celeriac schnitzel ($27) with sauce grenobloise (lemon, butter and capers) and a hefty helping of herbs; while barbecued mackerel ($44) is cooked just so and comes with a handful of mussels, the lot lapped by sauce americaine including tarragon, diced tomato and onion and wine. We pass on cheese, Jatz and jam or peaches and almond custard and opt to share a super-sized profiterole ($15) stuffed with a gently flavoured limincello gelato, the lot doused in chocolate sauce for a rather special sweet-tooth’s summer night cool-down.

This is a venue that’s more than the sum of its parts, it’s loud, some of the dishes are solid rather than remarkable and the drinks list is quirky, but it stands out for its sense of playfulness and authenticity and drive to create something different. It’s a haunt with heart.

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