“Today greed will get the better of me. Could I see the menu again?” Words to lift the spirits of any restaurateur, or a fitting epitaph for the professional eater. Alia Glorie’s menu demands another look and if you haven’t had the pleasure, now is the time.

A visit in the early days, when the online chatter was overwhelming praise hadn’t ignited my fervour for Glorie’s cooking. Then, on a Monday night, she was at the pass in the open kitchen, looking like she was under the pump. This is her first head chef gig, following a stint as sous chef at Highgate’s El Publico, and the feeling then was that like most chefs she was putting in the hours, with the added burden of her first shot at the top job. It was by no means bad; more the intention was clear, the promise evident, but the execution unrealised.

Now, she’s found her stride and a culinary agenda that seems individual, honest and humble. A menu awash with a Mediterranean influence, a base note of olive oil throughout, yet you’d be hard pushed to put a pin on the map. It’s an approach that allows her to explore her influences, without being tied to geographic expectations.

Smoked salmon whip, a riff on taramasalata, has a hint of smoke and a lick of horseradish heat. The roe (or tarama) offers a salty pop a top, not within, the whip. Accompanying lavosh is the revelation: light, with a glorious crunch that cracks in your ears; a mighty sound, of a chef who’s thinking about every aspect of the dish. Again dispensing with tradition, Glorie’s crew uses yeast in this usually unleavened bread, making both honey washed and savoury for use throughout the menu. Traditionalists may tut, but it’s an opening to be remembered.

Fremantle octopus braised until tender, simply seasoned and marinated, before hitting the grill is served in a sweet, piquant sauce of paprika, chilli and orange. Studded with almonds, it’s the dish to bring you back again and again. Bread at the ready, mopping up is essential.

A delicate dish, pork medallions laid upon braised lentils and kale, is a rarity; one that doesn’t fall back on fat, on crackling or belly, and as much about the stock as the meat itself. It’s confident, brave even, in a dining scene that revels in the rind.

Baked custard is a simple end. Warm, light, it wraps and coats the tongue, an amaretto crumble adding texture.

There’s more to Billie H than just the food, whether we’re talking a smart wine list from owner Daniel Goodsell, to the waitstaff that know how to navigate it, a flawless soundtrack and that intangible comfort you feel when things just work.