It’s a cusp-of-spring Saturday night and Daughter In Law is zinging with the energy of a Bollywood film. Jessi Singh’s “unauthentic” Indian restaurant continues to nail its KPIs, but just a few doors up Little Bourke St the OG disrupter of the city’s Indian scene is doing the unthinkable and delivering something close to authenticity. Well, sort of.

A co-production with longtime partners Jimmy McLennan (a London-hailing chef), Shane Barrett and Sacha Imrie, Daughter’s Arms is a British Indian gastropub. Which makes it inauthentically authentic.

It’s a concept commonplace enough now in England but an unknown quantity to Melburnians. On first impressions, its immediately likeable two-speed menu that scoffs in the face of cultural dividing lines is the perfect emissary.

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A cheery Beatles soundtrack meets the verities of the English counter meal. Yes, we’re talking the likes of fish and chips, rack of lamb and a fish pie, all with a gentle curry sauce curveball, as does the Glamorgan sausage (spoiler alert: it’s vegetarian), a fried finger of goopy bechamel and leek.

Among the bar snacks, a Yorkshire pudding (talking point: the English working-class answer to gourgeres?) with a cross-section of bone marrow, peas and gravy dials into London’s St. John. The classic scallop and black pudding combo nips at its heels.

A goat seekh kebab is all fire and spice mollified by a cumin yoghurt while a dhal makhani impresses with a deep, complex gravy and a tingling warmth. It’s also worth taking a detour to the DA sideline of Indian pizza – better known as “pijja” – that originated in 1980s San Francisco. A puffy base in the Italian tradition is topped with a riot of saag paneer (creamed spinach and trio of cheeses including American cheddar), fresh green chilli and fried curry leaves. Roasted masala spices and ghee amp up the subcontinental flavour tornado.

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It took Singh years of experimenting to nail the ratios (those maximalist toppings need a structurally sound base, after all) but its debut proves it was worth the wait. At $20, it also sums up the cost-of-living attraction of the venue. Taking over the space that was until recently Amphlett House, the Daughter’s Arms design isn’t as explosively gaudy as its stablemate but does plenty to dress up the space with the tchotchke-driven wit the group is known for.

Linen tablecloths, nana-esque vases of roses and fluted glass table lamps jostle for attention with a wall of vinyl records, some fierce-looking fellows hailing from the Days of the Raj and coloured bunting strung around the low-ceilinged room.

Drinks? The house cocktail – mezcal, beetroot and lime with a black salt rim – is smokin’ good while the wine list has been put together with an expert eye on spice friendliness.

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There’s a vintage dessert trolley wheeled to each table bearing towering cakes (the vanilla sponge looks worthy of the Royal Melbourne Show – next time, my lovely) and whisky and its digestive friends. The crowd covers all bases from geezers to gadflys and the vibe is so cheery you might expect massed singing breaking out to Yellow Submarine.

Turns out a British Indian gastropub with a Beatles soundtrack is the antidote to the world’s ills that we need right now. Who knew?

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