Expectation has a funny way of affecting one’s experience. If, for instance, one has already experienced an incarnation of a restaurant, or consumed a particular chef’s food, there’s a certain sense of “known entity” that can either raise or reduce expectation.

In a way, you feel like you know what you’re getting yourself into, but chefs, like restaurants, evolve. One should never assume.

When the Three Blue Ducks announced they’d fill the space left by Kitchen by Mike in Rosebery, many wondered whether it would be the same as the Bronte or Byron outposts.

In some ways it is – certainly the ethos behind their cooking – but it feels like the Ducks lads are more comfortable within the framework they’ve created, and as such the food is more confident, and better executed.

Two of the ducks, chefs Mark LaBrooy and Darren Robertson cut their teeth at Tetsuya’s, but traded in the chef whites for board shorts to focus on delivering an enhanced version of food we all wish we could eat daily.

The food of the Ducks is not designed for “dining,” as such, but for “eating.”

This is communal, everyday eating, but the simplicity of their offering relies on selective sourcing and the incredible technique earned in the years preceding their emergence in Bronte in 2010.

And here in Rosebery, in the cavernous, industrial post-warehouse wonderland, the Duck’s ethical and sustainable mantra rolls on – with a side of evolution, too.

They’ve added ex-MasterChef winner Andy Allen to the team and delivered big on the front-of-house experience. Serious front-of-house pros, with plenty of personality, seem like they’re having as much fun as the guests, and there’s a great energy when it’s a full house. Open breakfast, lunch and now dinner, too, they’re looking to make it the local Sydneysiders will travel for.

A wood-fired oven inside is backed up by the motherload of wood-barbecues in the courtyard, supporting the simple cookery over the burning embers of the red flower.

The breakfast is as good as I’ve had anywhere in Australia. A chorizo and white bean cassoulet is bolstered by a coddled egg, crackling and blood sausage crumbs, while egg and salmon swim in a savoury kedgeree garnished with almonds and mint.

At night, a charred blue “slimy” mackerel is beautifully cooked, crisp on the outside to allow the fats to render, but the flesh still jammed with moisture. Eggplant puree and herbed labneh play solid support acts. Meanwhile, a pecan cream balances the savoury nuttiness of roasted Brussels sprouts. The sour, sweet twang of cumquats counter a rich, velvety chicken liver parfait, but I could do without the nuts and seeds. Then a single serve of roasted bone marrow leaves lingering garlic and rosemary on the palate. But for a sharing dish, I’d like perhaps two portions of what is, after all, a fairly cheap part of the animal, just to get a good slab on the sourdough and get the old heart racing.

But mains are where the menu really starts to shine. A heady broth using the juices from slow-braised pigs head houses polenta, pig flesh and freshly popped clams decorated in chopped chilli. It’s the real deal. Whole baked tiger flathead with celeriac, hazelnut and capers isn’t far behind it. The benefits of cooking it whole on the bone is realised in flesh with gelatinous gifts along the spine. Oh, my. Not to be outdone, a generous slab of slow-cooked whole lamb from the wood-fire barbecue outside gets a lick of that eggplant puree – better suited here – though it’s the deep, multi-layered jus that brings it all together. It’s an umami shotgun.

Desserts are a fairly simple affair, though just as delightful as the mains. A banana tart tatin and vanilla ice cream is solid, while honeycomb stars in a chocolate and mandarin montage.

To label this everyday eating feels unfair to the actual offering on the plate. But with the accessible price point and engaging atmosphere, perhaps that very circa 2016 ideal is being blown outta the water by a couple of lads with all their ducks in a row. They’ll be busy, I expect.