Embla

The fire’s glow bounces off dark timber walls, and the scent of charred brassicas wafts through the room. There’s no soundtrack but the gentle rattle of glassware and knives on ceramic.

Embla’s menu reads like a love letter to smoke and restraint. Aged duck with pickled cherries has made repeat appearances, but it’s the vegetables that get top billing—say, a whole roasted cauliflower folded into almond cream, blistered and bronzed from the wood oven. Flavours are layered but not loud.

Wines here run to the wild and low-intervention. The list shifts often, always spotlighting small growers, whether they're working the Adelaide Hills or the Loire. By the glass or bottle, it’s a choose-your-own adventure with a few nudges from the floor team.

There’s no bookings, and there’s no fuss. Just walk in, snag a stool at the bar if you can, and let the evening unfold. The energy is low-key but dialled-in—locals, off-duty chefs, and travellers who read the footnotes.