Eleven years in, and the surprise of O.MY hasn’t aged. The dining room – shadowy, cosseting, its blue-black walls decorated with art and shelves of preserves – is like stepping into another dimension from Beaconsfield’s prosaic main drag. Then, the brothers Bertoncello – Chayse on the floor, in enthusiastic charge of a remarkable small-grower wine list; Blayne in the kitchen, working with ingredients grown on O.MY’s farm – begin their set-course fraternal double act. Elegant Heathcote viognier might be paired with grill-kissed calamari, fermented potatoes and buttermilk; a thrillingly clean, marigold milk punch partnered up with honey sponge and lemon meringue come dessert. Jerusalem artichoke could show up as an assiette – pickled slivers draped over crisp skin and purée, bound by egg yolk – while dry-aged duck may share a plate with char-grilled baby leeks and eye-wateringly good celeriac purée. No, the surprise doesn’t age – and thanks to fresh ideas, unpretentious hospitality and masterful cooking, neither does the delight.
