O'Connell's Centenary Hotel: now so Brit it would have voted Brexit

Once upon a time, chefs Greg Malouf and Adrian Richardson bashed the pans at this South Melbourne stalwart. Since its 1990 pro-food agenda took hold, O'Connell's has been sometimes Middle Eastern, always meaty and occasionally pub-Asian if you count the duck spring rolls that have just left the menu. But the rules of engagement have never faltered: chefs come and chefs go, but the beef pie and steaks are forever.

If you're a rusted-on sports fan, keep calm and carry on. The only thing you'll notice is that the dips and flatbreads have been replaced by chicken liver parfait with a plate of house-made hob nobs.

The next chapter for the restaurant has arrived and it's so British-country-pub it would have voted Brexit. We're talking scotch eggs, light on sausage, heavy on sharp and fruity brown sauce, backed by oysters and Guinness and onion bhajis – the rough nests of onion caught in cumin-y batter that are the Brit's cultural equal to our tuck shop dimmies. Load with fresh pickle, swipe through cucumber raita, think of England.

We're in the hands of restless UK native Aaron Starling, who last year quit beating cheesy mash at Guillaume, passed through Carlton Wine Room and landed making the food of his homeland on Coventry Street.

It's not all land of hope and glorious offal, although croquettes – juicy pork that's captured in crumb and napped in a curry mayo and crisp curry leaves – should form part of your plan. Ditto the wobbling slab of black pudding crowned with a sunny fried egg. There's an odd sweetness from the onion-mustard cream or the salsa verde, but it could otherwise be the spit of a St John Bread and Wine dish, loaded onto toast.

But Starling steers modern too, so there's also a whole burrata purse spilling cream over tomatoes great and small, lifted with fronds of fennel. The side you order with your steak might be iceberg with cultured cream, peas and mint, which could be triply refreshing were the lettuce not limp.

One of the major perks of eating at O'Connell's is the old world glory, well maintained by Techne architects in their 2012 refurb. Inside it's dark, wood-panelled and cricket memorabilia-filled with multiple dining spaces for guffawing groups. From the residential street it sits big, white and intricately trimmed like a slab of wedding cake. Little shrubs surround tables where ad execs puff ciggies and locals coddle their dogs.

It's here you might luxuriate in the sun at lunch with a half chicken and Two Bird's fruity taco beer. Despite talking a big game on the brew front, this is the craftiest thing on tap, sitting beside the Little Creatures stable, Carlton and Guinness. Wine-wise they surpass local pubs by letting you get some Dr Loosen riesling or Ruinart fizz in your glass but it's more tried and true Australian, French and Spanish bottles than envelope-pushing gear.

Back to that chicken. Mine is a well-seasoned too clingy-on-the-bone Gippsland bird with a heavily oiled rubble of corn, almonds and sliced potatoes. The crowd slows for no change-of-guard so while produce is excellent and concepts good, execution can be a little inconsistent.

A half head of seemingly blanched-then-roasted cauliflower with almond cream and capers is a soggy case in point. Too-cold treacle and ginger cake with grainy rum and raisin ice-cream is another. I'd honestly lose its pretty but over-sweet companion of toasted meringue shards and pair with the Colston Basset Stilton from Neil's Yard Dairy instead, one of three imports from London's greatest cheese house.

It's great to have food that makes so much sense in this space. One stickler: tables are serviced by some very keen and some very indifferent staff (45 minutes between courses is an eternity when you're doing loser dinner alone). Hot tip to venues everywhere, be a gastro-pub, but stay a pub: hero for the hordes, salvation for the solo diner. Remember, it's what makes us better than Sydney.