nel.

In a world in which it is easy to be overwhelmed by choice, there aren't too many places left where you can sit down and eat exactly the same as everyone else in the room. Boarding school, perhaps. And prison, I imagine. Oh, and your nearest, dearest degustation diner.

So here's nel., complete with a full stop to its name, and an eight-course fixed price menu with no choice at all. There's even a six-course, no-choice menu at lunch. Where did they get the nerve for this? And how come the place is almost full?

Nel is British chef Nelly Robinson, who has worked at a few good places around town since landing in Oz after several formative years with chef Nigel Haworth of the Michelin-starred Northcote in Lancashire. In an echo of Haworth's work in revisiting traditional Lancashire favourites, Robinson sends out a splendid Lancashire cheese scroll with wild garlic butter that's pretty damn gorgeous; not to mention crumbed fingers of pressed pig's head with a thick, creamy pea soup inspired by his mum's recipe. Cute.

Tucked away in an industrial, raw-boned basement in that strange part of Surry Hills that thinks it's part of the city, nel. draws a youngish, mix-and-match crowd not only keen to commit to eight courses, but happy to sign up for the matching wine program of two wines per course ($80pp).

Staff are well-briefed, and there is much leaning in and pointing and explaining of the complexities of each dish. Two tiny amuse-gueules have every element of their crisp salmon skin, raw salmon, salmon caviar and salmon scales defined, as does "kombu tempura quail egg". Is it just me, or do you sometimes just want to pop something into your mouth and find out what it's like for yourself? Oh, never mind.

Such an ongoing parade of courses needs some light and shade. Light comes in the form of a spanner crab and daikon "ravioli" puffed up with some cherry tomatoes and foams here and there, which are neither here nor there.

Then comes shade; a dark, dense, flavour-packed Japanese mushroom consomme with a surprise packet of a truffle-filled, tortellini-like dumpling. Next, delicate discs of venison carpaccio form a carapace over chocolate soil and pickled red cabbage that tastes strongly of cloves. Rich, meltingly slow-cooked beef cheek lurks on a plate of deconstructivist bibs and bobs, from sprout leaves filled with chestnut puree to shaved sprouts that look like chestnuts (ho, ho). And an oozy little oxtail sandwich. And fresh figs.

The room has a retro vibe, with supremely comfortable dining chairs and Glenn Miller putting you in the mood. Robinson and his small brigade are clearly on show in the minimalist, white-tiled kitchen, as if on a theatrical stage. 

For those not going the no-decisions-necessary matching wine route, there's a neat little 30-bottle selection of mainly mid-range wines from Italy, France and Australia, well-chosen for the food.

Two pale and pretty desserts – grated comte cheese, pineapple sorbet and yoghurt crisp; and pistachio fairy floss, white corn and cherry jam – work well. Finally, a sweet little miniature eccles cake, fruity with raisins, acts as the (promised) full stop.

Robinson's cooking is interesting, well-crafted and likeable, in that mod-regional British way. The no-choice format is ideal for those who reckon they've made enough decisions at work and don't need another one in their lives, but me, I'd prefer either fewer things on each plate, or fewer plates. Your choice.

THE LOWDOWN
Best bit It's like an haute gastropub
Worst bit The screechy noise of the dishwasher brush
Go-to dish Beef cheek, oxtail sandwich, chestnut brussels sprouts