Bombastic flavours rule at the Ester and A.P Bakery crew’s tiny new Chippendale bar

When someone tells you to order a double quantity of the signature sandwich, you listen. Especially when that sandwich is a bifana. There in a pool of warm chorizo broth sits an A.P Bakery potato roll slathered in American mustard, filled with braised pork shoulder and Turkish peppers, all hidden under a blanket of pure lard.

How something this flavourful, rustic and full of essence is somehow also this elegant and balanced will remain a mystery for the ages. As will how we get through two of them.

Owner Mat Lindsay (the force behind Ester, Poly and A.P Bakery) has the special ability of being able to treat an ingredient with equal parts humility and self-assuredness. He doesn’t buck the trend at his new Chippendale bar, named for 19th-century Chippendale local Mary O’Shea, who used to scavenge the local abattoirs for scraps to feed her pigs (and herself). It’s a bar that thrives, despite, not because of, the name.

Like its siblings, Pig Mary is flush with confident cooking, here handled day-to-day by tattoo artist-turned-MasterChef-contestant-turned-actual-chef, Pete Campbell (ex-Quay and Poly). If this was intended as a holding zone for Ester diners waiting for their table (it’s just a few steps down the footpath from the two-hat restaurant), they’ve failed miserably.

The food’s so good, and the seating’s so limited (maximum capacity is 20) that securing a spot at all can prove tricky. I spend most of my first visit happily leaning up against the window as my friends take the last two remaining seats inside. It’s quite liberating having that much freedom of movement, and it means you can swing your martini around without spilling it on anyone.

It also means you can really let your freak flag fly while hooking into the Pig Mac burger. A weekend special only, that’s two blood-sausage patties, their frilled edges deeply charred, layered with cheese, lettuce, pickles and special sauce on a soft bun. Sweet, tangy, perfectly balanced. Like all the cooking here, the flavours are bombastic but the execution is surprisingly restrained.

Waiting for pals? Order a round of what they’re calling a “saucisson cocktail” (translation: juicy sliced fuet – the cured Catalan sausage – served in a cocktail glass), plus a side of gently pickled carrots and fioretto, and perhaps a gilda or two, threaded with just a little lardo and served on thick-buttered toastlets. Sea salt-crusted potato scallops are so crunchy, they shatter on impact. Dip them in the accompanying (Pig) Mary Rose sauce, and issue a silent prayer to Fanny Cradock.

Manager Kendyl Parr is behind the drinks. You won’t find anything pre-batched, rotovapped or clarified here. Cocktails are fresh, citrusy and shaken, not stirred. What does that look like? Well, there’s the Gary. Campari, Japanese citrus liqueur, grapefruit and orange juice, shaken viciously to make a sort of Bondi by way of Milan-style highball. The Summa Sippa follows a similar line: Aperol and mezcal shaken with rockmelon juice and green and red chilli, served short. Clean flavours, food friendly, and fun.

Wine-wise, they offer anything on the Ester list by the bottle if the current selection doesn’t tickle you, but I’m happy with the tighter selection by the glass. It makes for a slightly more relaxed experience, allowing for more chat and fewer decisions.

Speaking of things from up the road, there are oysters on offer from the Ester kitchen, along with the signature wood-fired cheese pie, drizzled with honey and served with fermented chilli sauce. It’s a bit of a conversation stopper – the pastry is blistered and charred from the restaurant’s famous wood oven, holding rivers of oozy Pyengana cheddar.

I like the light, tight grenache blanc from Spanish producers La Comarcal as a foil for that pie. It works just as well with a plate of salty, buttery pipis served with fresh-baked A.P ficelle. To loop back to that bifana (a sandwich so good, the Portuguese municipality of Vendas Novas trademarked it) you can either go big with a glass of light, bright, very slightly electrifying COS frappato, or perhaps more chill with a chilled cinsault/mourvedre from McLaren Vale.

While sweets aren’t essential here, they are worth it. Check out the mango Weiss bar trifle – a mess of sponge, mango bits, custard and whipped cream. Sticking with drinks? Check out the Ester Coconut Sgroppino, combining coconut sorbet from up the road with vodka, sake and a splash of fizz.

This is one of those rare places where the outside world just doesn’t matter, whether you’re sitting down or, you know, happily standing. Minimal seats, maximal cool.

Good Food reviews are booked anonymously and paid independently. A restaurant can’t pay for a review or inclusion in the Good Food Guide.