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Bar Alto has always been a restaurateur’s restaurant. It’s not uncommon to find a bunch of them at the Brisbane Powerhouse eatery on their RDOs, grazing over its rustic but considered plates of Italian food.

Yet, you often won’t find it among diners’ picks of this city’s best Italian. And that’s in part because owner Simon Hill doesn’t go searching for plaudits (despite receiving plenty in the past with classic restaurants such as Ortiga and Isis).

It’s no surprise, then, that Bosco’s reputation has slowly seeped into the dining public since it opened in September, rather than hitting with a PR-driven bang.

The restaurant itself hides in plain sight in a large black warehouse on Austin Street in Newstead, attached to the front of the Brewbakers commercial bakery (Brewbakers closed its retail shop in June, but continues to bake for commercial clients). Slip past a sheer curtain and you’ll find a venue laid out like a dining hall made fancy, rows of long tables accommodating couples and separate groups of diners.

On the Thursday night we visit it has a solid pump on, well-tuned lighting and a raging hearth lending the room an intimate vibe.

Fire sets the agenda for chef Sajith Vengateri’s broadly western European menu, which takes most of its touchpoints from the more rustic elements of Basque cooking. Vengateri, though – who now oversees both Alto and Bosco – has always been a dab hand at mixing the comfortable with the artful.

Take a baccala mantecato with cecina nero – one of the stars of a killer snack menu (essential for a restaurant in 2024, it seems): with its fried chickpea bread flavoured with squid ink and crisped into the shape of a flower, and a dollop of whipped cod sparkling under Bosco’s pendant lights, it’s one of the prettiest things you’ll ever lay your eyes upon. Still, it’s designed to be eaten not admired, and hits the palate perfectly seasoned with a satisfying crunch.

It’s a similar story with a house suckling pig croqueta that avoids any overbearing heaviness, and a chicken liver cannoli skilfully enlivened with a dash of armagnac. We resist the temptation to order another round.

The larger plates, though, are where the kitchen really begins to flex its muscle, using a parrilla grill and a custom-made “infernillo” – a South American-style hearth where the chefs cook between two fires, one above and one below.

Brisbane Valley quail wrapped in pancetta, hung over the fire and then finished on the grill is Vengateri getting out of the way of his produce almost to a fault. A sweet apple and chestnut butter is perhaps not quite strong enough an accompaniment, but with such protein cooked so well, you hardly care.

The showstopper, though, is a mussels dish that neither myself nor my dining partner will soon forget. A phalanx of Kinkawooka blue mussels from South Australia have been stripped of their shells and laid out in cider cream. The mussels are plump and sweet, the cider cream luscious but complex, an accompanying chunk of como Vienna bread given a lick of fire but left fluffy inside, to better mop up the mess. I’m still vaguely spooning at the plate long after nothing’s left.

A main of angel-hair pasta with squid, prawns and scallops cooked in a clay pot is similarly soul-warming, if a little more rudimentary, a tomato-saffron roux poured at the table leaving it a touch one note (at the time of writing, the angel-hair pasta has now been replaced by squid ink risoni). We demolish it all the same, aided by a side dish of heirloom pumpkin and creme fraiche that pops with speck and sage.

Hill has always prided himself on the quality of his wine lists and everything we sample with the food hits the mark – a Giovanni Rosso roero arneis from Piedmont, a La Tonelle rose from Alpes de-Haute Provence, a Jean Defaix petit chablis, a Victorian William Downie pinot noir. They’re drops strong enough to converse with the food without setting fire to your credit card.

To finish, there’s a precisely baked chocolate Basque cheesecake with vanilla cream and a house-made cherry preserve, and spiced anglaise torrijas served with a milk ice cream and coffee namelaka. Like everything else tonight, they leave us wanting more, not less – an achievement this far into the meal.

Hill wants this restaurant to be a third place for Newstead locals, and sitting here among the bon homie, you can’t help but feel he’s more or less nailed it. Our server – who misses just one beat all night before slip catching it like a pro – even lets us dwell in the bar area for a couple more drinks, despite the fact we’re the last people in the place.

It’s a nice gesture when, down here among warehouses and car yards, we’re pretty far off the beaten track.

That thoughtfulness is the through line with Bosco, from the food to the drinks to the manner in which it’s all delivered. It’s a series of simple gifts, presented with care and attention.

Be envious of those Newstead types who get to call this their local – Bosco is a cracker.