The couple-owned restaurant in Edinburgh student neighbourhood that served my best dinner of 2024

I never know if I’m a minimalist or a maximalist.

Sometimes, I adore a busy space, so I can feel like a single earring in a glamorous jewellery box.

At other moments, when the world is feeling especially cacophonous, I cleave towards simplicity.

That’s what you’ll get at the new Edinburgh restaurant Nadair, which is as spare and spartan as an art gallery. It’s a quietly confident 20-cover room that serves as a perfect canvas for the Scandi Scots wares of chef couple Alan Keery and Sarah Baldry, who have experience at restaurants including Edinburgh’s Wedgwood.

Nadair interior | AwAyeMedia

This is their first place together, and they’ve set up in the student-tastic area of Marchmont.

Expect a five-course menu for £65pp, and you can add wine for a further £45pp. We stuck with the grub, though I did wet my penny whistle with a magnificent grapefruit and pine martini (£10) and he went for the equally excellent and medicinal-tasting woodruff negroni (£10).

As the restaurant’s name is Gaelic for nature, expect the foraging-forward treats to extend beyond the cocktail list.

The first course - wheaten bread, smoked crowdie and Jerusalem artichoke - had the same kind of Quaker aesthetic as the dining space.

However, the flavours were contrastingly indulgent, from the whipped butter, which was dusted with feral and sweet chanterelle salt, to the crispy root vegetables that surrounded a blob of crowdie with a tarn of herby oil in the centre, not to mention the malty bread.

After we’d polished this off, there was a potato course. Hooray. I love a tattie, and often wondered what might be my Roman empire - as Generation Z say - of tubers.

Not chips. It’s this.

These waxy spuds had been cooked in beef fat, and were served with buckwheat crackers, which made me think of Ryvita, but had a crunch as light as popcorn and were topped with verdant and creamy blobs of emulsion, as well as swathes of sea truffleweed. There were other things going on, but I inhaled the evidence too fast.

The palm-sized fillet of cod came next and, apparently, it had been treated like Cleopatra, as the fish had been poached in brioche butter and served with buttermilk beurre blanc.

“Come again?” I wanted to ask, when they described what was on my plate.

Instead, I thought, ‘mmm, double butter’ and tucked into this beautiful fillet, served underneath a cloak of umpteen types of seaweed.

I’m not a huge fan of tasting menus, but this one is perfectly paced, and ticks along efficiently. I didn’t feel too full when we took delivery of the biggest course, which showcased lamb.

My fusspot dining partner is not a fan of this meat, and he doesn’t like goat curd either. Still, he was smitten by this portion of rump and a sheepy rib croquette. Go figure. I thought I’d be in line to inherit his scraps, but there were none to be had. He sooked up every last crumb, like a Henry vacuum cleaner during a power surge.

These included the bright red mackerel ketchup, which should be sold by the jar, and Alexanders - an archaic vegetable, introduced by the Romans, but back, for one night only.

After this, you can proceed directly to dessert, or sneak in a few Isle of Mull cheddar beignets with truffle honey for an additional £2.50.

If you skip those, you’re going to get a severe case of FOMO. We’re very glad we didn’t pass up these fluffy pom-poms of ultra deep-fried cheesy joy, which were topped by a flurry of grated fromage.

“Be careful, they’re hot,” our server said, but we couldn’t resist immediately ignoring all health and safety instructions and immediately popping them., like fat boa constrictors eating whole birds’ eggs.

Before pud, there was a palate-cleansing pre-dessert of yoghurt ice-cream with a chamomile granita.

Then, the final flourish of quince sorbet, a pine citrus posset and brown butter sabayon biscuits.

We were mourning the end of dinner, when Baldry brought us two sugar-dusted bombolone doughnuts, filled with praline. Why, thank you.

I can’t think of a better coda, to fill us with sugar and get us bouncing merrily down the road.

I’m totally sold on this place. There was something restorative about my visit and it renewed my jaded festive joy in eating out.

That’s thanks to the simple pleasures of food and the feeling, the staff and the walk home through the Meadows. Perhaps I am a minimalist after all.

15 Roseneath Street, Edinburgh (0131-629 2322, www.restaurantnadair.com)