This is probably the chicest Turkish restaurant I’ve been to this side of Istanbul. Together with a couple of glam sisters in St Albans and Harpenden it has been delighting the discerning folk of Hertfordshire for a few years now, mercifully obliterating memories of the dismal Chinese restaurant that occupied the premises before. Once you’ve fought your way past the velvet-curtained entrance you’re into a world of comfily intimate banquettes and open-kitchened fireworks. And how clever they have been to hide sound proofing boards amongst the lovely dangle of their filigree lighting (a trick so many other restaurants should employ). Service is great: perky and prompt but without any sense of rush. Ingredients are organically sourced too, I understand.

Its small-and-larger-plate dinning, so you’ll enquire as to how many dishes per person would be optimal. And then you’ll completely ignore the advice, ordering a couple extra for good measure. Well done. You’d be foolish to pass over the “bread and dips” section of the menu. There are some interestingly different things here (Kuymak for example, a traditional melted cheese and cornmeal affair) and even the familiar houmous, labneh or babaganus are elevated with libations of truffle oil or pops of confit garlic. And their pitta is a delightful, tasty, billowing hug (as far removed as it is possible to be from the pallid insoles of supermarket infamy).

Amongst the small plates you’ll find excellently handled traditional ingredients like aubergine, artichokes, harissa and sumac rubbing shoulders harmoniously with tuna tartare, merguez and flourishes of beetroot crisps. The larger plates beckon with promises of barley risotto and slow-cooked lamb shoulder (v. good indeed), apricot ‘n olive stuffed chicken with barberries and tarragon cream sauce (again, excellent) and some good, char-grilled things. There’s baklava and helva/halva/halwa for pud (of course) together with a provocatively named Aegean Mess. The latter featuring caramelised peaches and Chantilly cream as well as mastic (the ancient resin flavouring of the eastern Med) in its crème pâtissière.

I am far from an expert on Turkish wine, but I have a friend in the industry who is. She recommended the white and red by Vinkara both made from indigenous Turkish grapes (white Hasandede – in which Vinkara is somewhat a pioneer – and black Öküzgözü, respectively). The producer even has a traditional-method sparkling on the menu which might prove an interesting alternative to the usual fizz.