Promising to source ingredients locally, organically and free-range wherever possible has become virtually mandatory for any new premises seeking to impress. Yet Pickledgreen is also pledging to use energy-efficient induction cookers instead of gas, carefully monitor water use and give food waste to charity for use as fertiliser. They’re also planning to train and employ three homeless people.

All of this is laudable. And while you can expect to hear a raft of similar promises from restaurants pursuing the green pound in the future, the outward signs are that this Edinburgh venture is sincere in its aims.

When we visit, a day after opening, you can still smell the organic paint. But a few fixtures need smartening up – and upstairs in the dining room it feels frankly

a little fresh. Our waiter jokes (I pray) that the hot water hasn’t been turned on yet, and in light of their sustainability policies, his colleague probably shouldn’t be offering fresh napkins between courses. Indiscreet and inconsistent as they are, though, the staff seem genuinely interested in feedback and their good humour goes a long way to dispelling the cold.

Besides, such quibbling details are doubtless swiftly rectified in a place of such minimal ostentation. There is a Scandinavian, almost Ikea-like vibe to the clean, uncluttered beech wood fittings, with wall mosaics of tessellating right angles, all of which seem unfussy and welcoming rather than affected, suggesting a purity of intention.

Crucially, too, the food speaks for itself, allowing one to dispel any lingering sense of worthiness. Starters are around £5 and mains about £10-£12, and there’s a selection of tarts and delicacies on toast for the more casual grazer, with the ground-floor deli appearing well-stocked with sandwiches and juices for lunchtime trade.

A ham hock terrine looks beautiful and proves rich and densely sliceable, served with vibrant strips of pickled carrots and lentils. In lieu of smoked herring, temporarily unavailable, my partner opts for warm sardines, the salty edge well supplemented by a new potato salad and green beans. A rolled goat’s cheese log, served on a granite slate, completes a trio of elegantly presented starters, the arresting flavour of spiced aubergine belying its sludgy grey-brown appearance.

Huge plates and simple yet artfully arranged main courses foster a fleeting impression of style over largesse, though such concerns are quickly dispelled. Sticky oxtail requires an effort to strip it from the bone, but that’s the nature of the beef and it proves gratifyingly tender with mashed potatoes and apple and beetroot gravy, just right for a winter’s day.

Well-cooked roast fillet of hake would benefit from a mustard sauce, as opposed to an isolated spoonful, yet served with a selection of root vegetables it’s otherwise flawless, while a delightfully yielding pink rump of lamb arrives with some delicious lightly roasted parsnips. My dining companions declare themselves full, but I press on greedily with a crumbly chocolate pudding.

Reasonably priced and charmingly idiosyncratic on a street where eateries are generally bog-standard or damnably expensive, try Pickledgreen for your sense of eco-karma by all means, but stay and return for the food.