I WAS FIFTEEN when I stood inside my first restaurant kitchen. My mother, who had replaced the red dirt of Mount Isa for the red lights of a different town, had organised this, my first full-time job. I had no comprehension of what was required or of the implications for my future there.

Oliver’s Seafood Restaurant makes no dining lists of substance; it has no stars, hats or write-ups. Like most restaurants of its kind, Oliver’s has closed and re-opened half a dozen times under different names and with different culinary dreams.