The Golden Tooth, on Green Lanes in north London, sounds as if it could be a pirate’s watering hole in Penzance, filled with wooden-legged rascal seafarers. It is, however, a pub and restaurant 10 minutes from Canonbury station, serving Hereford wing-rib with smoked bone marrow bordelaise, hogget chops with hot mint and grilled radicchio, and lardy cake with Baron Bigod and mountain tea syrup.

This is the second official project from chef Matthew Scott and wine merchant Charlie Carr, the duo behind Papi in London Fields, which, though now defunct, is forever memorable. Papi was scrappy, slightly chaotic, archly cool, yet never pompous, and was famed for Scott’s penchant for going off at random tangents and Carr’s earnest adherence to old-fashioned hospitality. Scott is, very quietly, one of the most interesting cooks around right now, although he wouldn’t appreciate the attention: Papi’s social media was a glorious paean to visible discomfort as he sold his restaurant’s wares on Instagram, and his hangdog expression and weak enthusiasm were oddly joyous. In Scott’s earlier Hot 4 U pop-up era, he was known for the likes of garum Pom-Bears, foie gras mini Magnums and Nesquik daiquiris. Papi, with its iced rhubarb oysters and devilled cheese schnitzels, was a bit more reserved.

The Golden Tooth, however, is what happens when a fledgling talent ages a little, gets a pub with a proper dining room, starts playing music dating narrowly from 1983 to 1986 (basically soft rock bangers and the Pet Shop Boys), and begins serving food with cool, clear, adult direction: mussel toast with lardo, middle white chop with apple ketchup, and Sussex sheep’s milk ricotta dumplings with jersey royals and white asparagus. In keeping with Scott and Carr’s general vibe, the Golden Tooth rather undersold itself in its pre-opening announcements, hinting that this was merely a pub that did food. That was a lie: this is not some poky, spit-and-sawdust back room with a few Pom-Bear-encrusted scotch eggs. The menu is a mature single sheet in a businesslike font, with the pub’s logo stamped across the top in a distressed woodblock typeface. The wine list, unsurprisingly from Carr, is low-intervention, micro producer-friendly and goes large on English bottles. If you want to drink ale instead, please do – it will go beautifully with a plate of that mussel toast or a wobbly, voluminous slice of Montgomery cheddar tart to which I have pledged my eternal fealty. That tart alone makes the Golden Tooth destination dining: tall in a Gloria’s lemon meringue pie way, quivering, eggy, creamy, rich and piled high with grated cheese, with a glorious and foamy walnut and onion soubise for good measure. I was born and raised on flan, and thought I’d tasted them all, but this tart, with those sweet caramelised onions and walnuts to provide texture and a hint of bitterness, is heaven.

But I’m jumping the gun. We began with bread and Bovril butter, which I ate as if it were a cake. The bread is toasted and sticky, somewhere between Soreen malt loaf and teacake, and comes with a neat quenelle of salted Bovril butter alongside. Next up, wild sea bass crudo with a citrus and lovage oil that lay across the fish like a puddle of oil on a garage forecourt. Lovage is a bold, strange taste, and not everyone’s idea of a good time, but here it really worked. After that, we chose the ex-dairy cow tartare with elderflower, fermented chilli and carta di musica, that thin, crisp Sardinian cracker. Scott’s tartare is very good, and one of his signature dishes, but it’s symbolic of his growth that there are now much more enticing things on his menu.

Take, for example, the stargazy pie for two, which turns up with the head of an enormous red prawn gawping out of the top of the pastry. This pie is perilously delicious: mustardy, creamy, stuffed with shredded chicken and a handful of red prawns. It is also generous and deeply comforting. We had it with big fat homemade chips and a vivid green wild garlic aïoli. In all honesty, I could have eaten the entire thing myself, half there and the rest an hour or so later, in my own kitchen and standing up next to the fridge with a long spoon.

There are elegant, airy desserts such as a honeymoon melon sorbet and mint choc chip ice-cream, but, with a sense of “in for a penny, in for two pounds around the waistline”, we went for the lardy cake. And oh my gosh: it’s plump, glossy and possibly fatal if eaten in sufficient quantity, and comes with Baron Bigod cheese and honey. Scott’s sunflower seed frangipane, meanwhile, is a much more rustic, wholesome-looking use of almonds than your average bakewell, but it’s still moist and decadent, with al dente rhubarb and creme fraiche to balance the sweetness.

The Golden Tooth has appeared fully formed and with huge swagger, not that this coy lot will ever admit it. Book a table while you can. Just don’t let them pretend it’s a “boozer”.

• The Golden Tooth 79 Green Lanes, London N16, 020-7354 2791. Open lunch Fri & Sat, noon-3pm, Sun, noon-5pm; dinner Weds-Sat, 6-10pm. (Bar open Mon-Thurs 5-11pm, Fri & Sat noon-midnight, Sun noon-10pm.) From about £50 a head à la carte, plus drinks & service