The fried chicken sandwich at Tonino’s International, a new cafe, delicatessen and restaurant inside Harris Farm at Drummoyne, is one of the most intimidating things I’ve encountered on a plate all year. I’m not even sure it can be called a sandwich.

“Cucumber, shredded lettuce and a massive hunk of battered chook barely held together on a seeded bun,” would be a better description. “Finish it without a stream of kimchi-infused mayonnaise running down your arms and eat for free.” In any case, I’m all for it.

Tonino’s opened four months ago in a space previously home to Salts Meat Cheese. Co-founders Isabella Daniali, Stefano De Caro and Luca Batella (Daniali and De Caro also run Surry Hills’ Cicerone Cucina Romana) are committed to creating a proper “Italian bistro” for Victoria Road, and the menu is built around pizza and pasta with a big ol’ fried chicken sandwich thrown in for good measure.

It’s $21, by the way, which seems quite reasonable given the chook thigh is wider than most pub schnitzels. Audibly crunchy batter gives way to juicy, corn-fed chicken brined in buttermilk and harissa (North Africa’s No.1 chilli paste), with melted cheese putting an oozy bow on it.

Unlike Tonino’s antipasto and pizzas, it’s not available for delivery, which is probably a good thing for couch upholstery across the inner west. There’s so much sauce and sandwich on the plate, I confess I had to use a knife and fork.

“It’s easy to imagine more Tonino’s Internationals, semi-attached to supermarkets, springing up across Sydney.”

Despite Harris Farm’s surgical lighting and big, yellow signs spruiking discount Kensington Prides in your line of vision, Tonino’s feels like an actual restaurant, a destination unto itself.

The dining room’s lights are dimmed in the evening, and there’s cream marble and nice dark wood and a whitewashed brick wall decked out in framed pictures of smallgoods and assorted European kitsch. A James Gandolfini portrait and “Forget about it” etched on the stemware suggest a Sopranos theme, too.

Peruvian leche de tigre (or “tiger’s milk”) is far removed from anything you’re likely to find in a New Jersey red-sauce joint, though. A balanced rendition of the herby, fish stock and citrus marinade means a kingfish crudo ($20) grabs your attention with more bite than expected, with basil oil and puffed rice to keep the party going.

Hash browns (two for $24) are topped with a professionally sharpened aged-beef tartare under a blizzard of grated, smoked cheddar; a fine but forgettable calamari fritto ($21) comes scattered with spring onion.

Dense pork and beef meatballs (three for $18) stick closer to the script and are buried under fruity tomato sugo and grana padano. They’re at their best when smooshed into a sturdy slice of A.P Bakery baguette ($4).

Frilly edged mafaldine pasta with beef cheek and short-rib bolognese ($30) is as rich and meaty as it sounds, while chewy strands of tonnarelli turn sunset-orange in a butter-forward bisque plumped up with nubs of prawn ($31). Creamy vodka-sauce rigatoni is zigzagged with a deep-green shiso-leaf pesto ($27).

Pizzas, for the most part, are first-rate. De Caro uses a blend of stoneground wheat, soy and rice flours for a crunchier crunch that’s far removed from the floppy Naples style and far more delivery-friendly as a result.

The margherita will set you back $21; the diavola ($27) comes with assertive salami and fresh basil, while the boscaiola ($28) translates to a rubble of pork sausage and mushroom strewn across garlic cream and covered with another snowfall of grana padano cheese.

A special loaded with chilled porchetta and thin-cut potatoes ($29) is the only pizza that didn’t quite hit the mark, largely thanks to an overpowering swirl of mayonnaise-adjacent sauce.

Tiramisu ($15) is heavy on the goop and goo, a layer of miso caramel taking its sweetness into overdrive (although I can imagine any nine-year-old declaring it the best dessert in the world).

A wobbly tranche of creme caramel is the more balanced finishing move, topped with breadcrumbs fried in maple syrup and crushed macadamias.

Or you can just drop in for a double espresso ($4.50) and a croissant ($5.50) or a negroni ($20) and plate of prosciutto ($15) before filling your trolley five metres away.

Service is efficient – the floor team seems to genuinely care – and with its smart, nostalgia-driven branding, it’s easy to imagine more Tonino’s Internationals, semi-attached to supermarkets, springing up across Sydney.

More independent delis picking up the slack left by Coles and Woolies ditching their cold-cut counters; more fried-chicken sandwiches bigger than a toddler’s head.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine