Giro D’Italia in North Carlton’s Rathdowne Village serves generous Italian classics with class
With plump, made-to-order tortelli and “nonna’s” tiramisu that puts most others to shame, North Carlton’s Giro D’Italia is a little neighbourhood Italian that’s quickly finding fans from afar, writes Dan Stock.
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“Buonasera. Welcome!”
Domenico de Marco is in his whites popping out from the kitchen to do laps of the floor, the sparkle in his eyes matched only by the width of his grin as he greets new diners with singsong glee to his three-month old Rathdowne Village restaurant.
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The chef — who hails from outside Bologna — opened his first restaurant, L’Altro Mondo in Albert Park, five years ago.
Though well-received, he’s cleverly pared back the tricksy, fusion elements that defined that offering and is instead serving a simple menu of classics — one dish from each of Italy’s main regions — here.
“North Carlton can be so cliquey, it’s tricky for someone new to open here,” my North Carlton friend says and she’s somewhat surprised the restaurant is three-quarters
full by 7pm on this cool midweek eve.
Until we try the tortelli, that is. Then it’s clear word has spread quickly through the latte queue that this new kid on the block is worth checking out.
But this is not just parish-pump pasta. Domenico’s tortelli is cross-town-for great.
Finished a la minute — meaning each pasta pocket is filled, folded and sealed to order — these sunshine-vibrant plump packets of sweet roasted pumpkin come swimming in nutty butter in which sage has been fried crisp.
Amaretti cookie crumbs add a sprinkle of almond sweetness that complements the pumpkin’s richness, making for a plate that’s as swoonworthy as an Italian accent ($26).
The gnocchi is equally memorable.
Made from potato using rice flour to bind — “everybody we look after here,” Domenico says as he places the plates in front of us — they are artfully light yet with the quiet inner strength that’s needed for the generously meaty ragu they come tossed through.
With the satisfying mouthfeel of duck sans the cloying stickiness of unrendered fat, a spritz of orange is an inspired touch to the pasta that’s simply finished with slivers of pecorino dolce ($28).
That both pastas we ordered to share came split into two bowls unbidden is the type of all-class surprise always welcome and is one example of service that’s far sharper than your simple neighbourhood bolthole.
Our waiter — unaffected, friendly and knowledgeable — made for a terrific one-two double act with chef, and I’d imagine you’d only need return once for that warmth to translate into the bonhomie and banter that turns a restaurant into your local.
It certainly doesn’t hurt that portions are bountiful — the business blokes on the next table who ordered linguine piled with seafood seemed chuffed with their mountain of food — and prices are keen.
What Domenico might be losing on food costs, he’s making up with labour as he’s doing it all himself, in house.
From the focaccia he serves with a side of napoli for dunking, to the pork and fennel sausages he makes up the road at Skinner and Hackett, he’s kneading and baking, rolling and making and roasting and toasting and catching a few hours kip in between upstairs.
A true labour of love.
And there’s much to love about the cotoletta valdostana, a hefty crunchy-crumbed puck of veal that’s stuffed with fontina cheese and smoky ham.
Underneath, a swizzle of housemade aioli with a confident amount of garlic, atop a few super crunchy potato wedges.
Cleverly technical yet generous in a nonna’s you-don’t-eat-enough-admonishment way, for $37 consider any frown turned upside down this winter.
While I’d skip the porchetta alla Romana next time — the roasted capsicums were overly oily and took away from the slices of roasted pork underneath, $21 — I liked the properly rustic chicken liver pate, the offal in chunks tasting of iron and the countryside and needing, really, only a glass of Chianti alongside, though it came with rusks instead ($19).
A tight 12-bottle Italian wine list is augmented by four locals on tap for carafes and glasses, while BYO Wednesdays are already, apparently, a hit.
The space looks pretty much as it was when it was 38 Chairs — but before that, it was for many moons the Paragon Cafe — save a bicycle or two, a nod to the restaurant’s name that references Italy’s answer to the Tour de France.
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No, we didn’t need to order the spinach baked with napoli and covered in mozzarella, but what a way to eat your greens ($11); neither did we really need the tiramisu, but make no mistake, it’s a must.
Made to Domenico’s nonna’s recipe, this cream-heavy version with a tickle of coffee and firm but fluffy sponge is a joy ($14).
At the end of the night, Domenico’s out of the kitchen, bidding us buona notte, mile grazie, mile grazie.
How great is it that in Melbourne we still can find a one-man band that steals the show?
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