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At Hellenic Hotel, the Greek economy prospers

Gemima Cody
Gemima Cody

The beachy interiors of Hellenic Hotel are by March Studio.
The beachy interiors of Hellenic Hotel are by March Studio.Supplied

14/20

Greek$$

George Calombaris​ doesn't do restaurants any more, he does businesses. And he's become pretty damn good at it. His empire, which once included St Katherine's, Maha, and the short-lived Le Grand Cirque is now a delicious Greek pyramid. At the pinnacle, the gold-plated Press Club, where contemporary tricks meet the silkiest service in town. At the ground floor, Jimmy Grants slings souvas to the masses. Instead of risking on the new, he's doubling down on the good, and it's working.

You can now get his trademark tarama, cypriot grain salads and puffy pita souvas at five Jimmy Grants; fluoro city boozatorium Gazi (with cocktails!), or at one of three Hellenic Republics including this latest in Williamstown. It's a lean, mean Greek machine that's arguably doing better than Greece itself.

And so you already know much of what to expect from this renovation of Hobson's Bay Hotel. Only not quite. The look and perfunctory service is closer to Jimmy Grants' than that of the Hellenic original OG. It's an admirably maintained war zone. You get your order, sometimes with explanations. They try with the Hellenic-favouring wine list, but it's clearly still Greek to most crew. Chancing your hand will get you an apple-y and um, bracing, sparkling on the cheaper end, but pay $75 and you'll get a deeply golden assyrtiko​ from Santorini, where ground-hugging vines create complex and salty grapes.

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Go-to dish: Lamb's brain souva.
Go-to dish: Lamb's brain souva.Daniel Pockett

The gutted pub features big yawning spaces with a strong industrial bent: cages hang over tables, murals cover brickwork and the aroma is of roasting chicken and fresh paint. It's bright white and blue, with the requisite roar in the air, though it's the bustle of a big machine over the cackling community of classics like Jim's Greek Tavern.

Call on a Friday and you might find all 100 seats booked. Trying for walk-ins involves arriving before 6pm or accepting the bar upstairs. Here you watch the footy eating crisp fish and chips. Outside, a line of families waits for take-away packs of spit-roasted chicken and dips.

You might find this an odd move for chef Josh Pelham, last seen tweezing artful dishes at Scott Pickett's ESP. But he's played the Calombaris game at Mama Baba and, back in the day, Press Club. And while you know the grilled saganaki that squeaks protest to the knife, or the creamy white cod roe dip, just on the right side of fishy, as it should be for $9.50 a serve, Pelham has had a little rein.

Saganaki with apple.
Saganaki with apple. Daniel Pockett
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Prawn toasts arrive dressed not in sesame but pepitas with bonito curls dancing in the heat. Sriracha-stained tarama gives it a Greek kick in the pants. There's a lot that calls for one fist to be wrapped around a Mythos beer. Juicy green olives are "scotched", cocooned in a lamb kofta to swoop through tangy mint yoghurt.

There's a tasting menu, as always, for $49 a head. It's good value if you want the safest plates. I'm more interested in the crumbed lamb's brains, which transpire to be tastier out of the bread-heavy souva and into a pool of tarama.

If the brains appeal, so too might the arroz negre situation, beads of rice-sized Greek kritharaki pasta cooked to a slippery midnight mass with mussel stock and squid ink. Topped with pippies and a jumble of shaved fennel it appeals way more for taste over texture. Or looks. 

Spit-roasted chicken.
Spit-roasted chicken. Daniel Pockett

A salad of brussels sprouts and all the trappings of a caesar salad is surprisingly chilled, but a creamy, sharp, cruciferous win. The spit-roasted chicken tastes exactly like a spit-roasted chicken. Friends have reported dryness, ours hits the marks, an oregano-forward gremolata scything through.

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We limp to dessert. But there's crisp loukoumades (doughnut balls) to consider – although you can get those from any Jimmy Grants. Jars of rice pudding with rhubarb are a cooling way to end. Maybe with a syrupy liquorice hit of ouzo.

There's fun to be had. Probably more for Williamstowners than those of us with a Calombaris branch of our own. Though it's the only one you can get to by ferry. Surely that's a win.

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Gemima CodyGemima Cody is former chief restaurant critic for The Age and Good Food.

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