The MCG's Committee Room by Grossi is an old-school room with a view

Until recently, the only way you might get to experience the glorious view from the wide windows of the Committee Room at the Melbourne Cricket Ground was if you were a member, or the guest of a member, of the Melbourne Cricket Club.

Becoming a member is, of course, no easy feat: according to the MCC, the waiting list currently sits at more than 205,000 people, and the folk who will be offered provisional memberships this year joined that list back in 2006.

So it's a bit of a delicious cheat to know that, as of recently, members of the public can access the Committee Room simply by making a lunch reservation to dine there. Not only that, but the food is now overseen by Guy Grossi, which puts one of Melbourne's most iconic chefs in charge of one of Melbourne's most iconic rooms.

At this point, I'm not sure many people have cottoned on to this new public access: even the guy at the MCC entrance to the MCG told me I had to go speak with member services before letting me up the escalator and into the hallowed halls, complete with oil paintings of historic teams, luxe, MCC-branded carpeting and long, clubby, leather couches.

The Committee Room itself is so pleasingly old-school, with its white tablecloths and crooning Italian ballads on the speakers, that it feels lifted from an era of dining that I'd assumed to be practically extinct.

Guy Grossi leans into this notion of classicism with a menu of sumptuous crowd-pleasers.

Fat Hervey Bay scallops ($9 each) come roasted on the shell with a Venetian almond crust, nutty and bursting with oceanic sweetness. 

An entree of grilled Skull Island prawns ($32) is perhaps the most daring item on the menu. They come with a singed half-lemon and bagna cauda, the pungent garlic and anchovy sauce, and you have to pull the hulking shellfish apart with your fingers (unless you possess the knife skills of a surgeon). But it is entirely worth it for the juicy, fire-licked flesh.

Butter is used liberally across the menu, including in an entree-sized pasta dish of tagliolini with spanner crab ($34), a dish so opulent I wished for more than one of the ultra-fresh zucchini flowers that topped it to balance out the richness. 

A juicy veal cutlet ($52), encased in a sage-heavy crust, came with a small jug of butter to pour over the top. The accompanying bitter radicchio and endive leaves, kissed with a lemon and caper dressing, were a welcome foil.

After all this richness, dessert is a hard sell, but a nice compromise is the cannoli ($9 each), appropriately shattery and filled with a candied-orange-peel-heavy ricotta cream.

This is a room made for long lunches, and you should not come here expecting speedy service. I'm not sure if it was because we were two women in what is still a decidedly blokey room, or because almost everyone else dining was some kind of VIP, or just because people who eat here want to take their time with the rich food and this view across the MCG, but service was lovely and professional – and as slow as molasses.

We were seated for nearly 30 minutes before we got a food menu; a 1pm lunch reservation saw our main courses arriving at 2.30pm. I vastly prefer this to the opposite – feeling rushed certainly wouldn't suit the environment – but there were times when we were left for long stretches without drinks or with empty plates; the multiple times we were told "Sorry for the delay" makes me think the pacing isn't entirely by design.

Overall, however, the new iteration of the Committee Room has so much to recommend it, particularly for those looking for a special daytime meal with a sports lover or out-of-town guest. 

While we were eating, scores of people passed in front of the windows on tours of "The G". I'm sure they got a better history lesson, but we really got to savour that view – and over a lovely lunch to boot. Jolly good show, old chap.

Vibe: Old-school fancy club with a view across the MCG

Go-to dish: Grilled Skull Island prawns ($32)

Drinks: Classic cocktails by Melbourne bar group The Everleigh; crowd-pleasing wine list

Cost: About $200 for two, excluding drinks

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine