Town Hall Hotel

So do Italians really do it better? I’m not usually inclined to agree with T-shirt slogans worn by callow youths on Lygon Street but sometimes you just have to  nod your head in sage agreement.

Italy gave us Fellini, Vespas, gelati and the joys of pasta, the world’s greatest carbohydrate. That’s gotta count for quite a bit.

This might be the Italian edition but the newly Italianised Town Hall Hotel isn’t flying its flag with a patriotism based in moist cliches. Anyone who knows of Harry Lilai will have a pretty strong idea of the kind of food that’s found within these putty-coloured walls.

His rock-solid reputation was made during a long-term alliance with the Bortolotto family at Cecconi’s. After they split he’d been biding his time at Orange but walked away from its newly minted sibling restaurant, Pandora’s Box, to take over this resurrected old Fitzroy boozer.

It’s a handsome pub, albeit one that since its liberation from sticky carpet has suffered from a lack of focus in an area dominated by the blandest of mid-market ideas. First it was the Purple Turtle — cute but no cigar — then the uninspiring Griffs Wine Pub (which was named after a dog and sounded like it). They’ve wisely restored it  to the original name.

On the floor, co-owner Luca Montebelli is a genial old-school presence. By force of reputation they’ve been able to attract a small team of ferociously capable waiters. Service is assured, minus any trace of stuffiness.

Head chef Lilai is likely to be a presence on the floor as well and he doesn’t just save the love for those annoying foodie types. I’ve eaten there three times now and during every service, he’s likely to barrel up to tables to check how his rabbit pie is going, exhorting diners to get woggy (his words) and order some pasta — not in that overbearing way, either, but with a surfeit of likeability.

His menu is one of those documents you could take to bed for a bit of night-time reading. Everything sounds great. There’s bollito misto (a selection of boiled meats) served with mustard fruits, one of those classics that will get the die-hards all misty-eyed; an antipasto of prosciutto di parma with wild figs, parsley and shallots; and a nicely parochial selection of certified Italian cheeses.

Start with the crumbed and fried taleggio with a spiced pear chutney ($9) — one of the signature savoury dishes with a lick of sweetness dotting the menu. Ditto the chorizo (from nearby Casa Iberica) that Lilai shears off in thick slices and pan-fries until it’s caramelised and sticky, adding red grapes and a slick of paprika-coloured oil ($10).

The menu is otherwise divided into small, medium and large plates. It’s easy to share anything in the first two categories, except the onion soup, given an Italian accent with a soft poached egg and little shavings of pecorino that melt into a gorgeous salt-spiked richness. You’ll want to keep it for yourself, anyway — it’s magnificent and a mere $10.

Lilai’s expertise lies in rustic, gutsy Latin dishes, many of which are dotted on a thousand other menus around town. Somehow he manages to conjure them to another level without stooping to frippery. It’s deceptively simple stuff that sings on the plate.

The baccala with creamy soft polenta ($18) had me at hello. Soft strands of white onion and parsley provide what passes for texture but it’s Italy’s answer to chicken soup and it’s altogether wonderful.

The salt cod reappears in another piscatorial option, providing a little punch in a mix of fregola and sweet onion on which sits a ripping piece of pan-fried blue eye ($29), the flesh falling away in pearly flakes.

House-made pasta? The gnocchi ($20) with aged balsamic, plenty of garlic, butter and parmesan is a lesson in the incredible power of simplicity. I’d say it’s a must-try but so is the gorgonzola risotto ($19), a flat, wet plate of al dente grains with an incredibly well-judged sweet-sophisticated marriage of truffled honey flirting with the funkiness of the cheese and slices of poached spiced pear adding an extra dimension. Hail Mary, full of grace.
Among the bona fide one-person, one-plate mains, the veal schnitzel ignores the moral imperative to put the coleslaw on the side  but otherwise it’s exemplary.

What else? Osso bucco, the classic version with gremolata and a mash ($28), the kind of home cooking only a professional Italian chef can accomplish; and duck ($30) — a confit leg and slices of breast meat with the skin aggressively peppered, a sticky port-wine sauce and sweet potato mash, although I’m still wondering if the addition of pickled lime segments doesn’t take the whole duck/fruit alliance a step too far.

Desserts by co-owner Nadia Montebelli don’t drop the ball, either. The integrity of her tiramisu ($13) — a firm block rather than one of those sloppy excuses — restores my faith in one of the greats. And her cannoli ($13) — filled with zabaglione with strawberry, rhubarb and pistachio — is a corker.

I’m toying with a theory that Lilai has something to prove after that messy split with the Bortolotto family. You could certainly argue that at the Town Hall Hotel, there are plenty of echoes of the food he cooked at Cecconi’s but at massively scaled-down prices. It’s an absolute bargain. And hopefully he’ll forgive me for saying it but, a bit like Harry, the otherwise comfortable dining room is slightly daggy. The walls are red, the carpet’s grey and the dining chairs are a bit dated. My care factor? Zero. It’s a polished, professional operation, the atmosphere is the very definition of convivial, the wine list is both interesting and affordable and the food is the stuff of dreams. Italians doing it better, for sure.

Score: 15/20