It has been a month of non-stop Italian. Having come from the grand prix, missing all Italian influence other than an Aussie they are calling their own Crowe style (Ricciardo is an adopted “son”) and the Ferraris (who aren’t driven by Italian drivers), I guess it was a fair call to again go Italian.

The four of us managed to get a last minute booking at this close to institutional restaurant on a block that is as Italian as many squares in Rome. Boasting Bottega, several kinds of Grossi, and Pellegrini’s, this must be one of the best eating destinations over a couple hundred metres in Australia (did I mention Gingerboy?!)

Becco holds its own. It is an intimate space with lots of nooks for small groups and couples. I like the undulations, though it must make it a dangerous place for floorstaff! I feel like it was not supposed to be a restaurant. A space for creativity down a laneway that eventually found its place with food and wine its meaning.

I won’t focus in detail on the food. It was all really good though. The starters, including the lightly dusted calamari that is apparently a must try, were high points. We were hungry yes, but there was style and flavour in the opening. My linguine, which I ordered mainly because I felt like a simple homemade pasta, to match my soave white wine, was delicate and the kind of dish that you don’t want to end. I must say the sides were, for sides, pretty amazing too.

By this time I’d been out a long while and opted for an espresso and some shared petit fours (biscotti selection) rather than dessert, but the classical apple pie being gobbled up next to me looked good enough for a hint of menu envy to creep in. The nougat on the selection and the panforte made up for it – just.

I need to try to dine at places like Becco more. It almost defines what I love about Melbourne restaurants.