Why this city Italian restaurant has more than earned its place as a Melbourne classic

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A few years ago, I was tasked with choosing a location for entertaining a sly, gossipy, famous American journalist. What was required was a certain clubbiness, a staff with wit but also deference, a place that could produce a cold martini, a properly cooked steak, and a bowl of pasta that could be favourably compared to counterparts in New York and Rome. I also wanted to showcase Melbourne hospitality – its welcome, its history, and when needed, its discretion. I chose Il Bacaro. It was perfect.

More recently, in December, Il Bacaro celebrated its 30th birthday. I had heard grumblings over the intervening years, about the restaurant feeling tired, too tied to its 1990s roots. When I visited during the week of the anniversary, I could relate to some of those criticisms, kind of, but I also detected a sense of agency and excitement. Perhaps the milestone lent a jolt of confidence and joy.

What’s the difference between old-fashioned and classic? How important are trends when quality is prioritised? And when does a restaurant become canon?

In the intervening months, I’ve eaten at Il Bacaro a few times, and every time I come away a little more convinced of its enduring quality.

Tucked into one of the cleverly arranged tables in the teak-clad dining room that’s built around a central bar in its double storefront room on Little Collins Street, I fell into the embrace of a dreamy bowl of fat scallops, seared just enough to take the translucence from the flesh and not a second more, bathed in a light tomato consomme with nasturtium petals, pea shoots and slivers of white asparagus. It tasted like the sweet ocean dancing with a summer flower garden.

Zucchini blossoms are stuffed with high-quality mozzarella, lightly fried, and served with a paste of smoked almond, giving a nutty underpinning to the creamy vegetal snack.

Quail meat is made into a lush sausage, wrapped in prosciutto, and served with fresh fig and a scoop of gorgonzola gelato. It’s a dish that screams of the ’90s, but in a way I don’t mind in the slightest. It’s rich and delicious, and the gelato is creamy enough and savoury enough that it works. Fashion be damned.

Spaghettini with Moreton Bay bugs is now a Melbourne standard, but Il Bacaro did it before almost anyone else and its version is still very good. Not as rich as some, but with the pasta perfectly cooked and the bug bouncy and delicious. I was lured away earlier in the summer by a prawn and artichoke tagliatelle with nettle that also hit that perfect balance of ocean and garden, richness and freshness.

Combinations like beetroot and goat cheese or duck with cherries got so overplayed that many of us became snobbish, but I gladly return to them here, where they’re done elegantly and remind me why they were so popular to begin with.

Your server at Il Bacaro will not crouch by your table and try to make friends; they will not explain to you what a menu is or instruct you to share food. They will tell you the specials and ask if you’d like the pasta split into personal portions for each guest. They’re the type who knows how to gauge a table, know whether to be a silent whisper of efficiency or a charming spark of conviviality.

The sommelier, Giuseppe Messa, will talk you through his broad but manageable list with aplomb and zero snootiness. One night, my dinner was cut short due to a theatre engagement, and I said something vague about returning after the show for dessert. When my party of three arrived back hours later, a table was waiting for us in the corner, set specifically for dessert in case we decided to come back. It’s no wonder most of the customers on any given night are regulars – who wouldn’t want that level of care?

Every time I’ve eaten at Il Bacaro, I come away a little more convinced of its enduring quality.

Were the desserts a tad overwrought in the style of the ’90s? Sure. I’d bet, however, that there are a few regulars who might riot if they ever got rid of the signature cheesecake, filled these days with blueberry sorbet and daubed with popping candy, Violet Crumble, whipped cream and a white chocolate cap bearing the restaurant’s name. I much preferred a peach and yuzu number, the peaches delicately flavoured with star anise and cinnamon. It wasn’t modern, but it was delicious.

Il Bacaro is probably not for everyone. I’m not sure it’s built for the influencer crowd, and certain people may find its food and service dated. But for me, there’s comfort in consistency, in quality, and in the kind of friendly formality that’s much harder to achieve than practised nonchalance. I’d say it has more than earned its place as a Melbourne classic.

Good Food reviews are booked anonymously and paid independently. A restaurant can’t pay for a review or inclusion in the Good Food Guide.