The Grosvenor pizzeria

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By Mantis Kane


I was ecstatic at the news of being sent to London to review The Grosvenor. This paper was finally branching out to include English heritage hotels in its remit. What a laterally minded, truly globally visioned district paper. Off to Grosvenor Square, one of the grandest old British institutions. An all expenses free-for-all in the centre of London. Surely, I must be dreaming.

I was.

As I entered The Grosvenor (St Kilda), I tried to avoid seeming crestfallen, assumed a poker face, and once again embodied the enthusiastic local food critic persona, all the while readjusting my internal GPS coordinates.

Yes, London wasn’t to be, and my assignment was actually a modest review of The Grosvenor’s (St Kilda) $15 pizza night.

But you should always look on the bright side; the journey was a walk rather than a 24hr endurance test crammed in a stuffy airborne fart chamber.

I took some solace in that.

We arrived on foot, fresh and with all our senses intact – fully able to smell and taste, unaffected by jetlag or deep vein thrombosis.

Our carbon footprint in getting to our destination was negligible, merely the tiny omissions made from respiratory systems.

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Photo: supplied

All the woes of air travel were mounting a persuasive case for staying put. Forever.

It was fast becoming apparent that this imaginary trip to London had the hallmarks of a terrible review. Plus, we all know what English food is like.

If you’re not familiar with The Grosvenor (St Kilda), it’s best described as a metropolis.

A Russian-doll-style venue that houses many smaller venues within its shell. A never-ending labyrinth of amenities where corridors bear strange treats – a restaurant, a bistro, a burger drive-through, a bottle shop, a grocery, a gaming room, a pizzeria, a fully functional teleportation booth.

I think I’ve named them all.

By comparison, the facilities at The Grosvenor (London) are inferior – a minibar and rude service, with the incessant hum of post-Brexit moaning piping continuously through the walls. I know where I’d rather be!

In fact, the service at The Grosvenor (St Kilda) is remarkably welcoming.

Considering the manager (Will) was presiding over a multiplex of different businesses within his Russian doll, you’d expect him to be teetering on the brink of psychosis.

But he was fantastically hospitable – quite unfazed by the inhumane demands of his master.

So, what are the pizzas like?

With an operation of this scale you’d probably think the standards would suffer; the sheer multitude of options lowering the bar.

I was expecting something express processed from the Russian dolls’ central manufacturing hub, a boil-in-the-bag dough ball, lacquered with tomato sauce.

But no.

They have equipped themselves with all the mod-cons of a proper pizzeria. A wood fired oven, real Italian chefs, and an authentic menu.

Will (manager) recommended the traditional Margherita and Funghi pizzas, plus a roasted cauliflower/ nut/mint salad and pimped iceberg lettuce.

It was all well above pub food standards.

The dough was thin and buffalo mozzarella had that desired alienesque buoyancy, sheen, and texture.

Not content with just serving great pizzas, they also have an in-house patisserie; a kitchen temptress that will lead you down a chocolatey path and finish you off – in the most honourable sense.

The pizzeria is so good, that if you removed it and opened it independently, it would be a runaway success.

Perhaps that’s why they have a teleportation booth; to construct killer eateries, then transmit them telekinetically to a different location.

This Russian doll has some entrepreneurial nous.



Grosvenor Hotel

10 Brighton Rd, St Kilda East VIC 3183

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