The Charles’ new Italian subterranean supper club is the place to split a spaghetti

Pink velvet curtains fall in pleats at the entrance. Italian pop hangs in the air. You tread the handsome chequerboard tiles, slip into a horseshoe-shaped leather booth and order a drink. But which one? This is a good list, the martini washed with olive oil, the Old Fashioned garnished with panettone.

But, hey, there’s a portrait of Sinatra on the wall (Fly Me to the Luna?), and here’s a cocktail called Frankie’s Rusty Nail, a classic stir-down of scotch and Drambuie over clear ice finished with a twist.

Sit on it, then think a while. How would you sell an Italian restaurant when the guy down the street wants to open one, too?

Let’s do Italian-American, but make it Rat Pack-era, ramp up the theatre, book DJs to spin late-night Italo disco, throw around words like “glamour” and “swagger” with abandon.

This is the messaging at Osteria Luna, a freshly opened basement restaurant beneath The Charles Brasserie & Bar (replacing its bar/events space Tiva) on King Street in the CBD. In execution, the menu is more about a mood than breaking any new ground, banking on the appeal of classics from the 2020s Italian lexicon to get people through the door, then hoping the subtle twists and atmosphere keep them coming back.

So far, it seems to be working. Like the bar at The Charles, it’s a Gen Z magnet, as suitable for dates as it is for high-brow, perfomative girl dinners, judging by the tables picking at the gnocco fritto doused with hot honey, splitting a spaghetti and making a reel before making for the exit.

As for the tables sticking around, there’s familiarity in dense squares of focaccia slicked with garlic oil, or a misto mare of raw kingfish, tuna and scallop scattered with capers and chives and finished with bonito oil and a rasp of horseradish. Calamari and zucchini-flower fritti occupy similar territory, the appeal coming from a batter that blooms into crags and craters in the heat of the oil, before being hit with Aleppo pepper on the plate.

The surprise is the plate of clams, allegedly riffing on a Sinatra favourite, served out of the shell and dressed with garlic, parsley and oil: a perfect balance of texture, temperature and flavour.

Tableside Caprese salad, though? It’s possibly the most low-stakes tableside preparation in the city, the theatre coming from waiters slicing heirloom tomatoes into wedges, tossing them in olive oil and black-cherry vino cotto and then plating them with too little mozzarella and basil for $30. Compared with the showstopping quality of gun pastry chef Rhiann Mead’s dessert trolley upstairs, it’s a swing and a miss.

Better to spend $32 on the ravioli in emulsified brown-butter sauce, presented like a single sheet of postage stamps topped with crisped-up sage, each pocket bursting with pumpkin. It’s a dish that gives every impression the other five pastas will be spot on, but the conchiglie in spicy vodka sauce is too watery to make it essential.

Part of Osteria Luna’s appeal is its flexibility. Couples can stick to the top of the menu, while groups can share mains, picking between an 800-gram grass-fed bistecca alla Fiorentina or a veal cotoletta alla saltimbocca, finished with lardo, for $110.

For the crumbed cutlet, the heft is smartly tempered with a white-wine cream sauce, but chef Billy Hannigan – who oversees The Charles and is working with Peter Fiander here – is such a technical cook that it’s a shame to see it so darkly crusted and sparely seasoned. (We’re not about to start a cotoletta watch column, but by way of comparison, the cotoletta at Neil Perry’s Gran Torino – smaller, but $59 – is currently a better bet at nearly half the price.)

Desserts are another story. Mead works her magic on tiramisu that’s sprinkled with cocoa-hazelnut crunch at the table, then tops a cup of pear sorbet, zabaglione gelato, sponge and poached pear with a peak of Italian meringue and torches it to wind up with bombe “gelaska”. Dig deep.

Come late and the staff will swap crisp whites for velvet jackets and ferry out the likes of buns stuffed with meatballs and sugo for supper. Time it right and a silver bell will ring out, signalling that a round of complimentary frozen limoncello coupes is about to make its way around the room. We linger, but the bell never rings, and we step out, blinking, into the night.

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

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine