Gina’s Pizza & Pasta Bar, Auckland city

Alessandro Fantoni, who has owned Gina’s for three years, keeps up the tradition of exuberance. Picture / Carolyn Robertson

Herald rating: * * * 1/2

I've com straight from the gym," said the Valley Girl. "I wanted to work up an appetite."

"Good idea," I told her. "None of your dainty, 'Is that one too many rocket leaves, madam?' stuff here. Everything is over the top."

At which point the waiter arrived. A Pavarotti entrance, if you can imagine Pavarotti in a shaven-headed, black T-shirted, upper body strength-enhanced kind of way.

"Buona sera, signora," he breathed. "Would-a you like-a me to tell-a you about-a the speciale tonight?"

The Valley Girl was only too happy for Bruno to tell-a her about-a the speciale tonight. Hey, that's the way it is at Gina's. You go for a meal, you get a show thrown in for free. Other Italian restaurants around the city pay for tenors and mezzos and contraltos to turn up and sing arias to the punters. At Gina's the waiters at the tables, the cooks in the open kitchen, are the opera. Everything is over the top.

In the split second I had his attenzione I asked Bruno to choose a wine, preferably an Italian red. He returned minutes later with a bottle. "Is from-a playce called-a Montepulciano d'Abru-th-th-o, across the mowntayne from Roma ... " he began to tell the Valley Girl. "I know, I've been to Montepulciano," I interjected. "It sounds so much better the way he says it," she said.

"I've heard most of them aren't even Italian," I sniffed, gesturing towards the well-filled red, and white, and black T-shirts in the kitchen. "They're probably Brazilian."

The refugee from the gym barely lifted her gaze from a calendar's worth of Beefy Ts. "And your point is?" she asked.

CBD types know Gina's: loud, happy, bustling, pasta and pizza and steak and sauce and red wine, menu as long as an autostrada. The tablecloths might be red and white gingham, but the message is as black and white as a Juventus shirt: this is everyone's idea of what an Italian neighbourhood restaurant should be, even if that neighbourhood is one of the busiest four-way intersections in the inner city.

It's been through a few owners over the years. Joyce and Alessandro Fantoni have been in residence since mid-2002, keeping up the traditions of exuberance and exhilaration that mean it's a good idea to book several days in advance, particularly if you think on the spur of the moment that it'd be a good idea to go to Gina's tonight, and tonight is somewhere between Wednesday and Saturday.

They list three chefs (one of whom is Brazilian). Three chefs does seem over the top, especially when the menu is straightforward trattoria, but, as pointed out, everything about Gina's is gloriously ...

The Valley Girl was entranced with her starter, a melanzane stack, Olympian gold medals of grilled aubergine layered with fresh tomato, basil and mozzarella.

Well, I shall be charitable and assume that was what she was entranced with, since Bruno had done the decent thing and retired to the kitchen or to serve some other signora while we ate. My gnocchi was as comforting as anything I've had in several small Italian towns, the names of which I can't pronounce in an interesting way, smeared and thankfully not smothered in quattro formaggi, the rich and creamy four-cheese sauce.

Moments after we'd finished, Bruno arrived with her seafood platter: a medium-sized Mediterranean island of snapper, prawns, calamari, mussels, grilled with the usual suspects, lemon, sage, rosemary, garlic and a dollop of risotto.

When she came up for air, I asked what it was like, though the question was unnecessary, given her obvious enjoyment. "Wonderful, marvellous," she said, and once again, since Bruno wasn't around, I guessed she was talking about the food.

The side of roast potatoes and pumpkin wasn't as thrilling. Barely cooked, the pieces too large, lacking the promised garlic and rosemary, they were dismissed.

I had actually listened to Bruno's recital of the speciale and gone with a rabbit, mushroom and cream pappardelle: strong flavours, the sort of rustic, peasant food you expect to find among the bus lanes, clearways and gimcrack apartments of the inner city. Loved the gutsy sauce, thought the pasta was on the rubbery side of al dente.

Around this time the kitchen staff began to sing. "What is that song?" asked the Valley Girl. "It's Happy Birthday," I said, "except they're singing it to one of the diners in Italian, so it's Buon Compleanno."

"Of course it is," she said. "It just sounds so much better the way they sing it."

Address: 209 Symonds St City
Ph: 302-2061
Owners: Joyce and Alessandro Fantoni
Head Chef: Alessandro Fantoni
Food: Italiano
On the menu: Linguine with prawns, calamari, mussels in spicy tomato or garlic-olive oil sauce $19; Fillet steak grilled with tiger prawns in cream and truffle sauce, potato and spinach mash $25; Alleluia pizza (marinated chicken, basil pesto and toasted pinenuts) $17
Vegetarian: Italiano, capisce?
Wine: Go native. Drink Italian
Parking: CBD types walk
Bottom line: Loud, happy, bustling menu as long as an autostrada, everyone's idea of what an Italian neighbourhood restaurant should be.

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