At Etrusco, the carbonara tastes exactly as it did in 1995 — and that’s the point.
For nearly 31 years, every afternoon from just after three until midnight, the scene on the first floor of Dunedin’s Savoy building, in the room on the corner of Princes St and Moray Pl, has barely changed. The same family stirs the pots, serves the pastas, and greets diners like old friends.
In fact, ask just about anyone in Dunedin about Etrusco and they’ll likely tell you at least two things: they’ve been there, probably more than once, and it’s noisy.
And that’s just how the Gianones like it.
It’s easy to romanticise longevity, but the restaurant was never a sure thing. When Meegan and husband Federico (Fred) signed the lease in December 1994, they were, as Meegan puts it, "taking a hell of a gamble."
"We had $10 in the world between us and two boys aged five and seven," she laughs. "It had to work."
Fred, an Italian-born industrial electrician, was working at the Clyde Dam while Meegan was raising sons Rion and Zane in Alexandra. A friend suggested they take over a fledgling Italian restaurant tucked inside the Savoy building.
They went to have a look. By the time they left, they were determined — but no one would back them. In the end, the owners agreed to leave some money in, and the deal was done.
In the mid-1990s, Dunedin wasn’t quite as worldly as it is now. "People would say, ‘We can’t eat there if you don’t serve beef or lamb,"’ Meegan remembers. "We were like, should we add steak? Or chips?"
There were quiet nights — nine diners one evening, 13 the next — and sheer joy when they hit 30. "I remember phoning my dad to say we’d done a hundred people in one night," Meegan says. "We couldn’t believe it."
The restaurant, reached by what Meegan affectionately calls "the poor man’s entrance" to the Savoy — a small door round the corner from the former hotel’s glamorous entry — became their world. Rion and Zane did homework at a corner table and fell asleep in sleeping bags when service ran late.
"We lived here," says Rion. "It was home."
Three decades on, those boys now run Etrusco. Fred, 71, and Meegan, 66, have stepped back, but the energy is unchanged.
"It’s been hard to let go," Fred admits. "There’s so much emotion tied up in this place — blood, sweat and literally tears. But the boys have taken it to another level."
Now a third generation of Gianones can often be seen darting between tables — Rion, 38, and Zane’s, 36, five young children proudly helping to seat diners and carry menus. "They come in for pizza and spicy spaghetti and the joy on their faces following their dads around ... their precision, their attention to detail — it must be just because they were in it from when they were so little," Meegan says.
In a city not short of Italian eateries, Etrusco stands apart not for how it has moved with the times, but for its refusal to change too much.
"The menu’s comforting because it’s consistent," Rion says.
And it’s for everyone, Fred adds with a smile. "I’ve never had a problem explaining a recipe to a customer — no secret ingredients."
The carbonara, more or less unchanged since 1994, remains the biggest seller. Over the years, only a few dishes have disappeared — and often not for long. "I took the puttanesca off once," Fred recalls. "People started ordering it like crazy. So I put it back."
For many, the joy of Etrusco lies as much in the room as the food — the warm, high-ceilinged corner space inside the heritage Savoy building, smack in the centre of the city near hotels, theatres and bars.
"We could open another site," says Meegan, "but this room — you can’t find another like it. It’s home."
It’s also loud. "Noise is our number-one complaint," Rion laughs. "But it’s not like church here. You can be a married couple having a row over there and no one notices, or celebrate a graduation next to someone’s first date. You can be free."
Fred grins. "It’s very much in the style of a casual dining restaurant in Italy — and Italians don’t speak softly."
Fred’s connection to food runs deep. Born in Italy, he moved with his parents to Melbourne after World War 2. His father, once a dentist, became a labourer; his mother, an extraordinary cook, taught him everything.
"Food was everything. It was identity."
That passion came with him to New Zealand when he followed Meegan home in the 1980s. "When I first came here, my family used to send me care packages — olive oil, pasta, canned tuna in oil. You couldn’t buy any of it here."
When he cooked lasagne for his Clyde Dam workmates, they laughed — until they tasted it. "Then they finished the whole thing," he says, smiling.
The butter, cheese and olive oil bills are eye-watering, but that’s the cost of staying true. "We use real olive oil, real pancetta, real prosciutto — it’s as authentic as we can possibly make it."
And people like it. On busy weekends, the Gianones serve more than 200 covers a night from the still tiny kitchen. "The only thing that’s changed is our efficiency," Zane says. "The spoons, the pans, the burners — everything’s scaled up."
It’s a "big-volume, small-margin" business. "We can’t put our prices too high," he says. "So we have to be busy and efficient."
If the kitchen is small, the community around it is enormous. Few Dunedin locals or students haven’t celebrated a 21st, graduation, anniversary or family dinner at Etrusco. Some even got married there — and now return with their children.
"We had someone ring up recently saying they had their 21st here 30 years ago," says Fred. "Now they’re coming back with their kids."
The restaurant’s regulars include groups like the Alfa Romeo Car Club, who’ve been dining weekly for decades.
Staff loyalty runs deep, too. "We have a student waitress at the moment whose father was one of the very first staff we had. And we’ve got someone who worked here 25 years ago, left, and has come back. She got married here. She’s working here now," Rion says.
That loyalty cuts both ways, and the Gianones appreciate their customers deeply. "During Covid, people came just to help us keep going," Meegan says. "Dunedin’s the perfect size — we recognise most of the people who walk through the door."
Etrusco has never chased trends. There’s no cookbook, no branded sauce line — though ideas have been floated.
Even their point-of-sale system is a proudly analogue 15-year-old setup. "We’re fairly old school, but it works," Rion says.
For years, the only time the family took off was a week at Christmas, when they closed the restaurant. Both sons even scheduled their weddings in that narrow break. Now, they allow themselves two weeks.
Over three decades, the Gianones have fed everyone from students in jandals to international celebrities. "We’ve had Busta Rhymes, Fleetwood Mac takeouts — twice — Michael Fassbender, Paddy Gower, the Welsh and Argentinian rugby teams," says Zane.
"But we treat everyone exactly the same," Meegan says.
That warmth might be the secret. "We have first dates, business dinners, engagements, graduations — everyone from jandals to suits," Rion says. "It’s beautiful."
In September, Etrusco was named among the top 10 New Zealand restaurants in the casual dining category of Tripadvisor’s first Travellers’ Choice Awards Best of the Best Restaurants, based on the quality and quantity of traveller reviews.
For Meegan, the restaurant has always been an extension of their home. "We treated it like our front room," she says. "Everyone who came in was a guest in our house. That’s what’s made it so special."
It’s a formula that hasn’t changed, even as the city has evolved around them. "The best compliment," Meegan says, "is when people come back and say, ‘Nothing’s changed.’ They’ve watched our boys grow up. They love that the next generation’s here. I’m really proud."
As deliveries begin to arrive our time is up. It’s nearly three, and the night is about to start again.
• The author acknowledges a 2012 story on the Gianone family by Elspeth McLean, background material from which has been used in this article.
