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It’s Roslyn Grundy’s last day at work, and we’re having lunch to mark the occasion. The veteran editor is clearly not yet off duty. “We should order something green,” she says, looking over the menu at Roma, one of Melbourne’s hottest openings for 2026. “If everything’s too brown, it will be a boring photo.” She’s right, of course, her commitment to the best possible story persisting until the cusp of retirement.
After 37 years with The Age, many of them also with The Sydney Morning Herald and the last 34 in the food team, most recently as Good Food’s recipe editor, Grundy’s observational skills are as acute as ever. “We have a lot of Italian in Melbourne, but we don’t get much classic Roman food,” she says. “It’s a fun and fresh idea to go into detail on a cuisine we might not have explored.”
She also notices the tiles, the ceiling, the masculine besuited skew of the customers, and the handsome piglet head hanging in the display fridge next to the kitchen pass (“That’s a lovely composition, Eddie. We should get a shot of that,” she suggests to our accompanying photographer). The room’s happy buzz is also noted. “There’s noise bouncing around, but I have a feeling Con [Christopoulos, the owner] is conscious of that and wants to create a sense of excitement,” she says.
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A waiter talks us through the menu, pointing out signatures and daily specials. “When in doubt, go the specials, except when they’re transparently trying to offload the old stuff,” says Grundy, dispensing restaurant wisdom to the last. There’s no danger of that here: we’ve seen the pristine flathead in an ice drawer, and the glistening antipasti on a central podium is replenished frequently. There’s no resisting the risotto al salto, a puck of saffron-hued risotto crisped on both sides in a pan, and sauced at the table with ox-tail ragu. “Plus the butter lettuce with gorgonzola,” says Grundy, locking in the splash of green.
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Combining restaurants and writing has been a theme since she was a teenager. Born in Melbourne, she was 12 when her stockbroker father got a call from a friend in New Zealand: “Stu, you’ve always been good at cooking steak on the barbie … we’re looking for a partner in our restaurant.” Within a couple of months, the family was in Auckland, eventually running their own restaurant.
By 14, Grundy was waiting tables and helping in the kitchen. “I loved the restaurant business,” she says. “It got into my blood.” At the same time, she was a good student, keen on writing. “I was either going to be an actress, artist or author,” she says.
A journalism degree followed, then a job on a suburban newspaper, followed by the Auckland Star. “I thought I’d absolutely arrived,” she says. “I was surrounded by word nerds, people making puns, correcting details. It lit my fire.” Two years in, a senior editor came over from The Age to interview for subeditor positions. Grundy wasn’t quite experienced enough to snare a job, but she was encouraged to knock on the door should she ever be in Melbourne. “We [husband Larry and Grundy] packed up everything and moved to Melbourne forthwith,” she says. “Knock knock.”
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‘Restaurants have a similar energy to journalism. No two days are the same, you’re always on a deadline, always in the weeds, and then it comes together with some kind of alchemy.’Roslyn Grundy
It was 1989. Working at The Age was a revelation, a vindication of the hopeful move across the Tasman. She reminisces as we swipe up salty baccala with the last crusts, accepting the offer of more bread. “This is not the day to worry about carbs,” she says, going on to describe heady pre-internet days when The Age was funded by the so-called “rivers of gold” garnered from 100-plus pages of real estate ads.
The company – then called Fairfax – was in an ugly, squat, brown brick building on Spencer Street where the soaring glass Ritz-Carlton tower is now. “Inside, it was a sea of orange and yellow vinyl with faux mahogany partitions and green-screen monitors,” she says. “I thought I’d hit the big time. It was a time of ‘stop the press!’ and typing up stories that journalists would dictate from a phone box. The printing presses were downstairs and when they started to run, the whole building would give a shiver, then start to hum.”
In 1992, she took a job as deputy editor of Epicure, the food section, then edited by Rita Erlich, co-founder of the Good Food Guide. “I realised I might be able to marry my two strands: food and journalism,” says Grundy.
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She points out the synergies between the two fields. “Restaurants have a similar energy to journalism. No two days are the same, you’re always on a deadline, always in the weeds, and then it comes together with some kind of alchemy. And then you go: we did it.”
Over the decades, Grundy had stints as editor and deputy editor of Epicure (now Good Food), plus The Age Good Food Guide, Cheap Eats Guide and Cafe Guide. Her most recent role was as recipe editor for Good Food’s Eating In section. “I’ve always had the reader in mind,” she says. “In restaurant reviews, I’ve asked myself what the reader needs to know, where’s the value for them?
“I’ve done the same thing with recipes, trying to make them foolproof, to anticipate questions the reader might have so they can cook without failure. I feel a responsibility that they are investing in ingredients, time and putting their trust in us.”
Anyone who has worked with Grundy, this writer included, can attest to her extraordinary eye for detail, care for accuracy and spirit of fairness, expressions of a belief in the importance of journalism as a public service that also creates a record of time, place and community.
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“I’m not despondent about the future of journalism, but I’m worried,” she says. “People take their news from so many different sources today, whether it’s YouTube, Reddit or wherever. The authority of legacy media has been eroded and there’s been an erosion of trust with politicians using terms like ‘fake news’.”
All the good things you’ve heard about dessert at Roma are true: no fake news here. We share a slice of apricot crostata and improbably smooth gelati (fior di latte, which Grundy correctly assesses will pair beautifully with the jammy stonefruit, and pistachio, because that’s never a bad idea).
Tiny glasses of grappa magically arrive on our table and the moment seems to stretch and sway, carrying the weight of the past, its joys and tribulations, and the unknown future. “I’m very emotional, which I wasn’t quite expecting because I know I want this, and I know I’m ready,” says Grundy.
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Over the years, The Age has held several voluntary redundancy rounds, and she was never tempted to put up her hand. “I used to think they’d have to carry me out in a box.” But recently, people in her circles have died too young, one a fellow journalist, another a clean-living yoga teacher. “It reminded me, we could go at any time,” she says. “That YOLO [you only live once] feeling stayed with me. There are so many things I still want to do.”
She mentions tailoring, learning Japanese, and vegetable gardening, inspired by all the producers she’s interviewed and admired. “What more do I need to prove?” she asks, knowing the answer is nothing. “What could I give that I haven’t given already?”
Memorable moments from a life in food journalism
The scribble
“In my early reviewing days, I thought I was being so discreet scribbling on my notepad under the table at a three-hatted restaurant. Imagine my surprise when I realised I’d been writing on the tablecloth.”
The pizza
“We used to do charity dinners where journalists would cook for restaurateurs. At one, our main course was so late that the chefs ordered pizza. They sent the delivery guy into the grand dining room at the Hilton. He held a stack of pizzas aloft and yelled out, ‘Who ordered these?’
The fire
“We held the Good Food Guide awards at Station Pier one year. One chef wasn’t happy that he’d lost a hat. When he received his certificate, he took out a cigarette lighter and incinerated it on the spot.”
The legacy
“Good Food recently brought on Nat Thaipun as a recipe writer, and I’ve been working with her on adding detail to recipes to help readers if they’re not experienced with Thai cooking. For example, when you’re heating oil and coconut milk, there’s a point where the oil splits, and that’s when you know it’s sufficiently cooked. I’ve been encouraging her to describe the visual or auditory cues, whatever it might be. She’s very tuned in, very talented, and I’m thrilled that the readers will get to try her recipes.”
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Dani Valent is a food writer and restaurant reviewer.AdvertisementAdvertisement