The lords who brought you Tipo 00 and Osteria Illaria – Luke Skidmore, Alberto Fava and Andreas Papadakis – are spreading their carbohydrate driven joy a little further afield, with Figlia in Brunswick East.

If there’s one thing we know, it’s that pizza is always a good idea. If there’s a second thing, it’s that not all pizzas are the same. For most of us, there is a time and place for every note on the sliding pizza scale, from sloppy late-night pie, to properly good wood-fired, tangy, tender goodness. Figlia is betting on the latter becoming a staple for locals and non-locals alike, with doors now open. 

Perhaps it’s fitting that Figlia translates to “daughter” in Italian, because this third offering in their family of venues feels exactly like the kind of place that not only offers a best in category experience to diners, but it also happens to feel like one that you can bring the whole tribe along for the ride.

Taking up residence on an imposing corner, the expansive site looks suitably industrial in styling, with sleek concrete floors, black steel framework and distressed walls, but stacked with people, it feels warm, atmospheric, and very much like a neighbourhood party.

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Figlia offers classic technique, layered with a thoroughly modern, confident perspective. The result is a neighbourhood restaurant that offers up wood-fired snacks by the piece, and shared antipasti as well as more substantial fare, a drinks list mainly comprised of natural leaning Italian and Australian things, and of course, pizza. There are also green things to balance it all out, but you don’t make friends with salad.

The arancini embody the distilled spirit of cacio e pepe; tender grains of rice suspended in dreamy, creamy cheese and pepper goodness, held together with a thin crunch of fried crumb, and topped with more cheesy goodness.

Fans of food on sticks, here’s a little surf and turf for you. The surf: a skewer of tender, sweet scallop, bathed in bagna cauda. The turf: blushing bites of chicken liver bathed in a dark gloss of balsamic. Served with charred onion, the balance of sweet savoury makes a play for favourite skewered offal. Meanwhile plump wood-fired prawns perch on sugo-soaked bread soldiers and drizzled in saffron emulsion.

On to antipasti, a recognisable hit list of shareable snacks, from smoked eel-spiked vitello tonnato, to firm slices of Hiramasa kingfish crudo meeting segments of mandarin juiciness, bound together with the savoury notes of colatura, Italy’s answer to fish sauce.

I promise I’m getting to pizza. Currently there are eight to choose from. None of them include pineapple, obviously. Fans of the classics can cling to safety with a margherita, the rest are a study in effortless, balanced, and modern interpretations. Funghi features a mess of mixed mushrooms, yellow tomato, and stretchy mozzarella on a white base, while salumi’s favourite hipster son mortadella is all generous slices handkerchiefed over black shallots, funky taleggio and the light crunch of pistachio. And ‘nduja, in partnership with sweet bullhorn peppers and the magic only anchovies can bring, pulled together with old mate mozzarella, is a simple but powerful mix that makes it a win.

Soon, Figlia will be joined by a baby sister called Grana, just next door. A deli and cheese store where the crew are already hard at work, preparing their own cheeses to join the party. A little taste of it lives on the closing chapter of this menu, sweetened by honeycomb or quince.

Those with sweeter ambitions should opt for the gelato di giorno. Currently fior di latte with smoked chilli, it’s a combo you never saw coming and will ask for again.

Joining a family with celebrated pedigree is challenging, but Figlia – with confident attitude and a personality all of her own – may become the new favourite child.

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