1800LASAGNE
Compound Butter
This story is not like any ordinary story of lasagne you might have read. There are no endless layers of dry meat, unevenly cooked pasta sheets or bland jars of tomato sauce here. No, no.
This is the story of a lasagne that is much more than just a meal. It is the story of a lasagne that comforted me through a time when no other comfort could be found. When the COVID lockdown of Melbourne meant that my friends were trapped away, the memories of fun and frivolity had long faded, and the searing heat of a bath just wasn’t enough to wash away the loneliness of 2020. When, like every other Melburnian, I was trying desperately to fill the endless void between breakfast and reruns of the X-Files.
This lasagne—from 1800LASAGNE—is a weighted blanket of comfort that I reach for regularly. It is a warm and nurturing womb that lets me crawl back in between its soft layers to be healed over and over. Anyone who has tasted 1800LASAGNE knows what I’m talking about. The logo alone inspires a deep, almost Pavlov’s-dog-style reaction of immediate satisfaction. Just ordering it feels like investing in yourself.
The man behind it all is local Melbourne legend Joey Kellock. According to Kellock, he had leftovers one day and decided to drop them off for his friends. They loved it so much that he started making larger and larger batches. Like all of life’s comforts, it’s the simplicity that counts, and 1800LASAGNE’s business model couldn’t be simpler. Only two flavours —lasagne di carne and lasagne di melanzane— are offered, both hand-made and lovingly hand-delivered in a ‘91 Holden Barina to yearning eaters all over town.
All communications are done strictly via Joey’s Instagram DMs. This intimate business model is a welcome relief of humanity amidst the exploitative mess of the usual drop-it-at-your-door-and-run delivery services. The first time I ordered Joey’s lasagne, it was delivered by him a few days later on an actual silver platter. Each steaming hot serve is accompanied by complimentary bread, chilli oil (with Joey peeling and de-seeding the chillies by hand) and grated Grana Padano, a detail that reminds us that a bit of sympathy and generosity can temper even the worst internal anguish.
My first time ordering, I DM’d Joey a naive “eta?”, to which he replied “NOBODY KNOWS.” I should have known better than to ask. There’s no point worrying about what time this perfect gift might arrive. You just have to trust that Joey has your back through all of this, and that everything will be okay. Their motto of “Always Late, Always Great” and a delivery window of “6–9pm(ish)” is the anti-fast food salve I didn’t know I needed. Just when you thought your life would become defined by the mind-numbing routine of regularity and the stress of immediacy, you’re being asked to trust. Trust in the knowledge that salvation will come, but not until the crust is perfectly crunchy, the bread has been buttered, and the side of handmade chilli oil has been expertly packed, specially for you. You only know when the blessed meal is on its way when you receive that highly anticipated but sympathetic DM “Lasagne coming for you, mate!” or “ON ITS WAY [kiss emoji]”.
The first thing I see when I open my hand-delivered portion of lasagne di melanzane (my personal favourite) is the dependable single crispy basil leaf, delicately placed on top, a happy reminder that greenery is welcome here but not essential. That I am not here to fuck with green smoothies, but instead am seeking a deeper, richer variety of nourishing comfort than a chopped salad could ever offer.
The thick almost-sliceable-but-somehow-still-silky bechamel appears to float atop the soft richness underneath, forming a chewy golden top that gently absorbs the complimentary grated Grana Padano shaken across it. Sprinkling this free cheese over my lasagna is a meaningful, ritualistic part of eating this meal—it’s as though Joey is saying “I know you need a pick-me-up right now darlin’, and I’ve got you”.
The chilli oil offers a gentle warmth with a kick that is just enough to remind me that I’m alive, but not so spicy that I feel personally attacked.. It’s crucial to let the chilli oil soak into the layers before using the generously buttered bread (also complimentary) to soak up this juicy marriage. I cannot tell you how often I daydream about this exact interaction.
Underneath these cheesy beginnings are a maximum of three layers—a simplicity that I appreciate more every time I eat it. The thin slices of perfectly cooked eggplant harbour no bitterness and are not so oily that their flavour is lost instead, they offer a gentle resistance against the rich and saucy contents. The layers of pasta form welcoming flavour envelopes. The pasta is never too firm but also, and this is excruciatingly important, never too soft. Joey says that pre-blanching is key to the success of this perfect juiciness and, hot damn, when you bite through that perfectly cooked taste blanket, you know he’s right. Dotted beneath the deep, sweet tomato sugo are a few whole confit garlic cloves—a fact I regularly forget, only to be delighted afresh every time I find another secret morsel. The confit garlic reminds me that by eating this, I am nourishing both my physical and psychological immune system.
But the best thing about this lasagne is that it’s baked first as a huge tray, before being portioned up and finished off in the individual aluminium containers I have come to love so dearly. This essential step creates my favourite thing about this whole meal—the all-important tray scrapings that every helping of nurturing lasagne should have. Gone are the days of ‘the middle piece’ with no tray scrapings to be found. In every portion of 1800LASAGNE, you’ll find hot, charred edges fuse to the tray, sticky and salty and oily, ready to be picked off at the end with your fingernails—one final act of love before the inevitable end to this perfect meal.
Each serving is generous to say the least, in a way that soothes an underlying childhood anxiety of not getting enough to eat at dinner with my large family. I know that when Joey hands me my serve, no one will take it, no one will tell me to stop eating or to save room for dessert—that this lasagne belongs to me and I to it. Once finished, you want to sit in silence for a while, alone with this act of nourishment, like waiting for a prayer to reach God.