he tagline on Grom's storefront sign is “Il gelato come una volta.” My extensive background in Romance languages tells me that this either means, “Gelato eats a voltameter” or “Gelato like Voltron.” Whichever the case, let me at it! The throngs who line up outside of Grom must have the same idea. As it turns out, according to the glossy blue and white tri-fold brochure on the counter, “Il gelato come una volta” means “gelato as it once was.” While I was a little disappointed that my visit would involve neither stracciatella chowing on electrodes nor five flavors combining into a single Gelato Tutto-Potente, I still looked forward to kickin’ it vecchia-scuola (that’s “old-school” for us locals).

Grom comes to us from Torino, the town best known for Pierre-Emmanuel Dalcin's Olympic finger-brandishing. Like so many other Italian imports (Giada de Laurentiis, Ferragamo pumps, Fabio), Grom has an intrinsic layer of sexy that its stateside counterparts lack. One wall is covered with semi-pornographic photos of ingredients so fresh you may be tempted to slap them: Spring water, eggs, coffee beans, chocolate—all of them are captured from mere centimeters away; it’s almost more than I can handle. These folks are big into their ingredients. The owners, Federico Grom and Guido Martinetti, have become involved with the Slow Food Foundation. The menu is dotted with the Slow Food Snail, indicating the lengthy time it will take to burn off your freshly acquired calories.

In all, I got to sample, in larger and smaller quantities, seven flavors—all of which, before I enter into more detailed analysis, were lovely. My first serving was divided between Tiramisu and Zabaione, which was made with Marsala wine. The Tiramisu tasted mostly like coffee gelato and was merely studded with tiny pieces of Ecuadorian chocolate. It was missing, in my estimation, the additional flavor components of true tiramisu. Zabaione to the rescue! Guess what is added to the mascarpone cheese to create the mixture that is spread between layers of ladyfingers in a tiramisu? Egg yolks, sugar, and liquor—the precise ingredients of a zabaione! My favorite tiramisu recipe uses Marsala as the liquor, and so the combination of these two flavors was a hit, even if the tiramisu on its own was a slight miss.

The Extranoir Chocolate, deep, strong, and smooth, would sate the cravings of even the most discerning chocoholic. The Ruby Red Grapefruit sorbet, intensely flavorful and shockingly creamy, thankfully lacked the telltale iciness that characterizes a lot of non-dairy frozen desserts.The Gianduja (pronounced jon-DOO-ya) was like Nutella on Ice, with all the well balanced chocolate and hazelnut taste and none of the ridiculous costumes. It turns out that Gianduja is the Italian commedia dell’arte mask that represents Torino. Lucky for us, there’s no gelato flavor called Pantalone, the commedia character that represents both Venice and decayed virility—not tasty.