— STORY · GALLO —

Twenty-three years.
One roof.

The story of an address, two families, and a kitchen that never stops.

— The beginning —

2002. Hebrangova.

Castellum had only just been built. A business address in the middle of the Lower Town, ten minutes' walk from the main square. In its courtyard, among the brick, the trees and a quiet you don't hear elsewhere, Gallo opened its doors.

The idea was straightforward. The Mediterranean in Zagreb. Fish the way Dalmatia eats it. Pasta the way Liguria rolls it. Wine from across the continent.

Among the first in Zagreb to roll pasta by hand, daily. That hasn't changed.

— Guests —

A table with a memory.

For two decades and change, Gallo has been the address diplomatic Zagreb knows by heart. The Croatian government, embassies, presidents of other countries when they come.

Through the door: Macron, Laura Bush, Karamanlis. Nick Cave, Richard Gere, Lenny Kravitz, Beyoncé. The full Real Madrid squad. The full Ajax side. UEFA. HAZU marked its 150th anniversary at these tables.

— The Tomlinovićs —

Renato and Iva.

In October 2025, the Tomlinović family from Hvar took over Gallo.

Behind them is Zori, the restaurant on Palmižana that has anchored the island's food scene for years. Season, sea, island. Now Zagreb.

They aren't bringing a revolution. Same philosophy: Adriatic fish, hand-rolled pasta, seasonal vegetables, a wine cellar built one bottle at a time. But a different rhythm. A different hand on the page. The sensibility of people who live in a kitchen twelve months a year and see the sea through the window.

— Philosophy —

Gallo opened on a single idea: to be a room in which every guest feels at once a part of a richer, more dignified tradition, and a maker of the culture of our own time.

Wall of recognition: Michelin Selection, Gault & Millau

— Kitchen —

The kitchen stays open.

At Gallo, the kitchen is never hidden. You see it the moment you sit down.

That is on purpose. Pasta is rolled by people, not machines. Fish arrives whole, not boxed. Ingredients sit on the counter before they reach the plate.

Truffles real. Chanterelles fresh. Rožata baked the Dubrovnik way.

What you eat is what you watched being made. Nothing more.

— Courtyard —

And around you, a courtyard.

Castellum sits set back from the street. You walk through a passage off Hebrangova and the city stops. Brick, wood, plants that have been spreading on their own for years.

In summer dinner is outside, under a sky you can't find anywhere else in the Lower Town. In winter inside, where hand-rolled pasta hangs from the wooden beams as it would on a Ligurian farm.

You don't come here by accident. Someone sends you.

The Castellum courtyard, hidden from Hebrangova

Twenty-three years.
Same values.
A new hand.

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Twenty-three years.One roof.