The Clarkes prove that they’re still a dead cert at Goffs

Iwonder if you’re the same as me when travelling. I check into the hotel, freshen up and then walk straight past the restaurant out on to the street, usually with little or no idea of where I’m going or exactly what I’m looking for. I have found many lovely restaurants this way, by random wandering or, if you prefer, serendipity. Now, I have had some great meals in hotels. The Ritz in London, for example, the St Francis in San Francisco, The Royal Mansour in Marrakesh, and at the fabulously exclusive Ballyfin House in Laois. I’ve been told that the food and the wine selection at Adare Manor are as out of this world as they are out of my financial reach.

Most hotels have to be all things to all people and that means quality can get diluted. However, the clever people at Goffs decided to get some of the best people ever to run an

Irish restaurant to come and run one for them: Derry and Sallyanne Clarke of the much-missed L’Écrivain.

They, in turn, were smart enough to recruit a brilliant chef in James Sheridan. Not just a brilliant chef but one who, after running the lovely Canteen, spent a few years at the helm in The Marlin Hotel in Dublin where he had to cover all the culinary bases that a hotel demands.

It’s a winning combination, on the basis of a solo lunchtime visit. I should explain that I had to eat early, so I turned up just before noon, when the restaurant was empty. The first person I encountered was Derry himself, someone I’ve known for years. I even wrote the book L’Écrivain: Not So Much A Cookbook.

So bear in mind that this might have been an incognito visit but it wasn’t. However, there was a bonus in that – as I was so early, I got to order from the evening menu as well as from the lunchtime one.

Now, when a reviewer is recognised in a restaurant, a sense of panic can lead to her or him being love-bombed and lavished with attention. This is never a good idea, and everyone at The Club At Goffs is far too professional to do anything like that. What a restaurant can’t do is alchemy. If the food is lacklustre or poor, the kitchen can’t do a silk purse job on the sow’s ear.

What I’m saying is that the food here is exceptional and I’m quite certain that this is the case, day in, day out. Okay, Homer nods on occasion and every restaurant can have a meltdown but good restaurateurs know how to salvage such situations and well-behaved customers know to be understanding.

I believe that soup is a great test of a kitchen and I should order it more often. James Sheridan’s carrot and coconut soup (€9) was a very superior affair and the synergy between the lead ingredients was striking. Subtly spiced, creamy and smooth, it had substance and a kind of sweetness enhanced by pieces of roasted carrot., and a degree of chew by a little kale. Like everything else here, the bread is made on the premises and both the sourdough,

THE FOOD IS EXCEPTIONAL AND I’M QUITE CERTAIN THIS IS THE CASE DAY IN, DAY OUT

made with flour from Ballymore Organics, and the Guinness bread were ace on this occasion.

An outstanding open sandwich (€18) featured a real rarity in Ireland: white crab meat enriched with the much more deeply flavoured brown. When I say enriched, I put the emphasis on rich. This luxuriance was cleverly cut by tiny pieces of crisp, green apple that picked up on the sweetness of the crab while cutting the richness. It was balanced with a salad of rocket and avocado, and extra crunch was added by very finely sliced radish of both the usual red and winter kind. This was a meal in itself, given the supporting act of the Guinness bread.

I had what is described as a ‘small plate’ from the dinner menu, in the form of Castletownbere scallops with asparagus, morels and bisque (€20). This was a thing of genuine beauty and a fine example of

James Sheridan’s mastery of subtle contrasts combined with a certain culinary boldness. It was a dish I have thought about ever since.

Just-cooked fresh green asparagus was served with scallops that had been blasted with heat and thoroughly caramelised while maintaining perfect moistness and tenderness within – and none of that ‘fashionable’ under-doneness which is just cheating. Little morels, the greatest of the spring mushrooms, added meatiness and the prawn bisque, with just enough saffron, pulled every element together.

The addition of some baby broad beans was inspired. This was bold cooking and superb eating.

My advice is to beat a path to the door.