Monsieur finds the best croque this side of Paris
THE precise details are lost in the mists of time and, quite frankly, that’s the best place for them. We’re talking the guts of 30 years since I first tasted pizza that hadn’t come out of a cellophane wrapping. Come to think of it, maybe it was the first time I’d actually tasted pizza at all. I suppose that makes me something of a late developer. Never mind that. Given that the proceedings ultimately involved one lost jacket, a couple of flesh wounds and some very empty pockets, let’s just say that the day ended on a more sombre note than it had started. Suffice to say, m’lud, there was drink involved.
Where it had started was in a Lower Leeson Street licensed premises on a mid-week summer afternoon. It ended – where else? – in tears. I have a vague recollection that the pizza was adorned with sweetcorn, which comes a close second to coleslaw in my league table of objectionable foodstuffs. But that’s about as much as I can recall about the day.
The pub in question was one of the O’Dwyer’s chain in those days. It had apparently been a popular haunt of students and lecturers in the days when UCD was based in nearby Earlsfort Terrace. Another account suggests that Conor Cruise O’Brien sometimes brought visiting diplomats across from Iveagh House for a game of billiards. Eventually it re-emerged as Alfie Mulligan’s, which, although it sounded a bit makey-up in the style of Darby O’Gill, turned out to be the real name of the chap who had owned Hartigan’s just up the street for decades previously.
The new East Side Tavern opened on the same spot towards the end of last year. The name comes from its location on the southeast side of Stephen’s Green and, who knows, the fact that there is certainly a touch of hipster New York about the place. It is part of a group that includes several wellestablished restaurants across the city, including The Green Hen, Pichet and the excellent Marcel’s. This place, however, seems more squarely aimed at the clientele of another premises owned by the same parent company: Whelan’s music venue on Wexford Street.
The concept, according to its website, is ‘quintessential Dublin bar meets up-town cool’. Whatever that means. There’s a bit of a grungy aesthetic going on – dim lighting, bare brick walls, old concert posters for Tom Waits – and there seemed to be a higher than average number of men wearing over-sized beards on our visit.
The music was a bit of a giveaway, too. Though it was the Faces on the sound system when we arrived and the Stones as we left, most of the stuff in between was the kind of thing people like us haven’t heard of. I had to use Shazam – an iPhone app, your honour – to identify most of it, of course, but wasn’t much the wiser afterwards. Cage The Elephant, anyone? Or a gentleman who apparently goes by the name of Brother Dege? Nope, me neither.
Anyway, let’s talk menus. They do a €16 ‘express lunch’ option here, which apparently involves three courses being lashed out in the space of 45 minutes.
No doubt there are some people who love that notion, but I really don’t see the point myself. Sounds to me like the quickest way to give yourself a nasty bout of indigestion. Besides, there isn’t really much appeal in going out for lunch if you have to return to the office afterwards, is there?
In those circumstances, I think I’d settle for a curly sandwich al desko instead.
The good news is that the East Side Tavern opens throughout the day, so you don’t have to look at the wage slaves wolfing down their grub with unseemly haste. When we arrived shortly after four o’clock, there was a group of women sitting at a high table near the door and a larger party around the back. Lunch is served from midday and the evening menu kicks in at 4.30pm.
The pie of the day when we visited – chicken, mushroom and tarragon – sounded good, but they were all out of them by that stage. We kicked off with two starters at €7 a pop; date and goat’s cheese salad for my guest, pork croquette with black pudding for me. Both were excellent. Though my companion reckoned her main course of Jerusalem artichoke risotto was a bit on the runny side, she still made short work of it. Meanwhile, my croque monsieur – gener- ous flakes of proper ham, soft and unctuous cheese, a spot-on mustard factor – was certainly the best I’ve had in this town. Probably the best I’ve had anywhere, in fact. We also shared a plate of cheese and a bottle of Zinfandel from the short, well-priced wine list. Service was low-key and pleasant.
The food coming out of chef Niall O’Sullivan’s kitchen is very good indeed, which isn’t surprising given that his impressive CV includes a stint at Isabel’s on Baggot Street. I’d be a bit concerned that the room is a touch on the gloomy side, though. And I’m pretty certain I wouldn’t have enjoyed it half as much if there had been a crowd of goateed hipsters posing at the bar counter in their ridiculous skinny jeans.