Cheese and Biscuits on tour: Dublin

Apologies for the spate of non-London posts - it just so happens I've had cause to travel about a bit recently, and being the hopeless restaurant spod that I am, even before I have a hotel and flights booked I have decided where I'm going to have dinner. In Paris, Septime and Chateaubriand were "must-visit" restaurants, internationally important and cutting-edge, which no self-respecting blogger could ignore. But for a weekend in Dublin arranged around a friend's wedding, I wanted something simpler, less likely to take up the short time I had there, and - let's face it - cheaper.

In the end, the decision was more or less made for me. Full disclosure time - both the hotel I stayed in (The Clarence), the Liquor Rooms and the Bison Bar are all owned by the same people (not Bono any more thank heavens), who very generously offered to put me up and generally lavish me with the kind of hospitality that everyone in Dublin seems determined to give in spades. Key to my getting involved with these guys in the first place was reading up on the Bison Bar, billed (by themselves, admittedly) as "Ireland's first authentic Texas BBQ" and receiving some pretty positive reviews. Given that there isn't really anywhere even in London yet doing authentic US BBQ (yes I know Pitt Cue are good but it's very much their take on BBQ, not I'm led to believe quite what you'd get in Austin, TX) this was going to be a reason in itself.

But first things first, and late on Friday after a typically traumatic Ryanair flight we were relieved to slip into the velvety red bosom of the Liquor Rooms, underneath the Clarence. Part Parisian boudoir, part bedouin tent, with a number of dark low-ceiling rooms containing cosy snugs and two large marble-clad bars, it's an undeniably classy place, everyone - staff and customers, present company excepted - pleasant and well-dressed. Our spot, in a little cubby-hole created by an extension of the bar, was so comfortable we could have spent the night there, and in fact very nearly did.

Fortunately, it's not all show. The drinks, firstly, were all of very high quality - a martini ice cold, a sidecar expertly balanced. There's an extensive list of house cocktails which I'm sure are all good but once we realised our barman could do the classics so well we hardly felt the need to experiment.

With such lovely surroundings and accomplished drinks, the Liquor Rooms could have just kept the bar snacks to packets of crisps and it would have still been worth spending the evening there. Plenty of otherwise decent bars in London have no kitchen to speak of, or if they do seem content to charge way over the odds for reheated spring rolls or microwaved nachos. So the Liquor Rooms' achievement on the food is all the more impressive - everything we tried wasn't just better than it needed to be for a late-night bar, but genuinely enjoyable, from a generous portion of antipasti containing some nice soft cheeses and folds of Italian hams, to a huge bowl of chicken wings crisped up with a soy dressing. Best of all were some huge chilli/garlic prawns that were cooked to juicy, springy perfection - I'm so used to plasticky, overcooked prawns I'd almost forgotten how good they could be when handled by someone who knows what they're doing. Bar food done well.

I'm acutely aware this post already sounds dangerously advertorial - I almost wish there had been something wrong with the Liquor Rooms so I can salvage some veneer of objectivity. But I'm sure my experience would have been just as positive had I been footing the bill myself, and if I'm ever in Dublin again I'll be back. Given its obvious popularity, plenty of others feel the same.

A mistake a lot of American theme restaurants make is to fill up the walls with Route 66 road signs and quirky neon beer branding and hope the result doesn't look too much like a branch of TGI Friday's (it always does). Bison Bar have, to their credit, kept much of the format of the pub that presumably used to occupy the space, including the handsome old oak bar, and added only select touches of Americana - some imposing taxidermy, and a few amusing saddle-stools. The most atmospheric touch is the all-pervading cloud of smoke emanating from the real smoking cabinets in the kitchen and wafting down the street, which gets you into the mood for a plate of ribs and brisket before you've even stepped through the front door.

Now, I've never been to Texas, so I can't comment on authenticity. Someone once told me that you never have fries with proper Southern BBQ so on this front already more Dublin than Dallas. All I can tell you is that everything, from the beautifully moist smoked chicken, to the grease-less onion rings, to the lean, rich sausage, to the aforementioned fries, was right up there with the best BBQ food I've had the pleasure to eat in my life. Whoever is in charge of the kitchen has clearly both been to a Texas BBQ joint and - crucially - has learned the best way of recreating the experience back home using similar equipment.

Everything was worth the asking price and then some, but I have to put in a special word for the brisket, which was thick and fatty with a fantastic pink crust that made you wish it lasted forever. I have tried the sad, grey slabs of leather that certain London restaurants like to call brisket but this was another species entirely, enough to convert even the most ardent BBQ sceptic. It was so good, in fact, that I wish they'd not put quite as much BBQ sauce on it in my sandwich, as I'd like more of the beef flavour to shine through, but this is a very minor niggle. Coleslaw, smoked beans, dipping sauces, everything else was devoured with pleasure.

Next to the near-faultless food offering was a decent craft beer selection (I had one flavoured with seaweed out of sheer curiosity, though perhaps fortunately I couldn't really taste it) and a short cocktail list - they do a mean whisk(e)y sour. And even the desserts weren't an afterthought - peach cobbler contained a lovely fresh biscuit and I'm still kicking myself I ran out of time the next day to return for the chocolate fudge brownie.

So yes, as freebies go, this weekend was a bit of a success. Accepting such a comprehensive set of comped meals, not to mention a two-night stay in one of the best hotels in town, sounds like the greatest of all blagger perks and of course I'm very grateful for everyone involved for sorting it out. There's nothing more satisfying than being able to report back on a happy experience to those who have gone out of their way to create one, but equally there's nothing more terrifying than the prospect of being the bearer of bad news when things go wrong, so I'm delighted this weekend worked out the way it did. Anyway, navel-gazing aside there's really only one thing you need to know - if you go to the Liquor Rooms or the Bison Bar, you will enjoy yourself.

One last thing and I'll finish, I promise. The wedding, on the Saturday (Congratulations Sarah and Gareth), took place in an idyllic old pub in a ludicrously picturesque spot ten minutes out of Dublin city centre called Strawberry Bed. A welcome of prosecco and Guinness and live Irish music led on to a short, touching ceremony in an upstairs room lit by candles. The wedding banquet, so often a distressing affair involving boiled vegetables and grey roast beef, was here a starter of crab and lobster salad with fresh baked bread, and a main of monkfish fillet wrapped in pancetta. Based on their ability to feed 60 or so people this well in one go, I'm guessing the Angler's Rest would feed an individual in the restaurant downstairs very well indeed. We ate, we laughed, we drank, we got drunk on Mini Guinness (Tia Maria and Baileys), we danced, I don't remember getting home. It doesn't really get much better than that. If this is Ireland, consider me sold.

I was a guest of the the Liquor Rooms, the Bison Bar, and
The Clarence Hotel, 6 – 8 Wellington Quay, Dublin 2, Ireland
Great Christmas packages now available!
For the best rates please see www.theclarence.ie
Bookings and enquiries: Tel + 353 1 4070800 or Email: reservations@theclarence.ie

The Liquor Rooms 9/10

The Bison Bar 9/10

Chateaubriand, Paris

There is an attractive, pared-back dining space, chalkboard menus, dark furnishings unencumbered by tablecloths, and a charming young staff that all speak very good English. The menu is modern but accessible, taking cues from all over the world, with fresh ingredients cooked to a high degree of skill and colourfully presented on a variety of interesting tableware. It cost around €80 a head and we enjoyed ourselves very much indeed.

No, you haven't accidentally re-read the Septime post. I probably could have gone for a bit more variety in my Paris restaurant picks, but I was determined to steer clear of anywhere with a Michelin star, and wasn't brave enough to risk an evening queuing for one of the excellent no-reservations Japanese or Vietnamese places I keep hearing about. So Chateaubriand it was, and I have no regrets, you'll just have to ignore the faint sense of déjà vu.

Whilst at Septime you could choose between 3 and 5 courses, at Chateaubriand (for dinner at least) you just get asked if there's anything you can't cope with and they sort out the rest. With the Pescatarian on board, and given experiences at lunch the previous day, I was half expecting another awkward moment, but there were no plates of ham to share, and no hidden bacon in any of her courses, so well done them.

Gougère ("cheesy puffs" our waiter explained, cutely pre-empting our query) were a fantastic way to start the meal, soft and warm with a gently moist filling and a lovely colour. These were, in fact, better than the ones I'd had at 3 Michelin Star Alaine Ducasse in the Dorchester. I'm never going to tire of using that phrase.

Another amuse, little metal bowls of sea bass ceviche, impressed as well, the mixture not too bitter or too sweet, and (although you can't see them from the photo) with plenty of chunky fish.

The next sharing plate, of deep-fried prawns, were fantastic. I have no idea how they've managed to deep-fry these to get a super-crunchy coating on the outside while still keeping the flesh moist and meaty, but they were, and the citrus powder of some sort they rested on did the work of a squeeze of lemon without making them soggy. Very, very clever stuff.

Beneath the spinach and slices of radish on this plate are hiding a handful of huge, juicy cockles, with a flavour - think sea spray and rock pools - that brought gasps all around the table. I don't think I've ever had better cockles.

A mini bowl of bouillabaisse was next, and packed with rich, seafood flavour. By this point we were barely past halfway, and enjoying every second of it.

The next course was interesting - squid (large chunks, perfectly cooked and seasoned), with cep mushrooms, only some were braised and some left raw. The flavour from both kinds of mushrooms was great, and added into the mix was a pile of chopped sorrel, adding an earthy/bitter dimension.

Monkfish with green chillies next, notable for great big chunks of delicately cooked monkfish paired with some pomelo (or grapefruit) cells and chunks of powerful chilli. It was remarkably spicy, in fact, considering the style of what had come before, but they deserve all credit for not wimping out on the chilli as it added an good sweet burn to counter the bitter citrus.

Last of the savoury courses was this remarkable pile of black trumpet mushrooms, under which hid some very good seared beef and a few chunks of bone marrow. You can't really go wrong with beef and mushroom, but the intense flavour of these fried trompette de la mort was really something. The Pescatarian had something that looked similar but didn't have any beef in. Probably fish. I can't remember. But there was no meat in it, that's the main thing.

So far so bloody excellent, then, which makes the dessert courses all that more difficult to explain. First was a small piece of dry shortbread topped with a caramelised egg yolk. I'm guessing they were so pleased with themselves for perfecting this sugar-encased-yolk technique that they forgot to make it edible, as the yolk was entirely untreated and jarred horribly as an element in a dessert, like the deconstructed ingredients of an unbaked spongecake. No thanks.

And the second dessert, whilst not inedible, was nonetheless fairly unimaginative - a dark chocolate mousse with mint sorbet. Fine, but the kind of thing I've had many times before - though maybe that says more about the amount of times I eat out than whether anyone else would enjoy it.

Some fresh figs served as petits fours, and with that we were done. The crying shame, of course is that up until desserts Chateaubriand was heading for a 9 or a 10 score, and only the drastic derailing over the sweet courses prevented that from happening. Everything else - the savoury food, the amuses and between-course treats, the service, the atmosphere, the sheer pleasure of being a part of this slick operation, is worth the (actually very reasonable) bill and then some. So I can still say, with only some slight hesitation, that Chateaubriand is worth your while. A largely hugely enjoyable meal, with only one or two glaring errors to watch out for. Déjà vu.

8/10

Septime, Paris

There's a certain cruel pleasure for a Londoner to report on the fact that Paris, for so many years the international icon of gastronomy and trailblazer of culinary invention, now seems to be taking some of its more popular cues from across the Channel. Both Septime and Chateaubriand are unofficial members of the "Bistronomy" movement, which aims to do for the traditional Parisian bistro what the gastropub did for the British boozer - namely great food at affordable prices.

Of course, this being Paris, "affordable" is a relative concept. At the Eagle in Farringdon, the original gastropub, you can pop in for a pint and a smoked haddock chowder and be out of the door for under £15. Lunch at Septime comes in two varieties - €28 for three courses or €55 for five, but in a city where Alain Ducasse is charging €140 for a single starter, you can see why Parisians have the place booked up months in advance.

Front of house staff were all male, beardy, friendly, spoke very good English, and, in the words of the female members of our party, were "smoking hot". There was a tangible youthfulness and energy about the whole operation, boosted by the busy open kitchen and lack of soft furnishings to soak up the chatter, and with the artfully distressed tables nicely spaced apart it really was a lovely spot to spend a couple of hours.

The setting and general attitude, in fact, made up for some minor (and one major) niggles with what arrived on the table. I thought it was a bit mean of them, for example, to not offer a pescatarian alternative to the salami snack (for we were With Pescatarian) but the house bread (a sourdough) and butter were so good it didn't seem to matter too much.

We certainly started on a high. Stone bass was a triumph, the gently ceviché-d fish paired with chunks of soft pear soaked in red wine, and - a real stroke of genius - shaved white cabbage that looked like parmesan before you took a bite and realised what was going on. We were all still talking about this dish for the rest of the trip - one of those moments that defines a holiday.

That's not to say the rest of the meal tailed off too much, it just didn't really hit those heights again. Braised octopus with "tomato water (eau de tomate)" and lardo had seafood with just the right amount of bite and a good strong flavour, but our pescatarian had to pick out the pig fat from her dish, the French having still not quite got the hang of the whole pig-is-not-a-vegetable thing. I realise France is never going to be the most accommodating place for non meat-eaters, but the Royle Family attitude to vegetarianism ("Can't she just have some wafer thin ham, Barbara?") was still a surprise in a restaurant so otherwise forward-looking.

A teeny in-between course of baked oyster with toasted nuts went down very well, tasting fresh out of the sea and nicely autumnal.

Monkfish, the next dish, was similarly hard to fault. The fish itself was very cleverly cooked so that a gentle char on the outside hadn't been allowed to spoil a soft, translucent flesh beneath. A tidy pile of rolled spinach was perfectly seasoned, a black sesame and squid ink sauce packed a wonderful seafood flavour, and a giant leaf of god-knows-what (that's it on the right - any ideas?) tasted of sort of a cross between nasturtium leaf and sorrel, only it was way too big and the wrong shape to be either. Tasted great, though.

The meaty main was a tranche of duck breast so massive I am considering avoiding the French countryside near Landes in case I am set upon by one of the many 10ft-tall ducks that are clearly being bred there. It was vast, but also - and more importantly - lovely and pink and mosit and served with a mini turnip and a mini radish, both incredibly good. Our Pescatarian Friend had, at least, not been asked to eat red meat ("'ees like fish, but 'ee walks") but had her own arrangement of John Dory (crispy skin, perfect flaky flesh) with baby carrots which she seemed very happy with after checking underneath just in case they hadn't sneaked some bacon in or something.

Desserts were simple, but satisfying. Solliès (near Toulon) fig with physalis and white peach ice cream came with some toasty shortbread and was very easy to enjoy, and vanilla ice cream surrounded with a sort of corn mousse didn't do much for me but everyone else thought it was great so I'll leave it there.

It's my "job" (such as it is) to nitpick and criticise on these pages so that occasionally the faults with a meal seem to outweigh the successes. Therefore, despite the occasional mis-step, the important thing to remember about Septime is that it is a very accomplished operation and we enjoyed our lunch very much. Yes, the pig fat in the "vegetarian" course was pretty unforgivable, but otherwise the top-notch ingredients and pared-back cooking style were a delight to experience, and we left very happy. For the same money (£71 a head with 2 bottles of wine) I'd still rather go to the Clove Club. But let's not open that can of worms just yet.

8/10

Kirazu, Soho

There are some restaurants that shower you with generosity, where for what essentially amounts to loose change you can eat as many lamb chops and seekh kebabs, or home-style cabbage, or devilled mutton as you can stuff in your face. These are the uncrowned kings of London dining, serving food that, at any price would be worth the effort, but for the pittance they charge is something approaching miraculous.

Most other restaurants can't hope to compete at this level, but the reason you don't leave feeling like you've been metaphorically hung upside down and shaken until all your money falls out is because the food, service and atmosphere are decent enough for it to have been worth the outlay. Obviously there are exceptions, but this after all the hospitality industry we're talking about, and anywhere that doesn't make you feel welcome or valued is failing on a fundamental level.

Speaking of which, Kirazu. It isn't the first time in 2013 that I've left dinner feeling like I've been fleeced - nobody is likely to challenge Balthazar for the London's Greatest Restaurant Ripoff title - but the price/portion size ratio at this tiny Soho joint is just so out of whack it's bordering on upsetting.

Which is a shame, because portion sizes aside, the food isn't bad. Tofu with spicy minced beef had a lovely kick of chilli and the tofu had a perfect texture - not too collapsey and not too firm. Deep-fried dumplings had a good crunch and a generous filling, and the ponzu-style dip matched them very well. And a thimble full of seared cod's roe was genuinely impressive, a fresh zing of the sea tempered with a soft smokiness from the pan. If only there had been, you know, a bit more of it.

We also enjoyed a miniscule pot of beansprouts and seaweed in a very interesting pungent sauce, quite unlike anything I'd tried before. Aubergine in miso was good too, the dressing allowing the aubergine to be the main flavour, and four thin slices of salmon sashimi nevertheless had a good showing of stripy fat and I think they make their own wasabi because it was sweeter than other examples I've tried.

But of the less successful dishes, takoyaki (deep-fried octopus balls) seemed to contain no octopus whatsoever and were just little hot sacks of bechamel - £3.50 for three. And chicken karaage was a complete disaster, soggy and bland (felt like they'd been soaking in cold oil rather than frying), and presented - don't ask me why - with cherry tomatoes and basil as if the chef had started trying to make an Italian chicken Parmigiana then remembered where he worked. Bizarre.

So, I'm torn. Some of the ingredients were top-notch, some of the dishes tasted great, and I'd even consider going back to try the cod's roe and tofu etc. again if it weren't for the fact the final bill, with just two beers and a small jar of sake, came to £70. Seventy pounds for half a dozen miniscule portions of mainly decent Japanese food and a drink or two. This is not value, and coupled with the horrible seating arrangements (choose from cheek-to-jowl with your neighbours on a splinter-ridden wooden bench, or squeezed onto a stool near the toilets) and scatty service, and you have yourself all the ingredients for a rather mediocre evening out. I didn't hate Kirazu, despite their best efforts, but I doubt you'll see me there again.

6/10

The Bull and Last, Highgate

"The best things in life are free", the Beatles once sang, and certainly in London we're spoiled for choice when it comes to free attractions. There are the museums and art galleries, of course, that goes without saying - the glorious privilege of being able to wander around the Tate Britain or the Victoria and Albert Museum or the National Portrait Gallery is one that we should never take for granted, and that you can do so without spending a single penny makes me feel warm inside.

But as much enjoyment - for free - can be had walking just wandering around. It helps if the bit of London you're wandering around is disarmingly beautiful, of course, and it also helps if at the end of the wandering you have a nice slap-up (albeit not free) pub lunch to look forward to. So a stroll from Hampstead village, across the Heath and ending up in the Bull and Last on Highgate Road ticks all those boxes very well indeed.

The skill and attention to detail displayed in the food at the Bull and Last is quite something to behold. A white onion and thyme soup, presented in a cream stoneware bowl and studded with drops of truffle oil, came partnered with a little mound of sweet deep-fried shallots, which you could use as croutons and add to the soup, or just snack on separately. The soup itself was herby, creamy and gently truffle-y, classical French food reimagined by a smart English gastropub. Marvellous stuff.

The fish platter contained enough variety to keep us amused for a good twenty minutes, trying each element in turn to discover that nearly each was as good as the last. Highlights included a superb house potted shrimp, crunchy and entirely greaseless chipirones (deep-fried baby squid) topped with a very good aioli, and some sweet, moist slices of soda bread. Only some overly salty beetroot-cured "gravadlax" let the side down somewhat, but in the context of everything else it hardly mattered. It all disappeared.

You can tell when I'm having fun in a restaurant when I find room for dessert. Paired with a chocolate mousse dessert that would compare very well to the Louis XV-a-like from Gauthier/Tartufo was a lovely blackberry ice cream. We'd past many bramble bushes in the Heath on the way to lunch; I'd like to think these had been foraged from there but whether they were or not, they still tasted great. Desserts in even some of the smarter gastropubs can be little more than the panacotta/sticky toffee pudding variety, but not so here - this had taken someone quite a bit of time to put together.

Prices are, perhaps, just a tad above what you might expect in your average pub. But the food and service is clearly worth the extra outlay and then some, and I can't imagine anyone would pay their bill begrudgingly after a meal here. A classy, refined place that does everything with charm and flair, it is the pub everyone in London wants but only the residents of Highgate are lucky enough to call it their local. But don't let them have all the fun - wherever you live, next time you set out for a Sunday stroll, see if you can't end up at the Bull and Last. You'll feel right at home.

9/10