Bar food. Two little words that can make grown men tremble - if they're like me, anyway. However sophisticated we would like to think we are, Irish bar food is, at heart, a sandwich of processed ham and plastic cheese toasted in a Cellophane bag. Or, if you're really lucky, tiger prawns wrapped in filo pastry and served with industrial sweet chilli sauce.
Ah yes, bar food. There's more. What about those suburban carveries where you queue up for desiccated roasts of meat with carrot, broccoli, spud and lashings of brown liquid that is presented, in defiance of any trade-descriptions legislation, as "gravy"?
The kind of dross that so many pubs dish up is a constant reminder that the much-vaunted Irish "food revolution" is a figment of a fevered imagination. Never mind the farmhouse cheeses, the artisan charcuterie, the organic cavolo nero: bar food is the real measure of our gastronomic sophistication.
There are, as always, exceptions (and I would love to hear reports of scattered outposts of excellence, by the way). One of them is the Cellar Bar at the Merrion hotel, in Dublin. This is a remarkable place, with high vaulted ceilings, interconnecting rooms and restrained furnishings. Indeed, throughout the Merrion is a strong sense of taste, as distinct from opulence. As one occasional resident said to me recently: "My dear, I simply can't wait for the Shelbourne to reopen. It will take all the vulgar rich out of this dear place."
I don't think she meant dear as in expensive, although I'm sure a night at the Merrion does not come cheap. Lunch in the bar is very reasonable, however. You have to understand that this is not bar food, as such. It is food that is cooked skilfully in a proper kitchen and served, well, in the bar. (The attached Cellar Restaurant is Dublin's best-kept secret, by the way.)
We tucked ourselves into a corner and enjoyed a splendid lunch in such a leisurely fashion that we were still there well after the posses from the AG's office and Government Buildings had returned to their desks - arrive well before 1pm or shortly after 2pm.
Soup is always a good barometer of a kitchen, and I'm surprised that my companion didn't like the carrot and coriander version served here. She said it was bland. I rather liked its buttery richness and faint chewiness, although I admit that it was light on essential carrotiness and corianderiness. But it was a great big helping.
Our other starter, duck and pork rillettes, was virtually faultless. If you're not familiar with the rillette idea, it involves strands of meat potted up with their own fat. Not the kind of thing that Flora Pro.activ guzzlers are likely to order, but none the worse for that.
This example was perfectly seasoned and textured and served with toasted raisin-and-walnut bread: perfection. The only minor flaw was that the fat was still slightly molten. It should be just set.
A tart tatin of impeccably light puff pastry with onion, tomato and goat's cheese, topped with a forest of rocket leaves, was very good. It certainly gave the lie to the notion that vegetarian food is heavy and stodgy.
The kitchen's first attempt at an open steak sandwich was disastrous: the well-flavoured meat contained a seam of gristle that would have required industrial cutting equipment to penetrate. It was replaced rapidly by something much more melting, cooked medium rare as requested, and served on toasted bread with caramelised onions and a piquant mayonnaise.
A shared pudding was brilliant: miniature baked Alaska with punk spikes of meringue, interior of sharp lemon-curd ice cream and an accompaniment of jewel-like pieces of sharp fruit, including pink grapefruit.
With good coffee, a large bottle of still mineral water and three glasses of wine, the bill came to €79.85.
WINE CHOICE
Wine lovers are in good hands here. The Cellar Bar offers 50 wines by the glass, as well as six Lustau sherries. Watch out for Sepp Moser Grüner Veltliner (€6.50), Tahbilk Marsanne (€7), from Victoria, steely Domaine Talmard Mâcon-Uchizy (€8), Domaine Ogier's scented Viognier (€12.50), oaky L'Abeille de Fieuzal (€12.50) and Domaine Chavy Puligny-Montrachet (€23). Among the reds, you can have a glass of Château Mouton-Rothschild 1988 for €95 (but you might as well go the whole hog and have a bottle for a keen €380). Domaine de la Bouïssière Gigondas (€12) is an impeccable southern Rhône. Columbia Crest Washington State Merlot (€8) is refreshingly dry and cheap compared with its Napa counterparts.