Not so much a shop, more a way of life. That seems to be the huge appeal of Avoca Handweavers, a business to which I would doff my cap if I happened to wear one. If ever a retail operation caught the zeitgeist of and early-21st century Ireland, this is the one.
The vast new complex at Rathcoole, Co Dublin was buzzing with activity on a dull and chilly November afternoon, and I very much doubt that it was taking customers away from their outlets at Kilmacanogue and Suffolk Street, Dublin 2. If Avoca were to open 20 carefully located stores throughout the country, I daresay they would all do well.
Avoca doesn't just sell products; it sells a dream. There is an upmarket folksiness about all that it does - a sense that this kind of retail therapy is somehow more wholesome than the general run. And there is a rustic chunkiness about its food, a kind of charming cultural melting pot character that appeals to the Yammies (our homegrown Yummy Mummies) who flock to Avoca. And, of course, there are the cakes: the gastroporn-on-a-plate in which Avoca seems to specialise. The Yammies consume more empty calories here than they do at home.
Look, I'm not being judgemental. We have all succumbed. I am as much a sucker for the Avoca dream as anyone, but I sometimes wonder. And I wish that Avoca would champion the organic cause a bit more than they do. And the local food cause. Avoca is a pretty influential organisation and I'd like to see it doing a bit more leading and a little less following. But I suppose its bankers and accountants are not slow in expressing their views. There is a sense of making hay while the sun shines, especially as some of us have a distinct feeling that the current boom will not last forever.
I didn't so much eat at EGG, Avoca Rathcoole's table-service restaurant, as re-fuel. I was on one of my all too frequent trips up and down the N8, and I wanted sustenance prior to putting in a couple of hours' work in my mobile office (or elderly 4x4).
So I ordered a steak with handmade chips and aioli. I ordered it medium-rare and got an attractively grilled piece of meat which was on the juicy side of well-done. I didn't mind, as the beef was well flavoured and far from dry. But I would have preferred it a bit red in the middle.
The restaurant wasn't busy at the time (about 2.30pm) so it was rather disappointing. And then there was the matter of texture. I may be wrong, but I have a feeling that my steak had been attacked by one of those devices that punch very tiny holes in meat in order to break down tough fibres. The texture was vaguely unsatisfactory; the taste was fine.
The large-bore chips, anointed with sea salt and black pepper, were crisp and fluffy. Had the aioli tasted sharper or saltier, or even noticeably garlicky, it would have provided a good dip for the chips, but the overall effect was just rather bland. The nicely-dressed salad of little rocket leaves, however, was very pleasant.
I consumed a great deal of still mineral water, a glass of organic Corbières (not flagged as organic, oddly enough) and a very sound double espresso. I enjoyed one of the more scenic views of the Naas Road, very friendly and attentive service, and ended up with a bill for €32.06.
The curious thing is that I would happily go back, notwithstanding the less than perfect steak. There is a kind of energy about this restaurant that I find rather attractive, but I would be very interested to hear how other diners get on. And how they feel about the whole "Avoca Thing". Is it really a case of buying into the dream?
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Wine Choice
This is a tasty little list with plenty of stuff which would be no hardship to drink. Zenato Lugana (€21/€5.50 glass) makes an attractive fist of a generally pretty neutral wine. RK Riesling (€24/€6) is quite dry and deliciously minerally, one of the cool new Germans, while Clos Varambon Pouilly-Fuissé (€38/€7.25) is a succulent Burgundian Chardonnay. Domaine Montmija Corbières (€19.50/€4.85) is organic, chunky and keenly priced, while the biodynamic Domaine Marcoux Châteauneuf (€72) is a seductive stunner, especially in this 2003 vintage. Some wines are unascribed. Whose Barbera d'Alba is it at €35, for example? I think we should be told. The best buy may well be the Duas Quintas from Portugal at €24.50.