Chez Max review: Make Dublin feel like Paris ... in the perfect restaurant to celebrate July 14th

“Wasn’t he speaking with a French accent just a few minutes ago?” After an evening of Gallic charm, mademoiselle-ing, and much gesturing at the higher end of the exclusively French wine list, we had been surprised to hear an accent that was more howya than parlez-vous when we returned to pick up a forgotten item. The fact that the restaurant, the late Les Freres Jacques, was right next door to the Olympia Theatre, probably explains everything.

An Italian pizzeria now occupies the site (a nice change for the thesps), and looks across at a little corner of Paris, where, in 2005, Gonzague "Max" de Laloubie opened Chez Max, and pitched his bentwood chairs on the pavement beside the gates of Dublin Castle.

It’s busy when we arrive on a balmy Sunday evening. ‘Allo ‘allo. We eventually catch someone’s attention. And wait. We’ve booked, but walk-ins have more luck and are seated. We are marched out to the new covered terrace at the back of the restaurant – wonderfully snug on a rainy day I’m sure – but not the spot to practise the Parisian art of people-watching. Perhaps we could have one of the tables for two on the terrace? Without a word, we’re trotted back to where we started.

But being on French terroir, the whole égalité thing prevails, and the relentless parade out the back and back again to the better tables continues all evening. It’s not just us.

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Les walk-ins are now on their entrées, and the raised eyebrows and trying-to-be-polite hand signalling eventually pays off. Our server, Maude from Montpellier, could not be more charming.

Wine arrives, and glasses. Important, as they ran out of clean glasses the previous evening. Naturally, the wine list is totally French. It’s well-priced, with plenty of options by the glass, as well as apéritifs and bières. We have a decent Mâcon Village from Domaine des Chenevières, €34.

The dinner menu offers two courses for €35 or three for €40, with a choice of six starters, nine mains, and three desserts. Little has changed on this menu over the years. The escargots and frogs’ legs may be gone, but the rest is pretty much now-that’s-what-I-call-French-bistro cooking.

Soupe à l’oignon comes in the classic white bowl. The croutons and Emmental are on the side. It’s a DIY job, so not quite as molten and bubbling as it would be if it had been finished under the grill. It is steaming hot, the beef broth is suffused with dark, slowly cooked onions, and is very enjoyable.

The crème brûlée au crabe is a simpler affair. A little light on the main ingredient, some of the intended crab clearly didn’t make it off the Lambay Island boats. And, it perhaps suffers from comparison with Paul Flynn’s particularly good version of this dish. Next time, I’ll opt for the foie gras.

The moules frites make up for any disappointment. Piled high in a large shallow bowl, the tiny sweet mussels from Donegal are bathed in a creamy broth with white wine, garlic, shallots and parsley. The frites are hand-cut; and the smaller, irregular bits are crisp and crunchy. Parfait.

Our other main is steak frites, an 8oz ribeye, charred on the outside but nicely rare inside. I have ordered Béarnaise, but pepper sauce comes instead. Lost in translation perhaps? That’s okay, we’re happy out.

For dessert, the tarte au citron has a notably good base, crisp and buttery, although it’s not made in the painstaking classic style, which frankly, I don’t expect for this money. The well-stabilised lemon custard is not as tart as this tarte can be and is less dependent on egg yolks to hold things together. The chocolate mousse, in a swishy glass, is pleasant, if a little grainy, and leans more in the direction of milk chocolate than anything that displays a percentage of cocoa solids.

There is nothing revolutionary about the food in Chez Max. It may perhaps glide over a few of the finer Escoffier and Carême steps, but it is very reasonably priced, and there are no supplements. Everyone here is French, real French, right down to the chefs shouting orders in the kitchen downstairs. While the food may be more Emily in Paris than Call My Agent, an outside table is indeed genial and a perfect place for celebrating Bastille Day on July 14th.

Dinner for two with one bottle of wine was €114.

• Verdict French conviviality, well-priced food and plenty to see
• Facilities Downstairs, compact and clean
• Music Française, obvs
• Food provenance Middle of the road. Irish, with counties rather than producers named
• Vegetarian options One starter and one main course, no vegan option
• Wheelchair access No