Le Coq was worth crowing about

In the history of cuisine in Dublin in the 20th Century, "Le Coq Hardi" stands in the very first rank, not merely as a restaurant of excellence, but because its proprietor John Howard so personally embodied the traditions of classical French cooking.

He might easily have passed as a chef in Lyons, with his luxuriant moustache and his somewhat southerly centre of gravity. He truly resembled the classic peasant-proprietor, his accent a little unvarnished, but his brain first class, his palate sublime.

Amid the plethora of restaurants feeding costly molecules to twentyfive somethings, John's magisterial position in Irish cuisine might seem baffling.

Over the past few years he has not been as celebrated as Patrick Guilbaud, not as chic as Derry Clarke, not as acclaimed as Kevin Thornton, all of whom have deservedly won acclaim for their contributions to restaurant life in the capital.

But preceding them, and retaining the devotion to classical French cuisine which initially made his name in Dublin, was and is John Howard.

When John Howard opened "Le Coq Hardi" a quarter of a century ago, restaurant standards in Dublin were so dire as to defy belief today. The competition consisted of a tiny handful of pseudo-French pseudo-bistros, selling badly prepared, over-cooked dishes whose awfulness was generally concealed within a promiscuous uno-sauce that resembled flavoured glue.

There had been good restaurants in Dublin - The Red Bank, Jammet's, and the Russell Hotel - but all had mysteriously died. One decent restaurant had remained, and that was Snaffles, soon itself to founder on the shoals of tax-problems.

There was a brief period when a false, government-inspired boom seemed to promise national prosperity, but it was followed by a full decade of economic direness, during which hotels and restaurants closed as if in Berlin in 1945.

Yet somehow, John Howard and his wife Catherine kept "Le Coq Hardi" going, uniquely maintaining the traditions of classical French cooking through the dark years of recession, always looking for fresh products.

I was in Brussels with John in the late 1980s for the formation of Eurotoque, the society of European chefs. The inaugural and seriously alcoholic banquet lasted until 3 a.m., yet John and Catherine were both in the main vegetable market at six that morning, buying fresh exotic mushrooms for use in "Le Coq Hardi".

John was never interested in food fashions, instead always seeking to reconcile his own joyous inventiveness within the traditions of grande cuisine.

The great Georgina Campbell cites his "Loin of kasslar in jus de Calvados" as one masterpiece, but there were many others, not least his superbly Hiberno-Caledonian concoction, "Coq Hardi Smokies".

As hard working, affable, and decent as the French peasant-proprietor that he resembles, John Howard was - and is - profoundly knowledgable of cuisine, and would have made a wonderful university professor on the topic.

But of course, professors merely teach. John Howard did not just teach; he did, and he did triumphantly. Cuisine in Dublin is infinitely better for his doing, and, now, infinitely poorer for his going.