Four years ago, the cafe in the Botanic Gardens got a thorough drubbing from this magazine's restaurant reviewer. Tom Doorley drops in for an update
When Eamon de Valera wanted to know what the people of Ireland were thinking he had only to look into his own heart, it is said. Opinion polls perform much the same function these days, although Liveline, on RTÉ Radio 1, also has its finger on the national pulse, which is why it can make pretty depressing listening at times, through no fault of Joe Duffy's.
When I last tuned in, a few weeks ago, a pair of theatre critics, God help them, were being roasted by a bevy of listeners who begged to disagree with their opinions of a play at the Gaiety. The production, about a group of elderly cleaning ladies who start a premium-rate sex line, was not exactly Ibsen, according to the critics. Nor Roddy Doyle, for that matter.
The critics stuck to their guns despite a tongue-lashing from several listeners, who, it appears, found the play uproariously funny. But their biggest sin, according to Twink, who headed the cast and phoned in, was their failure to report that the place was packed with people who laughed their heads off all evening. I can't comment on the quality of the play or the production, but it's pretty clear that just because something is greatly liked by a lot of people, it doesn't mean it's any good. I mention this because I'm afraid that Twink and other listeners to Liveline may adore the cafe at the National Botanic Gardens, in Glasnevin, and I don't.
So I will kick off by saying that this feeding station was packed with happy eaters at lunchtime the other day. And if anyone wants to argue that this makes the cafe a good place to eat, I wish them the best of luck.
The room, in one of the splendid new buildings, is delightful: bright and well designed, with big windows through which you could see flurries of snow heading for the herbaceous borders. The staff are even more delightful; they were friendly and cheerful, which is more than I would be if I had to dish up such appalling food. They serve decent coffee and a range of proper teas, herbal and otherwise.
The tragedy of the Garden Cafe is that it is such a missed opportunity. Jamie Oliver has demonstrated that good food can be produced cheaply, but it takes interest, commitment and hard (if rewarding) work. In the right hands this place could be a credit to the marvellous and underappreciated institution that is the National Botanic Gardens.
Let me give you a flavour of what they do in Glasnevin. A vegetable lasagne consisted of slimy sheets of pasta interleaved with dull green spinach and layers of the kind of salty, overseasoned tomato gloop that comes in big tins and is designed for topping industrial pizzas. On top was an indeterminate grey sauce brightened up with melted red cheddar. Just to increase the depression, this culinary car crash was served with mashed spud (decent enough in its own way), overcooked batons of carrot and mushy French beans.
The same vegetables appeared with the roast ham. Roast ham, properly prepared from the real thing, is a pleasure. This version was the sort that looks and feels as if it has been extruded into a long cylinder. It tasted of salt and had a texture somewhere between blancmange and rubber. It was atrocious. To add insult to injury it came with parsley sauce of the mass-catering sort: off-white, very gloopy and flecked with tiny particles of what could have been silage for all the flavour of parsley they yielded.
In interests of balance, we managed to share a slice of lemon meringue pie that was perfectly edible. The pastry was relatively crisp, which came as a pleasant surprise. Less pleasant was its excessive saltiness, which would be more appropriate for a quiche.
The bill for the main courses, two bottles of mineral water and a bottle of much-needed red wine came to €38.75. I've no idea how much the coffee and lemon meringue pie added, having lost the will at that stage. tdoorley@irish-times.ie
The Garden Cafe, National Botanic Gardens, Glasnevin, Dublin 9, 01-8374388
WINE CHOICE
Show me a restaurant or a cafe that serves Blossom Hill, the Californian megabrand, and I will show you somewhere it might be best to avoid. The laziness involved in listing wine of this sort is more than likely going to be reflected in the food. Exploring a little further, we fell with relief on some Santa Rita 120 Merlot, which, while not exactly the wine of the gods, is perfectly pleasant and drinkable. There were also a number of half- and quarter-bottles, including some from the dependable Argentinian producer Trapiche.