RESTAURANTS:As evidenced by this long, engaging lunch, L'Ecrivain remains at the top of the class, writes Tom Doorley
YOU CAN TELL only so much about a restaurant by reading the menu. But menus tend to fall into four broad categories.
There's the sort that induces a state of mild panic (as in "bloody hell, I thought this place was supposed to be interesting") as you scan the likes of roast rack of spring lamb with herb crust, rosemary jus, fondant potatoes, and a selection of vegetables.
Then there's the menu that suggests the kitchen is trying too hard. The symptoms can include such phrases as "saffron foam", "mango cappuccino" and "essence" of something another. You wouldn't be surprised to see mention of a "fennel enema" on this kind of menu. Heaven knows, Heston Blumenthal is probably working on it right now.
Another school of menus sends out a different kind of danger signal, albeit one that is hard to define. It generally involves the kind of wavy script you get on wedding invitations and dishes such as "symphony of the sea".
The sort of menus that tend to get my gastric juices flowing are (a) economical with language, especially prepositions and (b) a bit unusual. An example I came across recently read: "Dandelions, duck egg, black pudding." But it wasn't in Ireland.
As it happens, I don't think L'Ecrivain is trying too hard, but there were three foams (cumin, Parmesan and onion) on the lunch menu when we visited. As against two veloutés, one jus and one purée.
We ended up at L'Ecrivain partly because when anyone with sufficient funds suggests a lunch outing in Dublin it is always on the shortlist. But also because I've not been there for a while, and I had heard an occasional disturbing report that, while still very good, it was not quite as wonderful as before.
A starter of green asparagus, cured duck in wafer-like slices, baby morels (those exquisite mushrooms of early summer) and fried quail's egg was beautifully simple, with immaculately judged contrasts of taste and texture.
A very pretty treatment of rabbit with fine green beans, just enough "garlic butter" (not the sort you find melting on top of a steak, much more refined) and judicious use of wholegrain mustard, was delightful and let down only slightly by a lack of essential "bunniness". Wild Irish rabbits taste a lot more sauvage than this French version.
A pithivier of white asparagus and potato with spinach, pickled mushrooms and parsley purée was a reminder that L'Ecrivain has a way with meatless dishes that is rivalled only by Denis Cotter's Café Paradiso. A pithivier, by the way, is a kind of pie made with very buttery pastry of the flaky variety - but it doesn't really flake. This is not the clearest definition, but the point is that this one was impeccable, the contents surprising and effective, the parsley purée a perfect foil.
In our other main course, duck breast was partnered with Puy lentils and cherries (in the form of a jus), which seems quite classic and traditional. The lentils certainly worked, but the cherry influence was either very muted or subtly successful. A celeriac cream was as smooth as silk, a black pudding "pastilla" (or crisp filo parcel) was a pleasant surprise, and what was, in effect, a very busy dish came together in the mouth.
Many Dublin restaurants are starting to feel the pinch these days, so it was interesting and heartening to see that L'Ecrivain was full for lunch on a Wednesday. It's easy to see why. Judging by this meal, the cooking here is innovative, modern, disciplined and still rooted in the classic tradition.
With a couple of glasses of white wine, a bottle of serious red, and coffee, our bill left some change out of €200. This kind of attention to detail never comes cheap and you could easily spend €180 or more on a lunch much less impressive than this one.
Wine choice
L'Ecrivain has always had an excellent list. House wines include the lovely Chileans from Julio Bouchon at €30 (or €7.50 a glass) and the chunky Portuguese Pegos Claros (€35/€8.75). Our white wines were Martin Codax Albariño (€35/€8.50) and zingy Constantia Uitsig Sauvignon Blanc (€45/€12.75). Our red was the superb, fragrant, complex Redoma (€65) from port house Niepoort, but Rivola from the Sardon del Duero would have delivered nearly as much pleasure for €35. Domaine du Grand Arc Corbières (€45) is one of the finest ambassadors for this neck of the woods, while the hand of Vega Sicilia's former winemaker is clearly seen in monumental but elegant Mauro (€65). Rarities include such gems as Allegrini's Villa Giona 2000 (€120).