Fitzers is painted in a shade of red that feels less “restaurant” and more “velvet curtain about to rise”. Behind the front bar, bottles are stacked to the ceiling, amber light bouncing off them until the whole counter glows. Step past it and the drama ramps up. Walls are filled with framed vintage posters and sketches, the kind you would expect in the green room of a theatre. It’s more Paris bistro colliding with Dublin theatre than polished fine dining – a room that chooses atmosphere over restraint, and delivers it admirably. The Green Hen once lived here with a French bistro menu. The space has been repainted, relit and recast in an entirely different play.
The menu is a compendium of French-Irish dishes written in the language of Béarnaise, bordelaise, gratin, jus. Starters run from €9.50 to €18.50, mains from €28 for cottage pie to €47 for fillet steak, and desserts are €12.50. The wine list is similarly traditional – Bordeaux, Burgundy, Champagne – bottles starting at €38, glasses at €9, reaching stratospheric levels with Bordeaux north of €1,000. To drink, we opt for the Lupi Reale Montepulciano d’Abruzzo (€40). It’s a simple wine, but it does the work.
The Castletownbere crab au gratin (€18.50) arrives in a white oval dish with a breadcrumb crust, flecked with herbs, and a claw planted on top as proof of life. It looks the part, but under the crust there isn’t much crab and what’s there doesn’t really come through. It doesn’t bubble with heat and anticipation like a gratin should. The béchamel takes over, muting rather than carrying the flavour, and at €18.50 it starts to feel less like a celebration of Castletownbere shellfish than a breadcrumb delivery system with a bill attached.
The Irish cider and onion soup (€9.50) is set down looking like it lost the argument in the kitchen. The onions haven’t been taken anywhere near the slow, dark collapse that gives the dish its depth – they’ve been sweated quickly so it stops at greige, as if someone mistook “onion soup” for “onions in soup”, halting the dish before it had any chance to find where it was meant to go. The bread for the crouton is stale, the cheese nondescript, and instead of that molten lid you want to break into, you get a dry plank resting across the bowl like a warning sign.
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The cottage pie (€28) comes in a gratin dish, artfully topped with peaks of piped potato, the tips golden, like something from a Bake Off technical. Beneath it, though, things are less certain. Mince is mixed with small chunks of beef – not something I’ve seen before – and there’s the usual scattering of peas and carrots. A little pot of jus comes alongside, though what it’s for is anyone’s guess – I end up dipping the beef into it. The problem is flavour: there just isn’t much and it lacks precision. At €28 it is poor value.
The veal escalope (€39) is cooked properly, tender enough, but the sauce doesn’t pull its weight – a brandy cream with dried morels that suggests depth without ever delivering it. On the side, the “house” chips are those standard jobs with the curly lips on the edges. Hot and harmless, but nothing I’d claim as “house”.
A tasty vanilla crème brûlée (€12.50) arrives in yet another gratin dish, smooth custard capped with a thick crust of burnt sugar that cracks nicely. Garnishing it are sliced strawberries and a sablé biscuit. A little more butter would add flavour and a crumblier texture.
Service is warm, the staff know their lines, and plates all arrive hot. None of the mechanics falter. On the page the menu reads well, promising richness and flavour. But what strikes you most, as you sit in the red room with chandeliers glowing and mirrors multiplying the light, is that the food lacks precision. It feels as though nobody has bothered to taste the finished dishes. There is no contrast, no lift, no single plate that makes you smile. And when the food doesn’t deliver, the prices begin to pinch.
I had really wanted to love this restaurant. I remember shopping for vegetables in Fitzpatrick’s on Camden Street and the excitement of Fitzers on Dawson Street when it opened. But this latest iteration, for all the red paint and theatre, just doesn’t hit the mark. For what it costs, you expect more than attentive, good-natured service and hot plates. You expect flavour – and that’s the one thing that never quite arrives.
Dinner for two with a bottle of wine was €147.50.
The verdict Plenty of drama, but the food never quite makes it to the stage.
Food provenance Kish Fish, Donal O’Sullivan Shellfish, Pat McLoughlin butchers, Caterway.
Vegetarian options Dublin Hill goat’s cheese with bruschetta, Irish cider and onion soup, and courgette flower and stracciatella ravioli.
Wheelchair access No accessible room or toilet.
Music The O’Jays, Boz Scaggs and Gino Vanelli.
