Tom Doorleyreviews Bon Appétit in Malahide, Co Dublin
In the old days, when the dogs in the street had a shrewd idea that Charles J Haughey's finances were not quite kosher, but before they were able to put their collective paw on the actual details, the Bon Appetit was a kind of northside Le Coq Hardi. It had good, old-fashioned food, a kind of Irish cuisine bourgeois in every sense of the phrase, and its clientele tended to be d'un certain age.
Times have moved on. Malahide, always the northside's very own little bit of the southside, is more affluent than ever. There is certainly a market there for a high-flying restaurant; the sort of place that could garner a Michelin star and a strong following from the Mercedes-driving classes.
The new Bon Appétit is clearly aimed at that market. It has been created and is run by Oliver Dunne, who earned an enviable reputation as a highly talented young chef when he was at the helm in Mint of Ranelagh. There is crisp linen napery, sharp-suited French staff and a wine list that starts at €35. It has the kind of respectful hush and odour of money that you get in two- or three-star establishments in France.
You know, as soon as you enter, that this is going to be an expensive experience, but all the signs suggest that it will also involve a lot of pleasure. Well, up to a point. When the sommelier suggested a bottle of red Sancerre before we had chosen any grub, I began to wonder. When I opened the rather weedy wine list and found that (a) there were no half bottles and (b) that the only red that I fancied cost €60 a bottle, as against €40-€48 in other Dublin restaurants, I got a bit tetchy. I uttered a silent prayer that the food would smooth away such irritations. But it went unanswered.
The amuse bouche was a slice of lightly seared foie gras on bed of haricot beans and skinned broad beans, with a sweetish gravy. Perfectly edible, but far from being a "wow" dish.
A starter of small and perfectly seared scallops was presented on a roofing slate, with some crisp pancetta and celeriac mash and a cumin-scented dollop of what appeared to be very liquid mashed spud. It sounds more exciting than it was.
The other starter took the biscuit. Four small rolls of cross-hatched squid were each presented on a little rugby ball of mashed spud. Both squid and spud were, for me, unbearably salty.
In the course of the meal we were offered bread just once. Were they being stingy or just plain inefficient? Does it matter?
Roast suckling pig was deconstructed in the fiddly way that pretentious restaurants seem to champion: there was a square of belly, three tiny loin chops in a piece, a disc of white pudding with raisins, a disc of apple-flavoured black pudding, and something that may have been the fillet.
There was also a mound of mashed potato, which seemed to contain an equal quantity of salt.
Slow-cooked and quite well flavoured shin beef had been taken off the bone and moulded into a disc. This was presented with shiitake and oyster mushrooms on top and a slice of seared foie gras at the summit. Mashed spud (they seem to like it here) formed a foundation. Everything was stiff with salt. Had it been less saline, it would have made a not very remarkable bistro dish.
We confined ourselves to wines by the glass, two of Chablis with the starters and two of Crozes-Hermitage with the mains. There was one bottle of still mineral water, but no coffee. Aperitifs were a gin and soda and a Budvar. The bill came to €164.55 before service.
Bon Appétit, 9 St James's Terrace, Malahide, Co Dublin, 01-8450314
Wine choice
Our sommelier eventually apologised for the paucity of choice on the wine list, but I think at that stage he had twigged why I was there. Our Chablis Domaine Gérard Vullien was pleasant enough and cost €11 a glass. The Yann Chave Crozes-Hermitage was €13 a glass or €60 a bottle (it retails in places for €18).
Domaine Talmard Mâcon-Uchizy is a whopping €40, and Olivier Merlin's lovely Pouilly-Fumé is a staggering €65. I don't know Domaine de la Rossignole Sancerre but it would need to be quite amazing to justify its €52 price tag. Sipp-Mack's pleasantly ordinary Pinot Blanc from Alsace is, deep breath, €42. I'm afraid it goes on like this. Grossly inflated wine prices are supposed to subsidise great opulence, impeccable service, armies of staff, an encyclopaedic list and minute attention to detail. I don't know what they are meant to do here.