When the food hit the table it was clear there was serious talent in the kitchen. I have a feeling I may become a regular, writes Tom Doorley.
And so yet another upmarket hotel, with the obligatory spa and celebrity-designed golf course, opens somewhere in rural Ireland. The Capella group seems to like Co Cork. The rest of its handful of seriously expensive establishments are in Austria, Mexico, Germany, Singapore and the US, but it has recently opened in Castlemartyr, the well-known bottleneck on the N25, and another example is due to be launched, in Castletown Bere, next year. As a vote of confidence in the upper echelons of the Irish tourism industry you couldn't ask for better. These hotels involve very serious investment. Capella, I suspect, tends to think long and hard before it leaps.
As a resident of east Co Cork, I was a bit bemused by the announcement that Castlemartyr was on its list. True, the 18th-century house, destroyed by decades of religious institutional use, and its fairly unspoilt parkland had potential. But how would it get the punters - and we're not talking ordinary punters - to come and stay? I didn't realise this when I rolled up for a midweek lunch the other day, but serious eating - of the sort that tends to get attention from Michelin - has been part of the game plan.
Admittedly, the Georgian Garden Room, where lunch is served during the week, has stunningly inappropriate prints on the walls (dinner is served in the dining room pictured), and it took 20 minutes to get our starters and 25 to get our glasses of wine. And the menu's seasonality is a little questionable. But when the food hit the table it was clear that there was serious talent in the kitchen.
A salad of wafer-thin and suitably dry Parma ham with discs of white peach and a mixture of watercress and rocket, dressed with the kind of balsamic vinegar that does not put your teeth on edge, was confidently simple and bloody good. It was much more than the sum of its parts.
A risotto of pumpkin with trompette mushrooms, thinly sliced confit duck gizzard and argan oil was less obviously successful but not bad. Argan, by the way, is a north-African nut, a bit like Col Gaddafi.
The bald menu description "pan-fried halibut, lobster colcannon, lemon parsley foam" translated into a brilliant main course. The fish was browned outside and cooked impeccably à point within. And the colcannon was a buttery amalgam of potato and lobster with no cabbage to overwhelm the seafood. This was one of the best things I've eaten in ages.
To quote from the menu again - and I admire the economy of the language - "asparagus, truffle egg yolk ravioli, wild mushroom fricassee" had a major job to do, as I don't like eating out of season. But the fine points of asparagus were almost as good as the best local sort is in June, and the ravioli were superb. Imagine egg yolks, runny but cohesive, wrapped in silky pasta.
Okay, I failed to pick up the truffle, but the overall taste was lovely, and the mushrooms - mainly chanterelles, with the odd chunk of boletus - added a fungal, autumnal depth.
It was only at this stage that I discovered who the talent in the kitchen was: Roger Olsson, a Swede who has spent the past nine years at Shane Osborn's two-Michelin-star Pied à Terre, in London. We could taste the pedigree, and he had only been there a wet week when we tucked in.
We shared a pud that turned out to be an unremarkable but perfectly decent lemon tart with ice cream and, er, singed marshmallow, and enjoyed a couple of faultless espressos.
Two courses cost €30, and you can have three for €40.
With three glasses of wine and a bottle of mineral water, this memorable lunch came to €115. As I'm lucky enough to live only 30 minutes away, I have a feeling that I may become a regular.
[ www.capellacastlemartyr.comOpens in new window ]
WINE CHOICE
A monumental list with prices to match. Best buys for mere mortals include the steely, superb Domaine Trapet Riesling (€44), from Alsace, Domaine Brocard's minerally Sauvignon de St-Bris (€42), Domaine Maratray- Dubreuil Bourgogne Rouge (€36) and Viña Hermosa Rioja Crianza (€30).
Thereafter the sky's the limit. Château Mouton Rothschild 1959, which is unbelievably good, weighs in at €2,900 - better value, believe it or not, than Château Pétrus 1988, at €1,800. Léoville Barton 1997 (€145) needs drinking up, but Château-Figeac 1989 (€299) is perfect now. Domaine Lamy Montrachet Grand Cru 1995 (€529) must be pure gold at this stage, but I reckon the Wehlener Sonnenuhr Riesling Kabinett 1999 from the magisterial JJ Prüm would give almost as much pleasure for a mere €49, provided you don't mind low alcohol and a bit of sweetness.
Even if I could afford it, I'd pass on Yquem 1982 (€589), and I'd prefer Croft 1977 (€279) to Cockburn's 1963 (€329), but these are problems I'm unlikely to face.
Best German selection in Ireland, by the way.