As the weather has turned from autumn to winter this year, there’s been the scent of something in the air. No, not the smoke from the fires burning in hearths around the country, not the crisp smell of a frosty morning, but the tantalising aroma of rib of beef and the intoxicating fragrance of a thick and juicy gravy. It’s roast season, and nobody is happier than me.
I don’t think it’s too much of a reach to call myself one of Ireland’s foremost carvery experts. My credentials: I am in my third year of co-hosting a podcast dedicated to snuffling out the best meat and two veg that the pubs and restaurants of the greater Dublin area and beyond have to offer.
Emer and Esther’s Sunday Roast with Emer and Esther is, as the name suggests, a niche podcast I present with my good friend Esther O’Moore Donoghue. Over 32 episodes, we’ve travelled the length and breadth of the capital – and outside it when possible – to find the best roast dinner on offer. We concocted the idea during our daily government-sanctioned pandemic walks, dreaming of the day when we could once again collect a brown tray and some cutlery rolled in a paper napkin and stand with gratitude in a carvery queue.
So, what makes the perfect carvery? Firstly, the space needs to be welcoming, and the queue should be orderly. I remember visiting one eatery on a particularly busy Sunday. Tensions were high because everyone in the queue could see that the beef was running out. As I gripped my brown tray, a group of young men strutted in and slotted themselves in at the top of the line. Feet were shuffling and mouths were muttering in discontent. Would these youths steal the last of the joint out from under the heat lamp – and our noses?
READ MORE
As it happened, the young lads were only ordering sandwiches and posed no threat to the carvery system, but the uncertainty was discomfiting and the vibes were changed, changed utterly. Carvery rule number one: keep your house in order.
[ Where is the best carvery in Ireland? I’ll find it, even if it kills meOpens in new window ]
Secondly, at least two decent potato options should be on offer. Mash and roasties are the mainstays. Esther and I have eaten enough mass-produced roast potatoes to know that you need to keep your expectations low. It’s very difficult to keep roasties crispy or fluffy under the sweltering lights of the bain marie, but as long as they’re not too chewy or anaemic, we’re happy.
Mash should be well-seasoned and not too wet. Portioning out the mash with an ice cream scoop is welcome, but not imperative. Extra potato options are always welcome, especially for any vegetarians in the group. I have fond memories of a delicious potato croquette at The Coachman’s Inn near Dublin Airport, and indeed this has encouraged me to recommend The Coachman’s to many fellow carvery thrill-seekers.
‘Luckily, we’re an equal opportunities employer when it comes to gravy, and have yet to meet one we haven’t been happy to drizzle over the carrot-and-parsnip mash’
Thirdly, gravy distribution is key. Some of the best carveries we’ve visited have implemented a double delivery system which entails applying gravy between layers of food, and then again over the top. Gravy quality is perhaps the most diverse factor we’ve encountered on our carvery journey. Sometimes it’s clearly powder from a giant catering tub mixed with boiling water and resembling oxtail soup; sometimes it’s obvious that a little more care and attention and perhaps some stock or juices have been incorporated.
Luckily, we’re an equal opportunities employer when it comes to gravy, and have yet to meet one we haven’t been happy to drizzle over the carrot-and-parsnip mash. Probably the best we’ve encountered on our travels was during a sit-down Sunday roast at The Lodge at Ashford Castle, Co Mayo. It takes them four days to make it. Four days! You’d nearly want it doing the washing up after all that.
We’ve developed our own vocabulary over these three years of carvery- and roast-hopping. The “active joint” refers to the cut of beef that’s under the heat lamp and being carved in the moment. We refer to the entire carvery set-up as the “rig”, and we especially like to see a “rig on wheels”, which indicates a literal movable feast. If we suspect a gravy is mostly granules-based, we like to say it’s “had help”.
My favourites? I’d have to go for Bar 51 on Haddington Road, Cumiskey’s on Blackhorse Avenue and the Poitín Stil in Rathcoole, but if you were to ask me again tomorrow, I might have changed my mind. Such is the dynamic life of a roast detective.
