What’s in a name? My own personal belief is ‘Not a lot’. Many of the world’s ‘must buy’ brands are mundane names reduced to strings of initials – International Business Machines, Bayerische Motoren Werke etc. Others are merely the founder’s surname set in giant type on a factory wall – Hoover, Dyson, Ford, Armani. Would their brands have been any less successful had these gents born the monikers of say, Kelly, Humphries, Jones and Tullio? Frankly, I doubt it.
Nor do I believe even a German remembers, as he climbs into his swanky new 2.8 litre Passat that Volkswagen means ‘people’s car’. Unless you get it sadly wrong – like Rolls-Royce’s attempt to market a motor called Silver Mist in a land where the word ‘mist’ means ‘shit’ – the success or failure of any product rests on its inherent appeal to the target market.

I’d even extend this theory to restaurants. L’Ecrivain might have seduced a few by its suave French title but in the main the punters are there to eat the big Kinsale man’s cooking. And I don’t think Kevin Thornton’s march to two stars would have been halted had he been born Hanrahan or Barrowclough. Nevertheless you do wonder what motivates a restaurateur to pick a name, in particular a non-eponymous one.

Sometimes it’s obvious – like Chapter One, located in the basement of The Writer’s Museum. Sometimes not. Take, for instance Darwin’s, a new restaurant located in virgin territory for the gastronome, Aungier Street (almost opposite the Carmelite church Dub-wittily dubbed ‘The Ma in the Jar’). I happen to know that this restaurant is owned by butcher Michael Smith and an Indian gentleman who has the Surma in Camden Street.

So why ‘Darwin’s’? Over dinner there, Bangles and I came to the conclusion that it’s is an obscure pun on ‘The Origin of The Species’ and, if so, not a bad one for a restaurant that prides itself on serving certified organic and hence entirely traceable meat.

Décor, it has to be said, is mildly disturbing, causing you to focus on your fellow diner with more than usual intensity to prevent the orange and blue lighting assailing your peripheral vision. This, and a couple of weird dine-alones at other tables combined to make us feel like bit players in a cult art movie – Son of Dinner Rush?

The waitress, 100% normal and an avid enthusiast for both the cuisine and the wine list, brought us back to reality. We took her advice and ordered the famous anthropologist’s ‘slow-cooked meatballs’ and the wild mushroom and avocado risotto. A wonderful choice, as flavour was rampant in the tiny, tender meatballs and the imaginative risotto, into which I imagine a little cream had been worked at the last minute (a cheat, but who cares?) was utterly delicious. I was astonished to find a South African Chenin on the short but pertinent wine list and Thelema’s Stormy Cape, with the sure hand of Gyles Webb behind it did not disappoint, counterpointing the wild funghi to perfection and holding up against the bravura meatballs. Something of a bargain too, at e18.50. The list seemed to be around 50/50 Paddy Keogh’s Wines Direct and James Nicholson and from the ingenuity and obscurity of some of the choices I’d say the restaurant leaned fairly heavily on the advice of these two sound suppliers. The Rustenberg Bramptons OVR was not so happy a selection – why anyone goes to the bother of blending six varieties to end up with something that, tasted blind, I’d have marked down as Pinotage is simply beyond me. It took an age to soften even a tad, maybe double decanting would have helped.

The rack and loin of lamb, I have to say, was exceptional. Cooked medium-rare as requested, there were 3 substantial chops in the rack and a generous fillet of tenderloin, over a bed of nicely-worked scallion mash. Bangles cornered the half duck and set about it with a will. Crisp outside, moist and tender within, it hit the spot. Elsewhere, primeval looking T-bones were featuring, a carnivore’s dream each one. No one will go hungry here. The waitress (ex-Cooke’s so we found out later) correctly advised that we wouldn’t need side dishes and fetched a plate of Irish flaggery, augmented by green beans. Our oh no’s were stifled as we encountered crisp crunch and real depth of flavour – were the veggies organic too?

I ordered the Irish cheese plate. Three good hunks rather than five or six silly ones, including the ace creamy, opulent Cashel blue, not the sad, salty, saran-wrapped version you get in Tesco – what the hell do they do with it? Does Patrick Grubb have a second quality specifically for supermarkets? Nice oatcakes too and a garnish of dates and fresh figs. All very tasty but the superstar proved to be Bangles’ ‘sticky fig and date winter pudding, caramel and vanilla glaze’ – “Divorce Irish-style” she pronounced. “You secure your decree nisi then come in here, gorge yourself on this and weep floods of tears.” One mouthful and I could see what she meant. Only an oversight stopped us having the Andrew Quady Essencia Orange Muscat (e4 by the glass, e20 a bottle to complement this bold, aromatic lump of original sin.
Finally, coffee. I find you can scream “ristretto’, ‘tiny’, ‘minuscule’, ‘just a dirty cup’ at Dublin waiters till you’re blue in the face and still wind up with half a gallon of so-called ‘espresso’. Not here. Two extractions of Illy arrived at table, both as correct as Charles Darwin’s hunch that we evolved from primates and, to me, nearly as significant, sending out signals of the seriousness of the restaurateur’s intent.

Darwin’s is maybe doing itself an injustice by encouraging people to think it’s a steakhouse. The chef, an Irishman new-returned from Australia, is clearly a very savvy guy – the arrangement of the meatballs, for example, was very stylish. And even though the concept undoubtedly majors on the excellence of the meat there is much more on offer – market-fresh fish, smart dishes like the risotto and the warm baby squid and rocket salad. Also an interesting vegetarian menu – two courses for e23.

And is it value for money? Well, with a three course plus coffee pre-theatre dinner at e25 no-one is going to be phoning Joe Duffy. Though we snuck in at five-to-seven we went à la carte, spending an honest e113 ex-service on all the above, including the two bottles of wine. Next week I’m nipping back at lunchtime for a tennersworth of prime steak butty and chips. I enjoyed Darwin’s hugely, only gripe no vintages on the wine list and the aforementioned scary glary lights – but fear not, the dimmer switch is on order as I write!

Darwin’s, 16 Aungier Street, Dublin 2 Tel: (01) 475 7511
Lunch Mon-Sat 12-3pm. Dinner 5.30-late. Pre-theatre Mon-Fri 5.30-7pm