Dax Wine Bar

Sorry if I’m going off on a rant, but I really wanted to eat in a particular restaurant, was pitilessly denied the opportunity and, choking on bile, need to unburden myself.
In Dublin’s unfair city, smugness abounds. Hardly surprising in a milieu where pampered luvvies constantly convey the impression to the rest of us that their favourite occupation is dunking their backsides in a bowl of cream. But does this air of self-regard have to spread to the bloody hospitality industry? Whatever happened to ‘hospitality’ anyway?
Gueuleton opened up only recently in the Fade Street, Dublin 2 premises that formerly housed the ill-fated Pierre Victoire. The mission statement promised the triple USP of French provincial cooking, value for money and informality. Sounds like my sort of gaff, I thought. Rubbing my hands in gleeful anticipation, I phoned The MW, inviting him to dine there as my guest. We agreed to meet next door in Hogan’s South Great Georges’ Street pub which appears to have some connection with the new venture.
Efforts to book proved futile, even after the 11-8-11 guy broke down under interrogation and confessed that, yes, the restaurant actually did exist despite what he’d told me earlier. Finally put through, I was met with a curt “We don’t take bookings…” click, line went dead. That night I called into the restaurant on my way down the street. It was heaving. A dozen people came in behind me, pushing me up to the counter. My request for a table was met with a laconic, unconcerned “Be about an hour.” “We’ll be in Hogan’s. Any chance you could give us a shout?” I asked politely. “No” he answered, dismissively.
I don’t know why this isn’t possible. At the excellent Gotham City pizza purveyor in Anne Street they send you into Keogh’s next door and call you when your table is ready. Anyhow, we downed a pint and returned some forty minutes later, asking “How long now please?” “At least another hour.” No apology, no affirmation of regret. I heard next day that two critics had bestowed rave reviews at the weekend. The good burghers of Dublin, ever alert to the modish and ephemeral, had flocked to Fade Street like pigeons to a discarded doner kebab. Lunch through dinner, choc-a-bloc was the norm. Before we headed out the door I took a last long look round. Every member of staff bore the mien of a precocious kid whose parents had told him what a clever little devil he was. “Look at us. We own the world” were the words the faces spoke, with a subtext of “We’re full to bursting. Who needs to take bookings? Who needs to be civil to punters we can’t accommodate?” Well, let’s wait and see, shall we, lads? Dublin is full of ex-trendies, be warned. Rant over.
We grabbed a cab and headed for Dax, a new wine bar/restaurant in Upper Pembroke Street with even less food miles under its bonnet than the Gueuleton we’d abandoned after it had abandoned us. Dax, in Les Landes, is the home town of Olivier Meisonnave and the new venture is the place he always promised himself during the years he grafted as one of our best maîtres d’, sympathetically interpreting Kevin’s Thornton’s arcane cuisine for a largely uncomprehending public while maintaining the service element necessary to sustain a Michelin star. Olivier’s courtesy, tact and interest in his fellow man always marked him, in my eyes, as a future restaurateur. Top man.
Choice is of the essence in Dax. You can drink or dine at the bar, or in the open plan lounge, furnished with comfy low-slung armchairs and knee-height tables. Or dine more formally in the restaurant area. Décor is restrained modern, with an impressive flagged floor. We chose to loll in the armchairs. The service is friendly-correct and (early days) a little under-rehearsed, which lent a charm of its own. I’m sure the ex-maître d’ will manage to achieve more cohesion without turning Dax into a mini-Guilbaud.
The menu is set to change weekly. They post notice of this by printing an instalment of a ‘Gastronomic History of the Week’ on the left hand page – Aïoli to Apicus – a little like the one we do in ‘Eat’. It included dishes that would double as ‘light bite’ or starter: European charcuterie plate (the italicisation’s deliberate, read on); terrine of foie gras; stuffed tomato and the intriguing ‘Crab Gâteau with Leaves (my mother’s recipe)’ which I just had to have. Compliments to maman; it was good and tasty, a generous amount of fresh white crab meat, bound with eggs and, I think, a touch of cornflour. The MW had a plate of pan-European tapas, tasty without being wholly engaging, maybe a little lacking in ‘Wow!’ Factor. The leather-bound wine list offered140 European wines, not a Kiwi, Chilean or Aussie in sight. Given this limitation, it seemed a thoughtful compilation assembled from the catalogues of reputable suppliers – the sort of wine list we could do with more of. 24 were offered by the glass and as they have invested in a viable keeping system this was another plus point. During the course of the meal we sampled six: two whites, two reds and two ‘stickies’ ranging from just off dull to delightful, average price around e6 a glass, fair value by current Dublin wine bar standards. I particularly liked the Estramadura Palha Canas Tinto 2002, a very decent example of Portugal’s recent impressive hike in standards. It went brilliantly with my estouffade of beef – serious food; a thick round of rump, braised in red wine and topped with lightly caramelised shallots. It came with a generous portion of small potatoes that had benefited from being roasted in goose fat. The MW’s flying-fresh wing of skate had received even more minimalist treatment; browned in a hot pan, baked for a few minutes then served with a beurre noisette and a state-of-the-art scallion mash. Portions were more than ample. We declined the Mature European Cheese Plate but just about stretched to Christmas pudding. Rich, fruity, substantial, it complimented Florent Baumard’s rather good Côteaux du Layon perfectly.
The MW tackled Olivier about the lack of New World representation. The latter justified the exclusion on the grounds that there was sufficient good drinking to be had from France, Spain, Italy and Portugal without going further afield. Fair point. Overall, we both thought Dax had made a bright start. The bill, which also included three coffees, came to a touch over e103, reasonable value for good food and generally sound wines, decently served in a sympathetic ambience. The starters could maybe do with a tad more personality. The wine list needs raking over to weed out the duller bottles. But overall, the attitude at Dax is right and that’s what will count in the long run. Toffee-nosed Gueuleton, please take note.

Dax Wine Bar 23, Pembroke Street Upper, Dublin 2 tel: (01) 676 1494 Lunch Mon-Fri 12-2.30. Dinner Mon-Sat 6-10.30. Open 6 days for wine and cheese.