Ely Wine Bar

This week, my good buddy The Knocklyon Princess managed a personal best, arriving at Ely, the agreed venue, a mere 13 minutes after the appointed hour.

Ely has three manifestations: Customs House Square, great for dining outside on a summer’s day; Hanover Quay (which my voice recognition software has just typed in as “hangover key”) and the original clubby venue in Ely Place. It was here that we had arranged to dine. While waiting, I sipped chilled manzanilla sherry, marvelling for the umpteenth time at its unparalleled ability to stimulate the appetite.

This branch markets itself as a wine bar/restaurant, rather than the other way round. I’ve always been amused by the way the waiter hands you the wine list in advance of the menu. Ely isn’t the sort of wine bar where clusters of party animals fuel up on rustic plonk; nor is it one where yummy mummies sit sipping pale Pinot Grigio while bemoaning the dearth of skilled carpenters in South County Dublin. As one glance at the carte will tell you, Ely is serious about its wine.

The wine list is comprehensive and the available selection, by bottle or glass, commendably enormous but there’s only a token nod in the direction of under €30. At €40 and beyond, things start to get interesting. To understand Ely you have to remember that the concept kicked off around the time we acquired a taste for life’s little luxuries, a time when the Irish wine market had hit double-figure growth. Ely was conceived to accommodate these newly-discriminating drinkers. In those days, around €40 a head got you a simple-but-substantial plate meal and 3 to 4 big glasses of interesting wine. Proprietor Erik Robson’s father was an early practitioner of organic farming and the menu was structured around the excellent quality of his meat; simple food fettled from ethical ingredients. The ambience (which remains much the same today) was, deliberately made redolent of a members’ club.

Fast forward to 2009. The Princess comes tripping down the stairs and we are shown to table. She doesn’t have much of an appetite, compared to voracious Lefty, Sibella, Bangles or Litry Chick. She did manage two mussels from my starter. I could have done with more help. The portion was humongous; the mussels, slathered in cream and wine, meaty and satisfying. HRH is essentially a red drinker and, as I reckoned the dish wouldn’t take too tannic a wine, I picked out a supple Merlot Casa Lapostolle ‘Cuvée Alexandre’ 2004 from one of Chile’s signal producers. A small black mark; the wine brought to table was a 2005. In a place as serious as this the sommelier should keep on top of things and advise of the change of vintage. A good few of the listed wines were unobtainable, too.

I was about to order the organic bangers for auld lang syne when the young Swiss sommelier alerted me to the charms of the ‘special’ – rack of lamb accompanied by asparagus, mash and a tempting jus. The Knocklyon Princess took the chicken and avocado salad. The dishes duly arrived at table, with the waitress demanding “Which one of you is the pork chops?” “Neither”, I riposted. Her face fell. I demanded my rack of lamb but this was not an option. She summoned the sommelier who had taken the order who said, in his best Swiss-English “Oh, bugger. Sorry. That was last night.” He had the grace to look contrite so I forgave him and tackled the pork chops. They were delicious. He still looked crestfallen. “Shit happens,” I told him.

At this juncture we were joined by CK for a glass of wine. He also came on, football style, as a substitute for the Princess when it came to dessert. Our follow-up red was John Duval’s ‘Plexus’ Shiraz/Grenache/Mouvedre Barossa 2006. John, for the uninitiated, used to be the winemaker responsible for icons like Penfold’s Grange before he went out on his own. If the ‘Alexandre’ was absorbing, the ‘Plexus’ was, for another tenner, magnificent.

CK is an amusing cove, strong on opinion, delivered in a polished, articulate manner that makes you suspect he’s been practising at home in front of a mirror. The Princess had marked my card saying “He prefers the company of women” and after ten minutes I came to the conclusion this was because, set among males, he would be in danger of having his opinions crammed up his arse by some aggrieved macho socialite. What the hell, it takes all types and CK’s observation on the dryness of the fudge cake was both amusing and apt. My own assortment of sorbets and ice creams was adequate, no more.

We spent a deal of money, especially on wine, but then we drank fine wines. The food was ancillary but the quality of the raw materials did shine through. Ely has got expensive though; Green Nineteen, for instance, does a fine burger for a tenner, here it’s €17.95. I still love the place but then I’m crazy about wine. I fancy those seeking the complete dining experience will be less inclined to tolerate the obvious defects. It’s hard not to conclude that Ely is in need of some creativity to put a bit of buzz back into the food offering. The introduction of a few more bargain basement wines wouldn’t hurt, either.

The damage: €149.75, ex-service, for 1 starter, 2 mains, 2 desserts, 2 bottles of very good wine

Rating: ***

Verdict: Probably the best place to drink wine in Ireland. Food sound and honest in the main but menu looking tired. Needs a gee-up.

Ely, 22 Ely Place, Dublin 2. Tel: 01 676 8986