Ernie on Ernie's

Ernie on Ernie’s, now there’s a headline. Alas this magazine’s tasteful typesetting constraints prevents me from flagging it Sun-esque fashion, in 90-point Cooper Black Ultrabold. On second thoughts, perhaps as well, as this Dublin restaurant no longer enjoys the high profile of yore. The tiger generation who dine at places like One Pico and Halo would only wonder “Where the hell is Ernie’s?”
A good question. One could live a lifetime in Dublin 4 without finding Mulberry Gardens. The location is discrete, to say the least. “Up the laneway alongside Kiely’s pub/opposite Marion Gale’s” is maitre d Robert Cahill’s direction, depending upon the sex of the inquirer. This non-PC categorisation is a clue to the nature of Ernie’s. It has a slightly old-fashioned, almost ‘clubby’ atmosphere; it wouldn’t be a first choice for a clutch of feisty females on a night out; and the clientele could best be described as ‘mature’ – on the night we dined there even those couples who must have been under forty didn’t look it.
Remarkably, the place still reeks of the late, well-remembered Ernie Evans, on whom be peace. A genial, expansive, amply-proportioned chef-proprietor of the old school, Ernie kept table principally for deal doers, especially high-living politicians, their ladies and their businessmen friends in days when Dublin didn’t have too many fine-dining restaurants. It was a place for discreet assignations of every kind. Ernie Evans’ private art collection (some absolute beauties) hangs on the walls, his key to an American city in a glass cabinet in the side-room that serves as a before-and-after bar.
Yet Ernie’s is not stuffy. The courtyard and fountain, the white cane furniture upholstered in powder blue, the soft pink walls and the paintings combine to give an airy and Provencal feel. Service, by a skilled team who’ve been together a long time, is attentive, expert, deferential but not grovelling.
The food is by today’s standards conservative. The menu lists a mere seven starters and ten mains, plus specials. Poached salmon, Dublin bay prawns, rack of lamb, fillet of beef and supreme of chicken all make an appearance, there are no novel twists, no signature dish. Robert Sultan, the talented young chef, has not really got to grips with putting his own stamp on the food and indeed it’s doubtful that the regulars would wear it if he did. The wine list is rather old-hat. It’s Ernie Evans’ list, largely French, the great names of yesteryear are all there and if you want to drink high-priced bordeaux and burgundy, Baron de L or La Chapelle, you can. Italy, Spain and the New World get a scant two pages, after a whole page of port. We couldn’t find a bargain or a surprise anywhere.

My starter was not great. The concept appealed – a tian of fresh crabmeat and green-lipped mussels over a bed of pickled cucumber, served with a roasted lemon mayonnaise – but the execution appalled as vinaigrette and lemon combined to overwhelm the seafood and murder the Chablis (Albert Pic, e35).

Back to the drawing board for this one, Robert.

From this false start it was onwards and upwards, the food got better and better. I made frequent raids on (let’s be appropriately discreet and call her) Madame X’s lovely pancetta and goats’ cheese risotto. I had to go for the panfried veal sweetbreads in a port wine and tarragon jus. Sweetbreads, the flared trousers, the purple Robin Hood vest of meats, nostalgia on a plate, are us. Well, me anyway. And they were great, crisp outside, succulent within, the jus, liberally bestowed, tasting of its components. I had to have a half bottle of St.Emilion 1998 (turned out to be Lussac-St.Emilion) to wash it down with. Meanwhile the dark lady of my sonnets had plumped for the roasted monkfish, coconut, ginger and coriander sauce and the rhetorical “Do I really like monkfish?” was soon replaced by “This is brilliant”. She was spot on. After a year’s worth of premium-priced disintegrating, flavourless flab I too had convinced myself that monks weren’t what they used to be. This crisp, aniseedy, just landed specimen, superbly fettled, restored my faith at first bite. Portions of both mains were generous. The accompanying vegetables – carrots and french beans conscientiously reworked and a flavoursome mash – met with our approval. Altogether, honest cooking of decent ingredients. Nor did the desserts disappoint, except that the tiered lemon meringue (I bet if they took this off the menu a riot would ensue) was a trifle too sweet for my inamorata’s taste. My own hot soft chocolate pudding, served with a passion fruit and Campari sorbet was everything I’d hoped for and a bit more. Coffee was good, not great. One plus point – iced water was provided and freely given. No one tried to flog you a bottle of Ballyhoo Spring loaded with a sky high mark-up, increasingly the trend these days.

The bill came to e185. Expensive? Yes, but I’m not going to debate the value for money/are we being ripped off question other than to say that it’s getting harder and harder to start/own/run a restaurant in Dublin. And harder and harder to find three courses, coffee, and a half-decent drop of wine in anything like a sympatique ambience for much less than e200. There seem to be an awful lot of people around who can afford to dine out on this scale. There may not be for too much longer, then market forces will take over and changes will come. We may be asked to sign a claims waiver on entering a restaurant, who knows. If you have the wherewithal and are weary of the trendy and ephemeral, you might just like Ernie’s.

Ernie’s, Mulberry Gardens, Donnybrook, Dublin 4 Tel: (01) 269 3300 Fax: (01) 269 3260