One of the things I sometimes wonder about is “Just how good are Irish chefs?” when push comes to shove. I mean, the quality of the likes of Kevin Thornton and Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud’s Guillaume le Brun is pretty much a given, for the punters go there expecting culinary pyrotechnics and the prices levied allow the chefs to indulge their creative fancies. The chefs from non-Michelin starred restaurants don’t enjoy this privilege. Their choice of ingredients and, indeed, culinary style is restricted both by the aspirations of the restaurant and the prices it can charge.

I’ve known Thomas Haughton from Harvey Nicholls for a good few years. When I first met him he was cheffing at Luttrellstown Castle, preparing a banquet for some lunatic American PR guy under severe constraints, not the least of which was a blow-in butler who bore the demeanour of Herman Munster’s loopy cousin. Thomas coped manfully, I have to say and fair play to him.

The other day I was delighted to be reunited with Thomas at a blow-out at Harvey Nicks. Based on a theme of ‘ten things you have to taste before you die’ our hero was given free reign with a kaleidoscope of exotic, expensive ingredients – from foie gras to auruga caviar to Alaskan king crab to wagu beef to sweetbreads and truffles, all wine-matched to perfection.

We kicked off on HN’s rather good house champagne, a splendid tipple if you like that dry, delicate but not quite austere style – and I do.

The ensuing meal was a feast for the senses and every dish was as prettily presented as I’ve seen in years. The diners around us seemed to be enjoying themselves mightily too, albeit on the regular menu.

Afterwards we retired to the bar to do armagnacs followed by all manner of cocktails, Mojito’s mostly.
Lunch ended (for me) at 12.15pm.

Still managed to catch the 7.25am to Wexford though. Sometimes I surprise myself!