La Mère Zou

I don’t envy A.A.Gill one whit. While I’m sure The Sunday Times’ philosopher and (occasional) food critic’s regular dining companion is a charming lady and probably makes a mean non-alcoholic rum baba, I’m certain my ‘Blonde’ offers more in the perception stakes. Well, actually she’s not quite a blonde, but she sure is insightful.

As we entered the lobby of La Mère Zou our nostrils were harangued with an amplified version of the aroma you get when you sit in a sales rep’s car – a 50/50 blend of Brut 99 and Mr. Sheen escaping from a little yoke hanging off the mirror. Towards the end of the meal the Off-Blonde disappeared, returning within minutes to utter the classic profundity “It’s just that the air freshener was designed for a bigger jacks” something I wouldn’t have sussed in a million years.

Luckily the fragrance didn’t penetrate the interior which was tastefully tricked out in deep coral walls above interesting arty frescos. Linen was white and substantial, cutlery sparkling. A pleasant young Frenchman showed us to our table. Deadly authentic, we might have been in Lyon, Rouen or any one of a hundred French towns. There were two menus, one a three-course Early Bird (pre-7.30) with a choice of five mains. The Off-Blonde, frugal darling that she is, went with this one whilst greedy pig moi invaded the carte, winkling out those delicacies I don’t cook at home because no one else eats them – andouillettes and sweetbreads. From a short, interesting rather than absorbing, wine list we picked a bottle of house red from Languedoc that turned out to be decent gear.

The dining room was pure wall-to-wall conversation but with the tables spaced far enough apart not to make it a convention. And no hairdressing salon background music – hooray!

Food was staggeringly good, Early Bird quite mainstream but still Gallic tinged, the carte taking you deep into the heart of France. The purée of white turnip as a bed for the madeira-sauced sweetbreads was nothing less than inspired. There was plenty to eat on the carte if you weren’t into offal; we saw other diners tucking into moules frites and big portions of rib of beef, pink within, charred without, just how I like it. Everything tasted fresh and real. The insomniac coffee ice cream that came with the profiteroles must have given the Kenyan economy a lift, never mind the Off-Blonde. “My God, do they have de-caf?” was her reaction to the first spoonful. My French cheese assortment was generous, every piece in prime condition. The tot came to e83 – no service charge – for three courses each, wine, a coffee and two (only thing overpriced) still waters. Two Early Birds, a bottle of enjoyable wine and two coffees will set you back a mere e63, fantastic value when you consider that last week I paid e49 for two mains, two coffees and a bottle of much inferior house wine in Dame Street’s spartan Gruel.

22 St.Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2 Tel: (01) 661 6669.