Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud

Minerva demanded “This Michelin thing. What do you get?” I took a deep breath and ventured “The package. The works. A theatrical experience. Art, drama, imagination, creativity and panache. Expensive ingredients, lovingly, time-consumingly prepared. Plus a cast of thousands attending to your every whim before you know you’ve got one…”
“And is it worth the money?” demanded Diana, more pragmatic of my dining companions. “Errr…depends…” I replied. That’s as unequivocal as I can be.
You see it demands a degree of fatalism to undergo The Two-star Experience. You have to say ‘I’m going to go out tonight prepared to spend ex’ then sit back and enjoy the performance. Complaining if the bottled water costs an ‘extortionate’ ey or the espresso an ‘outrageous’ ez serves no purpose.
My partiality for Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud has not gone unnoticed. Last year I was accused by a Galway restaurateur of trying to ‘impose Guilbaud-like standards on the west’. However unfair the taunt, there’s no doubt that I do enjoy such luxuries as table settings that are both aesthetic and classically correct; decent white linen; copped-on waitpersons providing unobtrusive but efficient service. It’s all my mother’s fault. She spent most of her working life in charge of a regiment of serving staff, a treasure chest of priceless china and an arsenal of plate and cutlery, her task being to ensure that municipal banquets ran with military precision. Take her out for a meal and if the food was at least averagely decent the restaurant got the thumbs up. But what would be but minor blips to you or I – a failed light bulb in a chandelier; the wine waiter coming round to the wrong side – could ruin her evening. Worse, Doris’s impassive stone-set face made sure that if she wasn’t enjoying herself neither would anyone else. It would have been easy to be put off from dining-out for evermore. Instead, I learned to love her relentless professionalism. Ergo it came as quite a land when Guilbaud’s young bar waiter sought to wrong-foot me when I complained that my fino sherry had arrived suntanned-and-sweet. Patiently he explained (in the tones of a short-tempered teacher instructing a rather dim child) that they only had three sherries and dry was what I’d got. I had to stamp my foot to get him to bring the bottles and, after inspection, selected a manzanilla (the ‘extra dry’) as replacement for what was undoubtedly an amontillado.
From there things got better and better. Stéphane Robin, that impeccable maitre d’, ushered us into the restaurant where our every request got met promptly and pleasantly. We decided, in the interests of research, that one of us should eat à la carte so, as my credit card would be the one to suffer, I pulled rank. Diana and Minerva partook of the set lunch, which at two courses for e30, three for e45 has earned deserved plaudits from n number of food writers. From the wine list, we selected a crisp Alsace Pinot Blanc, one of the sea level bottles on a list that scales the hautes montagnes of French wine. We all adored the atmosphere. The Merrion Street basement really excels by day, the light floods in, augmented by the pastel colours and the pictures; a cheerful ambience that gives the lie to those who equate Michelin stars with stuffiness.
I chose a warm salad of velvet crab, flavoured with piquillos, coriander and lemon confit, home made ‘pork-crab’ sausage and spider crab jus. Expensive ingredients? Yes. Labour intensive? Too true. Over-the top? Certainly not. I counted something like a dozen separate ‘events’ combining to put this tour de force together yet all the flavours harmonised intelligently. Minerva’s terrine of tomato, basil and langoustine, saffron pickled vegetables, took the Oscar for best picture while Diana said she wouldn’t have swapped her roast goat cheese on toasted brioche for either of the other two.
The pigeon and foie gras is a Guillaume Le Brun speciality, for me an old flame competing with the turbot and duck confit, the Challans duck and the veal, girolles and crayfish for my affections. The pigeon was described as ‘slowly roasted.’ It was succulent in the extreme. Stéfane, good Frenchman as he is, can’t understand the Irish aversion to foie gras. Neither can I. Pigeon and foie gras are Morecambe & Wise, Thelma & Louise, Starsky & Hutch – inseparable. Diana plumped for the roast breast of chicken, white asparagus and young leeks, sounds like the ‘healthy option’ until you consider the rich foie gras sauce. Minerva had the fillet of John Dory with potato salad, shallot and champagne vinegar and a fresh herb velouté, another winner. And all the while the waiters come and go, talking, not of Michaelangelo, but of who, at what table, was at what stage; there was constant communication between these impeccably drilled young professionals. Three arrived synchroneously with the main course and lids over the dishes were raised and lowered on a count of four. Next, a waiter dashed forward to sweep the table clean of debris with what looked like a silver-plated razor shell. Pure foodies’ opera.
For dessert, I enjoyed a comprehensive selection of mainly French cheeses, all pristine. Minerva had the roast Victoria pineapple, glazed with spices and vanilla, exotic fruit salad (even typing out the menu must be a labour of love) and Diana, the iced nougat parfait, a simple, beautifully executed classic.
Verdict? Guillaume Le Brun is an outstanding chef, RPG, an oustanding restaurant. Lunch for two of this quality for e123 including a decent bottle of wine represents stunning value. My own orgy, including the confrontational sherry and a mineral water came to e117. Doubling up and adding (at least) e33 for your wine, takes you to e267, that’s before you’ve tipped or salved your caffeine craving so allow e300 if you and your ‘S.O.’ want to visit the borders of Bacchanalia. At this point you should maybe revert to the start of this review. What’s it to be? A pair of Jimmy Choo’s? Two air tickets to Rome? The weekly grocery shop? A mid range digital camera? Or the full monty Michelin moment at Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud? Only you can decide.

Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud, 21 Upper Merrion Street, Dublin 2, Tel: (01) 676 4192 Lunch Tues-Sat 12.30-2.15, Dinner Tues-Sat 7.30-10.15.