Riva

A wet Tuesday in Hanover Square is not the most riveting place to dine. The pavements, washed clinically clean by the deluge, were deserted. The seagulls long since departed for wherever seagulls go when it’s pissing down. But hey, we were in a new (ish) restaurant, one that’s already attracted favourable reviews and we were out for a good time.

Riva is the brainchild of Dieter Bergman, long-time restaurateur and wine importer. He greeted us tersely at the door but didn’t offer to take our dripping coats which we had to drape around the two spare chairs at our table. Good job they didn’t take our request for a “table for two” literally. For a while he sat silently at a high desk overlooking the dining area, giving him the mien of a benign headmaster. By the end of the evening he’d disappeared.

The waiter waited until our stomachs had almost exorcised the pangs of hunger before actually waiting. This gave us the opportunity to study the typos on the menu, of which there were quite a few. I was particularly intrigued by ‘carnarloni’. Our starters took fully 35 minutes to arrive and when they did I was glad I’d chosen the black pudding, Crozier (a sharp blue sheep cheese) and apple tart over the enticingly-named fish fingers. These proved to be, as I’d predicted, elongated gougons coated in breadcrumbs. What I didn’t expect were melanomic fish fingers, flecked with dark brown moles, the fish within overcooked to the point of disintegration and, I have to say, hardly shouting “Fresh!” The dish came with what appeared to be egg mayonnaise, its stiff consistency defying all attempts at dunking and a ‘crispy slow salad’. For ‘slow’, read ‘slaw’, as the main constituent seemed to be red cabbage.

I’d wager the black pud was Clonakilty, though if so, it’s strange they didn’t name-check. There was not much evidence of Crozier blue either. The goodies came encased in slightly-too-oily puff pastry. Well, at least Riva doesn’t call it a ‘pithivier’, a pseudo posh French term increasingly finding its way onto restaurant menus. What’s wrong with ‘pie’ for Godsakes?

Riva’s wine list is a curious thing. For a start, it’s huge. It’s heavily Italian biased (I lost count of the Chiantis) and quite idiosyncratic. I’d hazard a guess that this is a commercial list spiced up with goodies from the proprietor’s own cellar, available at a price if you want one. At the top end there are wines for €800 and more (and not only French classics) yet there is plenty of decent drinking at around €19-25. To prove the point we took an Austrian Blauburgunder (Pinot Noir) listed at €19. It was delicious.

It was Bangles who solved, at a stroke, the ‘carnaloni’ mystery. It was not ‘canneloni’ (pasta) but ‘carnaroli’, a superior rice used in risotto. It was a heavy price to pay, though, for her ham, pea and mint risotto was overcooked almost to the point of mush. It was dry, too. The best risotti are the ones that are a staging post on the way to a soup. This one was totally bereft of flavour unless you struck a salty sliver of ham. Really, a very poor take.

I had the ’15 hour slow cooked’ rump of lamb, succulent, firm, none of that bootlace texture you get when slow cooking is badly done, it nearly saved the night. Alas, the waiter had neglected to tell me that the lamb would be reinforced by a mound of garlic mash, making the chips I had ordered superfluous. I had to taste them, a shame, because although these fries were hot and fairly crisp they were exceptionally sour and greasy. As though they were left lying in fat, reheated and badly drained.

Around this time our dozy waiter had gone off on his break and was replaced by a brisk, efficient girl who pointed out the dessert specials, written on a mirror at the far end of the room, apologising for the predominance of strawberries – “It’s what’s in season”. On another mirror, partially obscured by the aforesaid high desk, were listed the main course specials and wine of the day bargains, about which your man had omitted to inform us. Bangles grabbed a winner with the strawberry tiramisu, while I dipped out with the mille-feuille. It wasn’t the delicate frenchified confection the name suggested. I was reminded more of the old-fashioned cream slices my granny used to buy me as a treat.

I would have liked to have liked Riva. The wines are interesting, the menu choices generally sound. When I got home I took a look at some of the other reviews, including a good few on the web. If last night’s meal was typical there are a lot of people out there who have undergone a surgical removal of their palate, tastebuds and critical faculties. I found the cooking imprecise, the service negligent, the ‘hail and farewell’ non existent. Factor in a room exuding all the charm of Platform 1 at Limerick Junction and it’s hard not to conclude that Dublin needs restaurants like this like the state of Denmark needed Hamlet. The very reasonable prices notwithstanding, Riva has some gearing up to do if it’s to survive.

The damage: €89, ex-service inc 2 starters, mains, desserts, bottle of wine, 1 espresso.

Ambience: *
Service: **
Quality: **
Value for Money: ***1/2
Overall: **1/2

1 HQ Building, Hanover Quay, Dublin 2, Tel: 01 675 3577