Roscoff Brasserie

John McKenna, as befits an ex-barrister, is a veritable master of the ear-tugging soundbite, an invaluable asset to have at this time of year when the guide launching season is in full cry and there are a finite number of free column inches on offer. “Here in the North,” he proclaimed, “The Epicurean Age has begun” and we all nodded in agreement.
Thinking about it later, I won’t swear to it but I’m sure I remember JMK saying something similar, shortly after the birth of Roscoff in 1989 (gosh, was it that long ago?) So what happened in the intervening years? And is it really true?
I’m not so sure. Hark back to ancient Greece and Rome. Then, as now, Epicurean philosophy was strictly for Epicureans – those devoted to the pursuit of sensual pleasure, especially to the enjoyment of good food. Even then Sophists (those skilled in elaborate and devious argument); Stoics (those who advocate the calm acceptance of all occurrences as the unavoidable result of divine will) and Platonists (those who believe the the world that exists is an imperfect reflection of the real thing) were probably in the majority. So is it today, I believe. But then I’m a Skeptic – someone who instinctively and habitually doubts, questions or disagrees with generally accepted conclusions.
Speaking of Roscoff, I recently had the pleasure of Paul Rankin’s company on flights to and from Australia. On the way back we talked a good deal about food, largely about the raw materials that go to make up a meal. The Australians are justifiably proud of their provender. Yet we both felt we had eaten nothing superior to what is available here in Ireland – and here’s the proviso – if you go looking for it. At one luncheon in the Adelaide Hills I dined on beef from the host’s own Angus herd; it was good, yet I don’t think it had the flavour of a joint I bought recently from a butcher in Delgany, Co Wicklow. And when it came to fruit and veg the stallholders at Adelaide’s vaunted centre of town food market were mere upwardly mobile barrow boys compared to the growers at the Pearse St. Co-op. We ate good cheese it’s true. Yet Paul and I reckoned that, with notable exceptions, it lacked the nuances of sophistication inherent in Irish artisan cheesemaking today. Our guys are a few years ahead of their Aussie equivalents, we felt.
With all this rattling round my brain it was illuminating to dine in ‘the new’ Roscoff which, to set the record straight, does not occupy the same premises as the original. This one was more central, up in the area that also houses two other good restaurants in Deane’s and James Street South. Roscoff is very different to Cayenne, Paul and Jeanne’s other maius opus in Belfast. Less funky, yet perhaps a tad more self conscious – the brasserie as art form. Still, a reception area/drinks bar segued into a pleasant room got up in an understated low-key manner with neutral cool shades prevailing. Roscoff Brasserie was manned by a staff who made you feel welcome from the minute you crossed the threshold, a commonality in Belfast, I’ve found.

We arrived mob-handed, a party of us, including the aforesaid JMK occupying two tables. Most decided to dine from the carte rather than take the £19.50-for-three-courses set lunch, whose mains – a choice of three – comprised roast chicken with caponata (for the uninitiated, a dish of aubergine and other vegetables, pine nuts, and anchovies, cooked in olive oil and served at room temperature, often as an appetiser), seared potatoes and a red wine jus; halibut with artichoke puree, fresh tagliatelle and a tarragon veloute and medallions of venison with potato and celeriac mash and braised cabbage. Adventurous enough, but our bunch of Epicureans clamoured for the roast duck breast with pomme mousseline, slow braised cabbage, roast salsify and green peppercorns, the saddle of rabbit with pot roast leg, fresh tagliatelle, tomatoes and basil; the roast hake with garlic and parsley butter, cockles, mussels, confit tomato and fresh linguini. Skeptic me opted for the oxtail ‘shephard’s pie’ with roast root vegetables and red wine sauce because I wasn’t sure how well this could be executed and, hence, intrigued.

Before this arrived I spoiled myself with the foie gras sandwich with crispy bacon, caramelised apples and Muscat jus and this, I have to say, was mouthwateringly delicious as only really good foie gras, briskly seared, can be. The roast pumpkin, shallot and gruyere tart enjoyed by the diner on my left looked another winner. In the event the oxtail proved a disappointment. It appeared to have been moulded in a ring or ramekin, with the oxtail flaked into think strips and was utterly sere, bereft of any succulence. For me there’s nothing like the lipsmacking hedonism of prising weeping oxtail away from the bone and mopping up the sticky juices afterwards. Here there were none except for the minimal drizzle of wine infused gravy flooding the dolly mixture veggies arranged in a circle around the centrepiece. While I’m full of admiration for Roscoff including oxtail on the menu I think this dish needs a rethink in design and execution if the flavours are to shine. Wish I’d had the haunch of venison, which looked great, but there you go.

Desserts got great plaudits all round. The millefeuille of fig and orange, the hot mango galette and the prune and armagnac semifreddo were very smart indeed. Some of us went for the crepes Suzette. I was disappointed to find that this was not fettled at table. This dish is simply not the same without scorched lapels, singed eyebrows or flaming hair!

The balanced and largely fairly-priced wine list ranged from the democratic (very acceptable Turckheim Pinot Blanc A.C. Alsace £3.75 a glass) to the downright dangerous (Chateau Haut Brion 1986 £250.00). The overall selection with, I’d say, a fair bit of input from Nicholson’s, was sound with some interesting Rhone selections, a welcome change from the norm.

Our average spend, I’d say was (ex-wine) around £32 a head. Add half as much again to compare with euro prices and you are up around middle-to-upper Dublin. I’m not going to make any comparative value judgements but I did like Roscoff. Sympathetic ambience, good table settings, pleasant staff and classically inspired cooking brim full of flavour yet with a light-handed touch. Food for the new Epicurean age, eh John? And even for sour old Skeptics like me.

Roscoff Brasserie, 7-11 Linenhall Street Belfast
BT2 8AA Tel: 028 9031 1150
Lunch: Mon-Fri 12.00 Noon – 2.15pm
Dinner: Mon-Thurs 6.00pm – 10.15pm
Friday & Saturday 6.00pm – 11.15pm