Shanahan's on The Green

I felt curiously nostalgic as I sat down to eat in Shanahan’s. This same building once housed another ‘on The Green’ restaurant called White’s. On these same premises, back in the late eighties, a very fine chef called Michael Clifford fired what were probably the first shots aimed at freeing Irish fine dining from the twin tyrannies of classicism and comfort eating, part of a pan-European revolt led by young French chefs. The agenda was often misinterpreted by restaurateurs and misunderstood by diners, causing ‘nouvelle cuisine’ to become a term of abuse, its practitioners vilified for the meagre portions provided. The tale of the couple who came out of one of these restaurants and stopped at a Chinese takeaway on the way home has become a culinary urban myth.
The present occupant of 38 St.Stephen’s Green has turned the clock back. John Shanahan’s restaurant is unashamedly a bastion of comfort eating, albeit expensive comfort eating. It is in essence an American ‘rib room’ a concept familiar to me from dining in similar establishments in New Orleans and Seattle.

On arrival we were ushered downstairs to the bar, a room tricked out not unlike a gentleman’s club with polished wood tables and enveloping armchairs. Trouble was they’d crammed in a few too many and it was difficult to reach a vacant seat without clambering over a fellow guest. Still, once settled and breathing the herbal aromas of Campari, the evening started to take shape. In a glass case stood JFK’s rocking chair, the one he ferried all over the world in Air Force 1. Portraits of US presidents adorned the walls. William McKinney, another whose life was terminated prematurely, stared at the back of my neck as I drank.
We were summoned upstairs where a whole loaf of superb fresh grainy bread beckoned, setting the tone for the evening in quality and volume. I can’t recall if our waiter said “I’d recommend the steak” but it seemed somehow perverse and sacrilegious even to contemplate ordering lamb or sea bass. I did take his recommendation for a starter, the sautéed garlic shrimp. My dining companion turned out to be a soup maven, surprising for such a slender soul, ordering a nourishing bowl of the ham and pea. The shrimp were springy, succulent so large many a restaurant would have sold them as ‘prawns’. They came with a proper sauce (not a miserable ‘jus’) of wine, capers and butter, a delightfully piquant accompaniment. When the next course arrived Helen’s delicate filet mignon was dwarfed by my rib-eye, surely the archetypal Shanahan’s dish. 24 ounces of prime steer on the bone, the Incredible Hulk of steaks, looked me in the eyes defying me to try the knife. I struck. It slipped through to the bone without deflection, revealing on the way that for once I’d found a chef who knew what medium rare meant. Precision cooking indeed.
My reason for choosing the big beast was not pure greed. The rib-eye or rump is the tastiest steak of all, thanks to the marbling of fat. I figured if I only ate the core I’d have more gastronomic bliss than you’d get from a dozen fillets. I expounded my theory but Helen wasn’t convinced. I was right, though, the steak was utterly delicious. For accompaniment we had some lovely fresh asparagus cooked properly al dente and enough onion rings to fill a soldier’s helmet. Portion control was not on the menu.
The 300-item wine list is supervised by talented young sommelier Nisea Doddy and as a result there’s a wealth of interesting drinking, although wealth is what you need if you are to explore it to its full potential. We paired a brilliant Alsace Riesling recommended by Nisea, Domaine Ostertag Grand Cru 1999 with one of my favourite Châteauneufs, Chapoutier’s feminine, floral La Bernadine 2000.
We concluded the meal with a state-of-the art baked cheesecake and a trio of crèmes brûlées, perfectly fashioned and elegantly displayed.
Service bordered on the cuddly, so much so I felt guilty for not offering the waiter a chair. Overall, pretty impressive but for my part if I was spending that sort of money – around e200 for the food alone – I’d like more fireworks, like an inventive chef exploring new territory and less of a menu that runs on culinary tram tracks. Still, evidence that Shanahan’s have got the formula spot on was all around me. The place was packed with people who were having the time (and the steak) of their lives. Informally dressed, they were not the usual mix of luvvies and corporate suits who infest Dublin’s best restaurants. They looked like ordinary couples who’d saved up their pennies to dine here and I suspect that many of those present did so on a regular basis and raved to their friends. Shanahan’s is super-competent, reliable; its appeal majors on serving stylish posh comfort food in an equally comfortable and stylish setting but with minimal formality. If there’s one word I’d use to describe Shanahan’s it’s honest – but such honesty comes at a price, be warned.

Shanahan’s on the Green, 119 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2 Tel: (01) 407 0939