Restaurant Review: Thornton's

In thirty years of writing on the topics of food and drink I must have undertaken, literally, hundreds of interviews. Most were enjoyable. Many hilarious, notably Clarissa Dickson-Wright of ‘Fat Lady’ fame. Some were nightmare-inducing; I’d rather have all my teeth extracted, sans anaesthetic, by a blind butcher from Transylvania rather than re-interview the widow of a certain French wine baron. A few were downright difficult; I came away from my first joust with Kevin Thornton utterly exhausted. I remember gazing at my scant half page of notes, all I’d got from two hours’ prodding and prying, thinking “How the feck do I get 900 words out of this?”

It’s not, I decided, after a second shot a couple of years later, that the guy is taciturn or even just plain shy. It’s just that small talk, chit-chat, in fact any off-message topics simply don’t interest him; which is why what Lyndon Johnson used to refer to as “horse piss questions” were shrugged off. Fair enough, but it’s often trivia like “What’s your favourite breakfast?” that gives light and shade, personality and perspective, to an interview.

While we love “characters” the Irish aren’t too fond of enigmas. Even some of his peers find Kevin “high maintenance”, regarding him as something out there beyond the known world – ‘Planet Thornton’, mysterious, unfathomable.

Among the public there’s a notion that Thornton’s the restaurant is somehow not for the likes of you and me, even if we can afford the ask. Many feel more comfortable in less Brahman Michelin-starred establishments like L’Ecrivain or Chapter One. Furthermore, Kevin’s perceived penchant for creating food that stimulates the senses but but doesn’t necessarily fill the belly has spawned the urban myth that people who dine there stop for bags of chips on the way home. I’ve been around long enough to know that this was said about Patrick Guilbaud’s in the past and, before that, about White’s on The Green, Dublin’s first restaurant to embrace the concept of cuisine minceur back in the Eighties.

Everyone remembers ‘Chipgate’, described in a contemporary account as “a scene reminiscent of a frustrated parent lashing out at a petulant child for refusing to eat dinner.” Sad but maybe inevitable that Kevin Thornton may well end up hallowed in Irish folklore as the virago who stormed out of his kitchen shouting “Eat them, dickhead” rather than as the finest chef of his generation, which he undoubtedly is.

Sibella and I dined in Thornton’s last week. As we ascended the stairs our appetites were whetted by the maestro’s creative food photography on the walls. We just about made the pre-theatre offer, three courses for £49. I’m not going to dwell on dissecting the dishes we consumed. For the record, I took the forest mushroom terrine with verjus dressing; Sibs had the carpaccio of Bere Island king scallop with marinated autumn vegetables, slowly roasted beetroot, crisp summer leaves and a citrus and aged sherry dressing. We followed this with braised guinea fowl with its own clarified juices and fillet of turbot with parmesan crust and confit of lemon. Everything was picture-perfect on the plate in the modern idiom; the flavours fresh, clear and distinct, the accompaniments wonderfully appropriate, cuisine sublime.

Herself took the warm apple tartlet with californian raisin ice cream while I had the selection of Irish and French farmhouse cheeses, in peak of condition. We kept the cost down by not going overboard on wine from the ‘sky’s the limit’ list, sharing a bottle of Ken and Barbara Lawson’s delectable New Zealand Riesling, respectable value at €38. My espresso cost €7. I was going to make a big deal out of this until I remembered it came with a plateful of exquisite petit fours enough for four people, in effect an extra dessert. An honourable mention too, for the bread selection, as good and varied as any around town.

To deter more urban myth-making I’ll reveal that diners on that night were also treated to three extra courses, two of which came accompanied by pomp, circumstance and smoke, as if Kevin were saying “You want Adria, you want Blumenthal. I can do that.” I’ve dined at El Bulli and can verify that, here, there was the same kid-at-a-firework party excitement; also equivalent intense purity of flavour once the pyrotechnics subsided.

The room seems to have got progressively less sombre over the years without my quite being able to say why and the present front-of-house staff, led by an accomplished young maitre d’ and an enthusiastic sommelier have seriously upgraded the ‘cuddle rating’ since my last visit. Sibella, less flaithiúl than me when it comes to handing over dosh to restaurateurs, thought the value for money “Outstanding”. Me, I reckon that everyone in Ireland should endeavour to eat Kevin Thornton’s brilliant, brilliant cooking at least once in their lives.

Verdict: €143 for a glimpse of how olympian cooking combines elements of both high art and high wire? It’s a no-brainer.

Rating: ****1/2

Thornton’s Restaurant, 128 St.Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2 Tel: 01 478 7008