Tibor's Bistro

Not everyone wants to trek into town to dine. The appeal of nipping into a restaurant for a bite and being able to walk home afterwards is pretty obvious. Dining in your neighbourhood restaurant on a regular basis confers the benefit of a developing camaraderie between the restaurant and its customers.

Of course, as soon as the restaurant starts to acquire a reputation, jungle drums start to pound and pretty soon, diners from other parts of the city arrive to discover what the noise is all about. Regular patrons tend not to be over-critical and treat the odd hiccup with generosity. The blow-ins on the other hand, having made the journey from, say, Blanchardstown to Rathgar, tend to consider a super-dooper gastronomic experience, complete with all bells-and-whistles as their due. I’ve long reckoned it’s a given that the further or the more difficult a journey to a restaurant is, the more picky a restaurant critic gets.

Sibella and I loved the room at Tibor’s Bistro, in Vernon Avenue, Clontarf. Although quite large – I’m hazarding a guess at 60-70 ‘covers’ – it was warm and enveloping, decently furnished and glassware and mirrors sparkled in unison; altogether a lovely ambience in which to dine. The menu was sensibly short and the winelist well thought out, with an eclectic round-the-world selection that included some surprising choices. As this was my birthday dinner, I opted for a ‘spoil’, a bottle of Ch. Patache d’Aux Medoc 2001, positive value at 40 and currently, like most 2001′s, drinking beautifully.

My starter was huge; in certain other restaurants it could have stood for a main; a generous portion of warm chicken livers over toasted ciabiata, surrounded by a field of crisp green salad, sympathetically dressed. Sibella had ‘”the goat cheese thing.” Up to about 18 months ago everyone did ‘a goat cheese thing’. I pride myself on being an early cliché spotter, so hadn’t eaten one for at least 5 years. Still, I took a forkful and, yes, it was delicious, a really good ‘goat cheese thing’ set off by slices of pear and a honey and almond dressing. Overall, the quality augured well for what was to come.

Sibella took the lamb cutlets, which were fantastic; the meat, perfectly cooked to her requirements, yielding rich flavours. It came North African, or maybe Sicilian style, with minted couscous, black beans and a tomato concasse. Unsure of the black beans she took a side order of rather good mash. I chose what was described as ‘ Tibor’s Bistro Steak’, described as ‘a 12 oz rib-eye marinated in mustard, oil and garlic, served with salsa verde and home made chips’. The charming and efficient waitress enquired as to the desired state of my steak and seemed to understand perfectly what ‘”the rare side of medium rare” meant. When it arrived, looking grey and unappetising, it was the medium side of well done. What’s more, if, which I doubt, this steak started out as a twelve ouncer it had been on a crash diet during the time spent between butcher and plate. To their credit, it was replaced without question. What was disturbing was one of the four girls at the next table had sent her own steak back only minutes before. My replacement, though similarly pallid, was at least a more convincing size and arrived cooked as requested. It was grossly deficient in flavour however (I have doubts that it was actually rib eye). The chips, waxy ones, were excellent. Sibella called for a side dish of vegetables which turned out to be a Celtic tiger update on an old horror story – remember the ‘Irish flag’? Carrots, broccoli and cauliflower served on a microwaveable dentist’s dish? Here the cauliflower had gone; in its place, three spears of bullet-textured, charmless green asparagus – yech!

Desserts, as the wine waiter, a rather OTT Hungarian gent, predicted, were the glory of the meal. In particular my panna cottta, topped with a tart berry compote, sprinkled with ripe blueberries and accompanied by a home made ice cream in which the vanilla stood out was as good as anything I’ve had in ages. After we’d finished dessert your man came to table to try and sell us… ..dessert wine. We declined, also coffee when I saw they’d got one of those lazy boy bean-to-cup machines.

As neighbourhood restaurants go, Tibor’s is pretty good. The ambience; the service (though I did knock a star off for the wine waiter trying too hard to upsell); the generous portions, the starters, the desserts, the winelist all pleased. But let’s return to the vexed question of my steak. Leaving out the question of provenance and whether or not the cut was actually rib-eye, I can only speculate re what went wrong at the range. Personally I don’t marinade steak, I find it impedes the cooking, especially if there’s salt in the marinade. Sometimes I prepare it in the Florentine fashion, rolling it in oil and lemon juice immediately prior to cooking. I max the heat, blacken the ‘crust’ and cook briskly, testing for ‘doneness’ by using thumb pressure or a probe. I rarely get it wrong. Cooking steak is not rocket science; a restaurant chef should be able to accomplish it with precision. As rib-eye seems to be something of a signature here you’d think Tibor’s would concentrate on getting it right.

Tibor’s Bistro, 11b Vernon Avenue, Clontarf, Dublin 3 Tel:01 833 3989

The Damage: 132 inc 2 starters, 2 mains, 2 desserts, bottle better than average wine

Ambience: *****

Quality ***1/2

Service ***1/2

Value: ***1/2

Overall ***1/2