Long-haul asparagus can be as thick and woody. But here in L Mulligan Grocer, a Dublin pub I last reviewed nearly seven years ago, are some local green specimens spindly and draped on a puddle of béarnaise. Irish-grown asparagus is the reason I’m here tonight. Co-owner Seáneen Sullivan tweeted about getting a batch of asparagus from the Co Louth farm Drummond House. And I got there as soon as I could. But holy sainted spears, it’s Sunday night (the worst night of the week to eat out) and there’s no sign of any asparagus.
Asking for the vegetable you heard about on Twitter is drawing more attention than I like, but needs must. First, it’s not on. And then (phew) it is. That’s the thing with a rare and precious ingredient: it’s sometimes so fleeting it can’t even be put into print.
Mulligan’s has settled into itself in the seven years since it opened. The children’s books in which the menus arrive are a bit dog-eared and one is missing its cover. But there’s nothing shabby about the food. It’s less pub and more gastro, served on large glazed plates with swirls and dabs of things. This can be smoke and mirrors to hide dumbed-down ingredients, but not here.
That silky sweet asparagus is worth the trip alone. It comes with a simple but great béarnaise and a Gubbeen chorizo crumb. There’s herb oil here too and a scattering of smashed almonds. It’s a plate of potential that might make us look twice at those 49-cent supermarket vegetable deals, herding Irish vegetable growers into extinction. It takes three years to coax an asparagus crop into production. That’s three years of looking at a field and hoping for the best. So the asparagus we eat in Irish restaurants is almost entirely Peruvian, Dutch or Spanish, depending on the season.
Since Mulligan’s broke the ground on the idea of putting good food in good pubs, others have followed. But the gastropub means more than wedging the chips into an enamel mug. it can still be difficult to find that no-brainer of an idea: a plate of local cheese in a pub near where it’s made.
Asparagus aside, the other starter is a fluffy smoked fish croquette, a burger sized crisply fried dish that has a little more spud in it than fish but is good nonetheless. The sides are what make it: a crisp pickled fennel and radish salad, a sweet brown onion puree and a lemon wedge charred so its juice has thickened and sweetened.
There’s more fennel in a salad with the pan-fried hake, which is good but has the metallic tang that hints that this fish might have been frozen at some stage. Given that it’s Sunday night, this is forgivable, and everything else on the plate is perfect. My free-range chicken kiev is more than just a retro tribute act: the best bit is a juicy drumstick coated in crispy crumb. A beetroot slaw is made with red cabbage but is good nonetheless and there are twice-cooked chips served skin on (in the obligatory gastropub enamel mug). The floury jenga chips with the hake are chunky as table legs, and perfect.
We end with a shared Irish cream cheese chocolate brownie, a luscious wedge of just-warm decadence. There’s a house-made chocolate shortbread biscuit half dipped in white chocolate, and the brownie is bedded down in a streak of blood orange caramel that’s as good as it gets.
If there’s a seven-year itch in restaurants where good intentions and menu ideas drop into a dutiful groove, then L Mulligan Grocer isn’t showing any signs of it. Putting great Irish food into a great Dublin pub takes dogged commitment. And L Mulligan Grocer has it in spades. Lots of imitators are doing watery versions of this place. The prices are also around the level they were when the place first opened, which is nothing short of a minor miracle. Sunday nights just got themselves a go-to venue.
L Mulligan Grocer
18 Stoneybatter, Dublin 7, 01-6709889.
Dinner for two with orange juice, sparkling water and a shared dessert came to €62.
Verdict: 8/10 Hardworking heroes give us somewhere great to eat on a Sunday night.
Music: Nice.
Facilities: Basic but fine.
Wheelchair access: Yes.
Food provenance: Exemplary. Real connections to the Irish food scene.
Vegetarian options: Good. The tofu steak sounds tempting.
An oasis in Temple Bar
There aren’t many peaceful spots in Temple Bar, Dublin, so Cocobrew coffee on the small side-street that is Bedford Row was a find. It’s a bricks-and-mortar place that grew out of a VW van selling beefed-up coffees.
Cocobrew takes the bulletproof coffee idea (melting a glob of butter into your brew) and removes the dairy. Instead they add cocoa butter and something called MCT oil, typically manufactured from coconut or palm kernels. The food is supplied by Limerick-based “healthy” treat people Nutshed.
I had a cocobrew with a raspberry and peanut butter blondie sitting up at the window seat. It’s probably my first and last bullet-proof coffee experience. It starts out well but by the end, as it cools, it all tastes a bit vegetal. But it’s a lovely place and they do regular Arabica coffee, a good deal cheaper than the “superfood” version.
Cocobrew, 5 Bedford Row, Temple Bar, Dublin 2
