I’ve been banging on about the lack of proper French restaurants in Dublin for years. Loudly. And, until recently, to absolutely no avail. If dining trends are cyclical, the 2015 closure of Racine in London – where I once dined on Henry Harris’s famed tête de veau with sauce ravigote, minus the calf’s brain (something to do with supply, I was told, though it didn’t stop the obvious jokes) – marked the end of bourgeois cooking and the dominance of new Nordic cuisine and its small plates.
Now, London has gone full bouchon (Lyonnaise style restaurant). Harris is back, rattling pans at Bouchon Racine (good luck getting a booking), and bouchon-inspired spots are springing up faster than champignons after a downpour: Josephine Bouchon, Henri, Café Francois, Marceline – proof, if it were needed, that the Gallic revival is in full swing.
And Dublin? Rien du tout. Until now. John and Sandy Wyer got wind that the space above O’Brien’s pub, conveniently next door to their fine dining spot, Forest Avenue, on Sussex Terrace, had become available. Formerly The Sussex, the room came pre-loaded with bistro charm: Victorian flourishes, casual wooden tables, and banquettes you can sink into. A few tweaks later, et voilà – a proper bistro, at last. They’ve named it Forêt, staying true to their woodland theme (see also: Little Forest in Blackrock).
The menu is a celebration of French cooking at its most confident. Petites Assiettes (snacks) include house-made saucisson, leek vinaigrette, Bayonne ham and oysters mignonette (€3 each), a bright and briny opener. From the tempting Les Entrées, comes the terrine de campagne (€16). This rustic staple, straight from the bouchon playbook, is robust, slightly coarse, and made with Oxford Sandy and Black suckling pig from Dermot Allen’s Winetavern Farm in Wicklow. It’s crowned with an amber gelée, lightly laced with sherry (if I’m not mistaken), delivering a rich, savoury depth when spread onto the toasted sourdough. The violet mustard on the side is sharp enough to jolt you awake, while the cornichons add just the right tangy crunch to balance the richness.
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For our other starter, a salad of green beans (€12) mingles with rocket, lettuce, hazelnuts and potato in a velvety dressing that pools on the plate, topped with grated mimolette, the nutty Edam-style cheese from Lille. It’s simple but beautifully executed.
The French wine list is a salute to tradition, carefully chosen without falling into populist clichés and favouring low volume producers. There are eight wines by the glass (which are also available as half bottles), and the Forest Avenue house wine, a very good Burgundian Chardonnay (€48), carries us happily through the meal.
The fish, halibut Grenobloise with artichoke purée (€28), is stunning. The skin is gloriously crisp, and the pearlescent flakes of fish are so perfectly cooked they practically glow. Capers and chives bring a bright, salty punch, while pickled celery adds crunch and a vinegary bite. A creamy, lemon-spiked sauce ties everything together, while the artichoke purée sits quietly on the side, offering an earthy counterpoint to the fish, fondant potato and sauce. It’s the dish of the evening, without question.
Across the table, my daughter Belle has the chicken au vin jaune (€26) which is also very tasty. The bronzed, crackling skin hides succulent free-range breast meat, while the sauce – enriched with Jura’s famed Savagnin wine, aged under flor for six years – delivers nutty, rounded depth. It’s paired with kale, finely chopped morel mushrooms, and riz à la paysanne: buttery rice laced with tarragon and dotted with tender nuggets of chicken.
Desserts walk the line between indulgence and restraint. The crème brûlée is tempting, but there’s only room to share, so croissant pudding (€8) it is. Croissants from the Wyers’ Una Bakery are transformed into a luxurious bread-and-butter pudding: crispy on top, custardy in the middle, and swimming in Cointreau caramel and custard. The vanilla ice-cream, with an intriguing touch of buckwheat, is bold yet balanced.
Forêt is a masterclass in why the classics endure. Why butter, cream and meticulously sourced produce remain the holy trinity of good taste – and why a perfect croissant is never just a croissant. It’s a love letter to the French bistro, where every dish is cooked with precision, seasoned with authority, and served with an unwavering respect for tradition. The attention to detail goes beyond the plate, from the well-considered wine list to the understated ambiance, making it more than just a meal. It’s an experience. And with prices so thoughtfully pitched, it’s poised to become a firm favourite.
Dinner for two with a bottle of wine and water was €148.
The Verdict: It’s Lyonnaise bouchon in spirit and pure joy on the plate.
Food provenance: Glenmar, Kingsbury Wagyu, Winetavern Farm, McNally Farm, and Castleruddery Farm.
Vegetarian options: Leek vinaigrette, egg mayonnaise with celeriac rémoulade, onion velouté, green bean salad and vegetarian pithivier for main course.
Wheelchair access: No accessible room or toilet.
Music: French classics, from Georges Brassen to Gillian Hills.
