RESTAURANTS:Good French bistro food, in a friendly neighbourhood restaurant
I'M GOING through a phase. It involves hankering after basic French bistro favourites and - here's the really odd bit - often finding them done quite well in Dublin. First there was Chez Max (and I apologise to all those who wanted the secret to remain guarded) and now there's Browne's in Sandymount. Again, I suspect that the many devotees would be much happier if it remained shrouded in mystery.
Browne's is a cafe most of the time, but on Fridays and Saturdays it's transformed into a restaurant that does stuff such as Toulouse sausages and carré d'agneau, flageolets l'ail, with such casual ease that Sandymount might be Dublin's very own French quarter.
It's very much a neighbourhood restaurant. I got the impression that virtually all the diners were within walking distance of home - and I was eating with someone who is virtually Browne's next door neighbour. But more importantly, I was eating with his daughter Isolt, aged 12, who is a nascent restaurant critic. She sent me a review of Locks last year that was a model of analysis and well-judged enthusiasm.
Isolt, like many restaurant critics on a night off, skipped the starters and got stuck into the steak haché "aka le hamburger" which I have to say was big and full of flavour. The mince was enriched with chopped onion, parsley and, I suspect, Worcester sauce. Chips were thin and crisp.
Her dad's confit de canard was a perfect example of how it should be done. Very tender within, very crisp outside. And served with a dollop of slowly cooked red cabbage and apple. No frills, no silly bits. And bloody good.
My moules marinière (yes, it's becoming a habit) were plump, sweet and, rather oddly, served with a slice of garlic bread which just seemed a bit incongruous. No complaints, though.
The chunk of lamb rack ("Don't order it well-done," advises the menu, sterny but wisely) seems to be the speciality of the house. A quick glance around the room confirmed that they get through a lot of young sheep on an average evening. It was full flavoured (being a teenage sheep rather than a toddler, so to speak) and was cooked to just the right point of pinkness. I have an aversion to raw lamb, while beef tastes good to me even when it needs a tourniquet.
A 10oz sirloin steak came as requested, fairly bloody. More unusually, it came with proper béarnaise sauce, and lots of thin, crisp frites as they call them in Burdock's. This was a very jolly dish, very comforting, very simple but not all that easy to whip up at home at the end of a long day. And the salade verte, which forms part of the deal, was, remarkably, entirely green. This is virtually a first for me in Ireland where monochrome salads are not encouraged.
Peas and French beans (yes, I have a bad conscience about eating them out of season) were deliberately just overcooked in a little pan with a lot of garlic and were a meal in themselves.
The shared pud was a chocolate pot, small in size but containing the essence of a small cocoa forest. It was the sort of stuff that could be mixed with a litre or so of cream to produce an average chocolate pot.
What Browne's does is not advanced cooking but it requires skill and dedication and experience. It's essentially old-fashioned home cooking with a very French accent. And how often do you encounter that in restaurants? Really good, comforting food and cheffy stuff are mutually exclusive. The cheffy stuff is a wow when done with the intensity that it needs; when produced by a poor or even average kitchen, it's grim.
Wine choice
Browne's produces the sort of stuff that we would like to do ourselves, but they do it with panache and create a friendly buzz that few dinner parties can match. The bill for three of us, including three glasses of wine, lots of mineral water and a 7UP, came to €124.Browne's will let you Bring Your Own for a modest corkage fee, and the proximity of an excellent O'Brien's off-licence makes this a very attractive option. In ways, it seems recklessly extravagant to order from the list, but the prices are fair. Emiliana Chileans are €19 and Alaia, a chunky Spanish red, is a keen €24. Juan Gil Monastrell, in something like the same mould, is €25. Château Côte-Montepezat 2005 tastes like a decent Saint-Emillion, despite the fact that it's from the Cotes de Castillon and costs only €27. Domaine Chante Cigale Châteauneuf 2005 is the dearest wine, and actually a bit of a bargain at €43.