The Elephant’s Ear sounds like a Farrow and Ball colour. So it seems fitting that the smell of fresh paint greets us at the bottom of the stairs. We’re in the deep ’burbs in Churchtown in south Dublin. The Elephant’s Ear is a new addition to the Glenside Inn, a thatched pub which looks as traditional as a turf-toting donkey.
Two worlds meet in this building. The restaurant is housed upstairs in what I’m guessing is the old pub function room. Somewhere, an ephemera warehouse just got a new consignment of spinning wheels, books with cracked leather spines and milk churns, because it’s all clean lines and tasteful shades of grey up here now. Much more New England than Old Ireland. And although it’s a box-fresh fitout, it feels quaintly old fashioned. Neither bulbs nor bricks are exposed. The kitchen is a hatch rather than a floor show. They’ve done a clever thing with large mirrors so the ceiling lights curve away in a never-ending train of glittering bulbs. Creamy candles are dotted around the tables and nooks. Chairs are high-backed and covered with crushed velvet. Booths are generously sized with hefty tables.
The menu is a dizzying jaunt around the crowd pleasers of world kitchens. There are sprinklings of Asian, Mexican and Middle Eastern cooking, finished off with a large dollop of Sunday roast, and dinner lady desserts. Along that cook’s tour are things that work and some things that don’t. There’s one particular darling that needs serious therapy if it’s not to be sent immediately to live on a farm. We’ll get that one out of the way first.
I have tried and failed to get anyone in my house to like courgette spaghetti. So let’s see if this kitchen can spin that particular straw into gold. When I read “crispy courgette spaghetti” on the menu, I picture a crunchy tumbleweed of lightly tempura-ed shoe string courgettes. This might inspire me to fish the spiraliser out from where it languishes behind the biscuit tin. Sadly, no.
What I get looks good, sticks of courgette fried in a crisp batter. But they taste tragic, floppy and watery. It’s like being introduced to a hunk who turns out to have a clammy, wet-fish handshake. In fairness they know the dish is duff. The charming front of house guy apologises and brings some Parmesan crusted vegetables which show what they can do. We also get a taster of two tuna nachos, lusciously marinated fresh tuna chunks on two light-as-air crisp nachos. And yes, I think critic cover has been blown.
Across the table there’s a much better plate, two fish tacos, small wedges of fresh haddock fried, drizzled in chilli, and folded into a soft taco with coriander, fresh chilli and coriander.
The main courses take us away from those lighter dishes towards the waistband stretchers. There’s a lamb dish with pomegranate molasses. This is a sweet note too far for an already sweet meat. But it comes with great golden beets and a fluffy garlic yoghurt mayo that adds welcome smoky depth. A side of bacon potatoes is underwhelming, with thin-skinned waxy spuds.
My crispy duck leg is a classic of salty threads of brown meat coated with a sticky syrup layer, sprinkled with sesame seeds. There’s a good sweet potato puree and I love the carrot crisps that come on top of my salad.
Sticky date pudding comes on a slate. Oh, please no. It’s been a while. I’d hoped the builders’ merchants had started using up the surplus again. What’s on the slate is fine, with some squeezy bottle dots of excellent house made caramel. Across the table is a good soft-centred meringue with stewed berries.
We’re left with an unusual feeling of having had a Sunday dinner on a Wednesday night. And all this at the bargain price of €25 for three courses. Their “early bird” hangs around all evening Monday to Thursday. If you like being stuffed with mostly good things, for beyond the Pale prices, this is your venue. It’ll go a bomb on communion and confirmation days. They’re reaching for a bigger audience again. And with a bit more stretch I think they’ll find it.
Dinner for two with sparkling water and a glass of wine came to €68.
