Local hero? Farine, Wandsworth
Farine is the latest venture by the coffee gurus behind local chain ‘Press.’ Taking over the premises of what was the ‘Barmouth Kitchen,’ it sits ... Read Feature
I’ve just come back from a weekend in Dublin which went exactly as you would imagine.
Arriving late Saturday morning we indulged in sorts of hijinks and shenanigans whilst we skipped light-footed from hostelry to hostelry; oh what scamps we were.
A Sunday roast was planned but not just any roast, one at F.X Buckley’s, Dublin’s famous steak restaurant. It’s often listed as one of the top 10 steakhouses in the world and at roughly 19 Euro, you can understand why.
Situated on Crow Street, a hop, skip and a jump away from the pubs on Temple Bar (so more of a lurch, stagger, and slip,) F.X Buckley’s appearance is rather American with black and red the dominate theme.
There are descriptions of the various cuts of steak accompanied by pictures of celebrities who may or may not have eaten steak at one time or another.
Outside of the roast, the menu is dominated by steak, with prices in line (though in Euros,) with what you’d pay at a similar London establishment. I cannot comment on these, though the gentleman on my left who ordered a 16oz T-Bone, looked very happy.
But back to my plate: the centrepiece was a piece of prime rib, which may have been the platonic ideal of prime rib and that all ribs less prime look to measure themselves against. Though obviously not the stars, the rest of the ensemble did not disappoint.
There was a shallot, roasted and sweet, a solitary heritage carrot, two types of potato firstly creamy chivey and mashed, secondly roasted in duck fat and about the size of a golf ball, tenderstem broccoli and a gravy so thick and dark it possessed its own gravitational field. Though that morning I had not so much awakened, but surfaced, this was all washed down with my share of a bottle of pinot noir, which at 45 Euro felt like good value.
I’ve had slabs of prime rib before and usually they’ve been like something you’d have second thoughts resoling your shoe with. This was the real deal, beautifully cooked, as tender as an angel’s kiss and on the inside as pink as Barbie’s wardrobe choices…just my luck to be experiencing it whilst enjoying a hangover you could measure on the Richter scale. With wine and tip, the bill for lunch came to 60 Euro, not cheap, but nothing is in tourist Dublin except perhaps your self-respect.
Vowing to return when my body and soul were in a better state, or at least speaking to each other, we made our way down the street intent on hunting down the good time we’d be searching for all the previous evening. Retiring that night at about 2am, I can honestly say I think we looked everywhere for it.
F.X Buckley
2 Crow St, Temple Bar, Dublin 2, D02 N228, Ireland
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