We never really bought into the whole gastropub thing over here. Not really, not the way the instigators, our near neighbours did. Our hearts were just not in it. Places like The Eagle in London’s Clerkenwell (often regarded as the fons et origo) played a part in genuinely changing the direction of modern British food. I can’t think of a Dublin analogue. Even as we’ve brushed up against the European experiment and made kissy noises in the direction of a café culture, buried deep in our Hibernian lizard-brain is an unshakeable belief in the sanctity of public houses as places of insistent and uninterrupted inebriation. Nose-bags are for the way home.
Dissipation does not allow for dinner. The exception to this is of course the carvery but those often appear to operate as ballasting-points for the ingestion of more pints. They are merely preludes to the business at hand. The business of getting Sunday-plastered. A couple of neighbouring boozers on the fringes of my D8 territory have, with recent changes of ownership, taken divergent approaches to feeding those at the watering hole. I’ve only eaten in one of them so this is not one of my Double-Takes™. One has been completely remade and re-branded, the other simply re-opened to the MVP (minimum viable product) template.
At the Clanbrassil Street/South Circular Rd junction The Libertine has gone all-in on the make-over – the old bird (formerly known as The Headline) has been tarted-up to within an inch of her life. She’s travelled to Turkey and been re-made. Everything that could be has been primped, dragged, lifted, bleached and firmed up. Directly across the street Leonard’s Corner got a new pair of tights and applied some lippy. This is the one that appeals to my tastes. I used to live down the street in a rodent-friendly flat. What is now Bastible was then a greasy spoon slinging fry-ups and chipped mugs of orange tea. Simpler times. It’s all orange wine now.
There’s currently something very fashionable (most apparently among the London food ironists) about a particular type of down-home cooking. It’s a crypto-proletarian thing. Soft Southern types now all want to be from Hull. I totally grew up eating chips and pea-wet. Chef Dan Chambers is an actual Yorkshireman and he has cooked in numerous modish spots like the tragically hip Bambi in London Fields. Before landing in this corner of Leonard’s he had embarked on a peripatetic pop-up tour across Europe. Every chef should experiment with wild oats.
The acquisition of Leonard’s Corner (along with Lucky’s and The Circular) now brings (nouveau-publican) John Mahon’s D8 pub portfolio to three. Both of those other places would be lost without the on-site lure of Coke Lane Pizza so he’s achieved something of a coup persuading a chef of this standing to stay put in this pocket of Portobello. I welcome the rover’s return. This will become apparent when you look for a reservation.
We chance our arm(s) and snag a walk-in table just before 6pm on a recent Thursday. The other tables begin to fill quickly with first-real-job types. Everyone seems very pleased to be there and they should be. The boozer is unchanged from my time around here. It’s the kind of shabby chic that doesn’t do too well in direct sunlight but you’re not here for the surroundings.
The (regularly changing) menu is concise with six options to start and three mains. With a table of 3-4 people you should be able to take the whole thing down. A plate of sharp creamy Labneh with deep-fried Kale and za’atar is a nice way to get the gastric party going. Some chilled Langoustines hit the table and they are the length of a young lady’s forearm. They are beautiful specimens and a request for an extra one (they come in pairs and we are three) is accommodated. The sub-division of prawns is a tricky business – a game of heads or tails. The texture of the meat though feels a little woolly and loose. They are difficult to peel. Pity.
It’s just a blip. A whole mackerel has simply been beheaded rather than butterflied. The cooking is superbly judged. There’s a sharp green sauce to strafe the oiliness of the fish and some waxy Ratte potatoes roasted in their papery skins. It is a perfect plate of food and perfectly exemplifies Chambers’ cooking here. I very much enjoyed a rustic and rib-sticking bowl of soupy Butter Beans with Hispi Cabbage and Smoked Gubbeen. Sustaining stuff. Then there’s the burger, which I’m told is something of a constant. It arrives cooked as requested and oozing profoundly bovine juices into its squishy potato bun. There’s molten orange cheese and a surfeit of sour pickles. There’s the bite and heat of raw white onions and also the very real question whether this could challenge Chubby’s for the city’s cheeseburger belt.
You’ll find a chocolate mousse on virtually every new-ish restaurant menu in town. Most are not worth the effort it takes to choke them back. This one very much is. It’s rich and unctuous and feels a little rude. It could only have been improved if it had been lasciviously slopped onto the plate table-side. The artlessly applied flaked almonds are also oddly endearing, like something your sherry-soaked aunt might manage as the Christmas Day drags. Seven bucks well-spent. A thick slice of polenta cake pleases too – it’s moist and has a lovely loose crumb.
Cocktails feel underpowered, per the old adage – two should feel like too much, three not enough. There also needs to be something like a wine programme, even the idea of one. It’s an old boozer I get it but I don’t want a Black & Tan with my Mussel Escabeche. Actually as I write that it doesn’t sound half bad. Nevertheless an actual wine-list would be very welcome. Our charming and attentive server Murphy (her christian name, I’m not taking liberties) tells me that there’s something on the horizon.
The last time I was in this pub (about 25 years ago) I was chatted up by a randy old antiques dealer at the bar. It wasn’t to be his night but I suppose it’s nice to be asked. This was an altogether more welcome visit. This kind of assured, unshowy cooking would work anywhere and pulls off the trick of being at once fashionable and fundamental. If this is the future model for Irish gastropubs then bring on the age of the bistro-in-boozer. Good luck finding another Dan Chambers.
Words: Conor Stevens
Photographs: Killian Broderick
Gaffe @ Leonard’s Corner
Dublin 8
