London: Souk

27 Litchfield Street, London WC2H 9NJ
www.soukrestaurant.co.uk

The story so far: I got in last night; Mike arrived about 6 this morning; we got ourselves ready at my hotel at Heathrow and then spent the day schmoozing at a conference. Overwhelmingly pleased with the successful charisma buzz we lent to proceedings, we left the Emirates and made our way down to Club Quarters Trafalgar. Great location, great facilities, great price. But there wasn’t much time to chill: we had told Zoran we’d meet him at 20:00 at Piccadilly Circus.

Now, London traffic being what it is, Zoran visiting London for the first time, and Mike and I not really capable of meeting evening deadlines since way back, all combined to mean we finally rendezvoused with Zoran about a quarter to nine. I had intended taking them up to Randall and Aubin, where I’d been once before – another, ahem, memorable outing with Nabil. But Mike was dying for a pint, so we stopped at some grotty little pub in Soho, and by the time we’d finished and walked round the corner, we knew it was a no-hoper. Randall and Aubin was not only packed to the rafters inside: it looked like a cross between a Brazilian carnival and a Soviet-length queue had formed outside. So I took them across to Souk.

The first time I was ever here was way back in 2001, with Danièle and a gang of French people. There’s a rather nice Moroccan-themed bar on the ground floor, but the restaurant is down two flights of rickety stairs to a fire-trap of a basement, bedecked with candles and velour, and packed with low tables and couches. I’d been back several times since, on separate multiple occasions, with William and Nabil: it’s become a sort of favoured option when everything else is closed or full or too far away.

I was concerned that bringing two Dubai-centric guys to a Moroccan restaurant in London might underwhelm them a bit, but they seemed up for it. We chose three main dishes between us: the couscous royal, with lamb, chicken and merguez (ah, reminds me of Grenoble every time!); the duck tagine, which was flavoured with an apple and cinnamon sauce; and my old favourite – the lamb tagine, with prunes, apple and almonds. The combined flavours of this last one always promise so much, and rarely fail to hit the mark. Tonight was no exception. We decided – I decided - to order a side serving of chips with harissa sauce. I’d never taken this before at Souk, and it was nothing remarkable, yet the harissa hit the right note. Again, I was transported back to those many late nights at Place Grenette, and I was 19 again. It all made me remember how much I like this restaurant.

Surprisingly for three men who professed starvation on the way into Souk, we didn’t finish the dishes - the conversation sapping our appetite while energising our minds. (Get the reference of the day, Mike?). Normally, I’d have cocktails or Moroccan white wine at Souk, but today we were abstemious and drank bottled water.

The bill, as ever, was beyond reasonable by London standards, and three happy diners emerged into the midsummer night to return home.

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The Damage (GBP)

• 12.45 Couscous Royal
• 11.95 Duck Tagine with apple and cinnamon sauce
• 10.95 Lamb Tagine with prunes, apple and almonds
• 1.95 Chips with harissa mayonnaise

Drinks

• 5.90 2 large bottles sparkling mineral water (2*2.95)
• 5.85 Tea/ Coffee (3*1.95)
  

Service 5.95
Total 55.00
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The Score
4.0 Food and Drink
3.5 Service
4.0 Décor
4.0 Ambience
4.0 Value
4.0 Overall Rating

Crowe's

10 Merrion Road, Dublin 4

It's the last day on the project for Aisling and Frits and, although we had a semi-formal goodbye lunch already this week, we decided to take advantage of a slowish day at work, an impending bank holiday weekend and an evening on the town tonight, and make a day of it.

I remember Crowe's from the last time I consulted in Ballsbridge (stretching back to 2004 now!). It's a fairly traditional style of pub, in the same Merrion Road string of bars as Paddy Cullen's and Mary Mack's - but there is one crucial difference. It is linked to a Chinese restaurant next door/ upstairs/ somewhere in the vicinity, and whose name I never remember to investigate, because I never need to: if you come to Crowe's from 12:30 onwards, they lay out the restaurant's food in self-service metal serving vats, and you help yourself.

You choose whatever you like from spring rolls, roast duck, sweet and sour chicken, szechuan beef, chicken and broccoli, rice, noodles, chips, chicken wings, chicken soup and often more. Fill up as often as you like (though I have noticed they often ask you after half an hour or so if they can take your plate...). The quality is good: seriously, it is exactly the same food as served in the adjacent restaurant. They just save on the table covers and the staff salaries.The sweetest thing, though, is the price: just EUR 10 per person, for an all-you-can-eat, which represents outstanding value in Dublin - even more so once the quality of the food is taken into account.

As some of my colleagues know, it's the perfect Friday lunchtime option after a Thursday night on the town. It won't be the last time our rapidly-shrinking team shows up there.

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The Damage (EUR)

• 10.00 AYCE Chinese (per person)
  

Drinks

• Water

Total 10.00
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The Score
4.0 Food and Drink
NA Service
3.0 Décor
3.0 Ambience
5.0 Value
3.5 Overall Rating

Lausanne: Restaurant de la Croix d'Ouchy

Avenue d'Ouchy 43, Lausanne

Sometimes whistle-stop trips have their drawbacks. While it’s all very well to dip yourself into a country overnight, the scheduling of planes, trains and automobiles often mitigates against throwing yourself into pure hedonism for 24 hours without recourse. Sunday morning saw an early rising, and a walk along the lake wall where the waves overspilled the bankside and wet our feet. Lausanne is quiet on Sunday mornings: the sky was grey, the breeze was high, and the sounds were of nature and nothing else. Refreshing: we were in the heart of Europe, in the centre of an international city, yet in the middle of nowhere.

We took coffee down at the Fleur de Pains bakery on Avenue d’Ouchy, and then prepared for Farid to pick us up and take us out for lunch. He’d planned a surprise location, but was constrained by the need to have me on a train to Geneva airport for 13:17. Trains in Switzerland are not late: they pull out of stations at the exact minute indicated, at the instant the second hand hits 12. We didn’t have much time to waste.

We drove up into the city centre - through which we had walked through the previous night - parked underground, and walked across a junction to the north-east corner, abutting which was the Restaurant de la Croix d’Ouchy. So far, so good: description meets reality. Inside, the restaurant was almost empty – not surprisingly, as it was just gone midday. Valerie was already there with children Olympe and Ulysse (very classical family), and we took our place at the table with them.

By this stage, the sun was streaming in the windows, and illuminating the interior. In my memory, the restaurant had bare stone walls – but I am not sure if that’s true, or if it’s something I have conjured up to fit my impression of a well-appointed, rustic idyll with sunbeams bouncing off the verticals. After some time, our waiter arrived, but unfortunately he brought with him neither his brain nor a basic proficiency in intelligible French. Not a clue what we were talking about, or our need to eat and run, or even what we were ordering. Yes, it may have been Sunday and a day of leisure in Calvin-influenced Switzerland, but someone should have reminded him that working to a Sri Lankan pace really doesn’t cut it when you have trains to catch and places to go. By the time we got the orders in, it was almost 12:30.

Farid ordered a great bottle of Amarone, which we opened just as the starters arrived. I ordered a beef carpaccio with some truffle oil, and it was perfect. The meat was very tender, and hit the palate spot on. Always a dish I tend to eat quickly, the added time pressure meant that I probably had the intensified experience of my taste buds leaking adrenaline as they sensed the flavours. Nevertheless, I couldn’t dwell on the starter too long, as I had one eye on my watch and the other looking out for the waiter. He came, finally, with my main course: three large scallops, an enormous (I mean about 6 inches of) king prawn, rice, and a local take on ratatouille, with a creamy fish sauce. The presentation was beautiful, the taste even more so. Best of all, it came in two portions: the exact same plate was to follow, once I finished the first one. Worst of all: it was now 13:10, and my train was leaving in seven. Farid and I ran from the restaurant, drove to the station, and I caught the train with fully twenty seconds to spare. If I could have taken an extra ten minutes in that restaurant, I would have: the main course was composed of some of the most succulent shellfish that I have come across, and in a landlocked country too! I have no idea of the prices on this menu (though being Switzerland, it coulnd't have been cheap): I passed a mixture of euro and francs to Kruno, and hoped he’d take care of the bill. Haven’t heard anything about it since, so I guess I must have just about covered it.

There is no doubt but that I will visit the Restaurant de la Croix d’Ouchy on my return to Lausanne. By then, I am hoping that I will have planned my schedule a little more liberally, that the waiters will have learned French properly, and that my double-service main course will be appreciated leisurely and in full.
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The Score
5.0 Food and Drink
2.0 Service
4.5 Décor
4.5 Ambience
3.0 Value
4.0 Overall Rating

Lausanne: Brasserie du Grand Chêne

Grand Chêne 7-9, Lausanne
www.lausanne-palace.com

Today I flew into Geneva, almost on a whim, and after a quick walk down by the lake in the city centre, I met Mirta and Farid, who drove us over to Lausanne, a city I had never visited before. Forty minutes later, we were sitting in the Beau Rivage hotel on the banks of Lac Léman, sipping caipirinhas and muscatel – perhaps the only patrons under pensionable age, but enjoying the opulence nonetheless.

Later that evening, we decided it’d be a good idea to visit the city centre. It didn’t look far on the map. Nothing ever does. And I guess it really wasn’t all that far – it’s just that most of it was vertical, with angles of about 65° once we reached the older quarters. By the time we reached the top of the hill and the centre of town – one and the same – we were ready for refreshment at Restaurant Louis, which had come highly recommended by Farid. Unfortunately, we hadn’t known that Louis would be taking some time out from feeding urban mountaineers, and was actually closed that night.

Behind us, a couple of streets away, we saw a large attractive building, with crimson canopies over each window and lit up like a beacon of hope and restauration. This was the Lausanne Palace and Spa Hotel. Visiting their website later, I found they had numerous bars and restaurants inside, but we headed for the first one we saw, which was their brasserie. Now, I can’t really tell the difference between a French brasserie and a Swiss Romande brasserie. Perhaps it’s like those theme Irish bars you find in every city from Anchorage to Auckland – you’re never sure how authentic it is, but it looks attractive enough to the untrained eye. This brasserie seemed to me to be straight out of Lyon (not, of course, a million miles from Lausanne anyway) – so familiarity always being a great enticement, we walked to the nearest waiter and asked for a table. None available. The positive side about such establishments, however, is that you can eat au comptoir – which I actually prefer, as you can relax so much more easily. Our waiter offered us this option so pleasantly that I knew instantly that while the decor may have looked Gare-du-Nord template French, the welcome was much more inviting.

Kruno was doing his usual trick of considering a weekend to be a few hours either side of midnight on Saturday/ Sunday, and so had not arrived yet. Mirta and I took our places at the bar, ordered a couple of cokes for both of us and a soupe de poisons for me. As we took in the action in the restaurant from our fulcrum at the bar, I took charge of the soup. It was pleasant, and given my hunger, it was much appreciated. However, the rouille that came with it was lacking in taste, the soup itself would have benefited from greater seasoning and a lesser ground texture, and overall it was not of the standard that one would find down at the Vieux Port in Marseilles. Yet my original definition of it stands: it was pleasant.

Kruno finally arrived, and he and I both ordered steak tartare, with Mirta opting for a vegetarian lasagne. Her pasta seemed – what’s the word again? Oh yes, pleasant. But the thing is, you can get this sort of dish anywhere. A steak tartare, however, is a rarity in Ireland, and I crave it the minute I set foot on francophone territory. Ours came with the obligatory three dots of reduced balsamic vinegar, yet sans the traditional quail’s egg on top. This was replaced by some capers and a large anchovy, which were nice – though I would have liked the egg as well. The meat pieces were larger than I would have expected – in France, the consistency is often nearly that of a paste – but very tasty along with the toast that was brought alongside, and the enormous basket of chips that sat in the vicinity and remained half-untouched, due to sheer volume. Steak tartare is a dish I love, even though it always conjures up images of Mr. Bean for me. We used to eat this in Luxembourg, in baguettes for lunch; Lebanese restaurants cater for my taste perfectly with their kibbeh; and I often take the fusion cousin – tuna tartare – when in restaurants elsewhere. That choice is directly influenced by experience of the meat variety, and this evening’s dish serves to reinforce that preference for me.

Earlier in the evening, I had seen an oblong plate of profiteroles and ice cream transported to a nearby table, and had been keeping that thought in mind throughout the evening. When I ordered it, though, the waiter told us that they stopped making that dessert at 22:30, and so we were 45 minutes past the deadline. Look, it’s a French-type place; they don’t change their minds on this sort of thing. Instead, I was invited to select a dessert from a revolving glass carousel: from a choice that included crème brûlée, tarte aux fraises and rhum baba, I set eyes on a towering chocolate mousse, and had it brought to me. Lovely and rich, and much larger than I had judged from the other side of the display glass, this mousse was topped with a white chocolate room, and a couple of rolled wafers. It was satisfyingly substantial without being heavy, and tasted of chocolate rather than cocoa, which is always a plus – and one which is not universally guaranteed.

The meal over, we decided to hit the nightlife of Lausanne until the early hours. No, wait: that’s what we would have done if we were just a few years younger. What really happened is that we took a bus to our hotel and went to bed immediately. At least it was on a full stomach, and after a good meal. I’d recommend this restaurant for future visitors to Lausanne: Mirta wanted to give it 4.0; Kruno was a little grouchier at 3.0. If I knew what was good for me, I would side with the princess - but I'm going to split the difference this time. It's 3.5.

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The Damage (CHF)

• TBC Soupe de Poissons
• TBC Vegetarian Lasagne
• TBC Steak Tartare *2
• TBC Chocolate Mousse
  

Drinks

• TBC Coke * 2
• TBC San Pellegrino (75cl)

Service TBC
Total TBC
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The Score
4.0 Food and Drink
3.0 Service
4.0 Décor
3.5 Ambience
3.0 Value
3.5 Overall Rating

Mongolian BBQ

7 Anglesey Street, Temple Bar, Dublin 2
www.mongolianbbq.ie

I wonder if there's a Mongolian Barbecue in every capital city in the world. Apart from Genghis Khan, it seems to be about the only export of note in the last 800 years or so, the fermented yak's milk not having done so well and lost market share to Baileys somewhat. Although I have visited a few, Suzanne tells me every time we walk through Temple Bar that she has never been to a Mongolian, but always wanted to. The last time I was here was with Barbara and her daughter, Rachel. This seven-year-old was queueing to make up a bowl of food, when I heard her tell a nearby gang of tourists: "You know he's not my Daddy - he's just my mammy's friend". After that, how could I not love this place? To mark Suzanne and Aoife's return from the trip round Thailand, Australia and New Zealand, I didn't have to think twice, and organised that we meet in Anglesey Street for dinner.

On another beautiful evening in the first week of summer, where we haven't seen rain for weeks, I walked into town - two feet being quicker than getting stuck in the traffic that snarls and clogs the roads of Dublin, regardless of the season. Aoife and Suzanne were already seated by the time I arrived and, cheekily enough, had already started eating. I guess that's not as bad as it sounds. The whole ethos of the restaurant is that you serve yourself, when you like and as often as you like, and the wobbles in the cycles will eventually even out between all the people at your table.

We decided to meet just before 18:30, at which time the prices go up. Perhaps the array of food expands too: I remember in former times that the barbecue offered fish, prawns and turkey - all of which were absent this time. The system now works like this: you can reach for the salad bar at any time, and fill up on lettuce, cherry tomatoes, chickpeas, peppers and dressing. Or you can skip the Mongo-Lite and go straight for the full Monty. You select firstly from a metal table holding sunken containers of beef, pork, and chicken; you top up your plastic bowl with your choice of tomatoes, peppers, onions, leeks, mushrooms, tofu, seeds, carrots, kidney beans, corn and pineapple. Then it's over to the herbs and spice jars: cayenne pepper, cumin, coriander, chilli, ginger, Cajun Spice and Chinese Five Spice (along with the traditional salt and pepper). Finally you drown your raw food with sauce - let's see what I can remember here: Thai sweet chilli; lemon; wine; honey and ginger; soy; tikka massala ... probably another four or so more. I think you get the idea: the fun is concocting your own recipe at each stage, and varying your culinary skills with each iteration. Once the bowl is full, you pass it to a guy at a large, semi-circular metal sheet who proceeds to cook it for you, keeping everyone's food separate and fully cooked with the use of what looks like giant black chopsticks. Poor guy must be almost roasted himself: the heat coming from the barbecue would be unbearable up that close and for that long.

The food is given back to you in china bowls sporting the restaurant logo - and they're very attractive. I remember, once, a waitress telling me that an American man once ate seventeen bowlfuls. We managed four each, along with two bowls of rice for the girls and some flatbreads for me. I also satisfied a craving for Diet Coke: perhaps I'm hanging out with Frits too much. Then, although we saw exquisite desserts pass by to another table - we think it was Death by Chocolate - we were more concerned about obesity by chocolate, so we decided to pass, and ordered tea and coffee instead.

Suzie loved this restaurant - she wants to give it a 5. Aoife seemed slightly less enamoured of it - but she'd been many times before, so it was nothing novel for her. I like it a lot - and they still give out the Swizzels-Matlow Refreshers with the bill, which I think should be made mandatory in every restaurant. I'd suggest, however, that they replan their table layout - there was hardly room for people to squeeze between chairs once the restaurant began to crowd up, and frankly it's annoying. But if you manage to get a spot where you don't back onto the aisle, you'll enjoy this restaurant enormously.

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The Damage (EUR)

• 50.97 Early Bird Buffet, including salad and rice (16.99*3)
• 2.50 Flatbreads (4)

Drinks

• 2.00 Diet Coke (*1)
  
• 5.00 Lattes (2.50*2)
• 2.00 Peppermint Tea (*1)
  

Service 6.25 (10% added automatically)
Total 68.72
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The Score
4.0 Food and Drink
4.0 Service
4.0 Décor
4.0 Ambience
4.5 Value
4.0 Overall Rating

Wagamama

South King Street, Dublin 2

www.wagamama.ie

Wagamama has been a staple for years. I’ve been to outlets in the Netherlands, around the UK, and countless times to their Dublin restaurant. I’ve also been to the not-Wagamamas: Lenuci in Zagreb, where they used to mix Japanese and Mexican in a not-always-successful attempt at Pacific Rim fusion cuisine, but have given up copying the Wagamama ethos and gone fully Mexican now; and the excellent Izakaya in Toronto, where the menu even uses the same styles and fonts, but where I had the head nearly eaten off me one day soon after its opening by daring to suggest it was like Wagamama. “We’re nothing like them, and anyway, we’re much better”. Hmm. Don’t know how much faith I’d have in that snippy opinion, as I have never found Wagamama anything less than excellent. Anecdotal evidence shows I am not alone – I have never heard anyone I know criticise it. Smacks of insecurity – a not unheard-of trait in Canada.

Frits had hardly set foot outside the office and the hotel since he started working in Ireland, so my inner social worker came to the fore and decided he was having a night out. Following a Harcourt Street beer garden, the Bailey and Market Bar, and skipping Café en Seine (too many old guys with big wallets buying drinks for meretricious girls) and Ron Black's (just because, basically, there was nobody there), and hearing Frits' need for “something Japanese, and not too heavy”, we headed for Wagamama. We descended the stairs under the St. Stephen’s Green Centre, past the John Rocha Waterford Crystal cow (Wagamoomoo. Surreal? You’re not even half-way there), and were seated at the Scandinavian blond-wood benches, where you eat in canteen-style as you watch the cooks in the open kitchen prepare endless food with gusto.

Wagamama is a display of consistent satisfaction in a world where mediocrity seems to pass muster more and more. The staff are still dressed in those funky T-shirts, the atmosphere is always both noisy and relaxed, and I usually know what I’m going for: 42, with a 103 and a 109. It makes sense to those in the know. The only thing changed is that they no longer seem to take orders on those radio devices that transmitted customer choices directly to the kitchen over the airwaves.

Being an izakaya-type restaurant, the dishes are served as they are prepared – no rota of starters and mains here. I did the usual of ordering what I liked and hoped my guest would enjoy the results. Here’s the list of usuals for the evening:

• 103 Ebi Katsu: five king prawns in fried breadcrumbs, with a chilli and garlic sauce, and lime wedges with which you drown the shrimp and awaken their taste.
• 106 Negima Yakitori: three skewers of chicken (3 pieces on each skewer), interspersed with scallion segments. These come in a caramel-like yakitori sauce which is superb as ever, though less generous than on any previous visit. Hope they’re not thinking of skimp on portion size.
• 42 Yaki Udon: where do I begin? Thick udon noodles, shiitake mushrooms, egg, leeks, prawns, chicken, red peppers, beansprouts, shallots, and Japanese fishcakes, with curry oil and fish powder. Great as ever.

I really never take anything other than the Yaki Udon or the Chilli Beef Ramen as a main course at Wagamama. But for some reason, last night I chose to leave the 42 to Frits, and order from the list of specials (they’re updated every two months or so). My #61 was delivered on a square black plate, of the type I’d never before seen at this restaurant. The dish consisted of udon noodles, marinated beef, plenty of well-cooked slices of red and green pepper, shallots, and a sweet, soy-based sauce. Very nice, but to be honest, I missed my 42. Becoming a creature of habit, perhaps – but when you have perfection, and you’re guaranteed it, there’s not much incentive to move elsewhere.

We took a flask of warm sake to accompany our meal, along with some water and green tea - which is free, but which Frits was convinced was actually seaweed juice. Maybe it’s big in Holland? I don’t know. Frits was also slightly disconcerted by the waiter writing the code numbers for each dish on the disposable paper placemats – or at least pretended to be enough that the waiter took it upon himself to explain his system to us, without a trace of sarcasm. His style was in keeping with the best traits of Wagamama. Good, honest food, served with politeness and humour, and always enticing the discerning diner back for repeat visits. Wagamama has high standards: you don’t expect anything less, and they never fail to live up to them. A worthy recipient of a 4.5.

P.S. One quibble, but which won’t dent the score unless the trend continues: the prices in Dublin’s Wagamama significantly outweigh those on their UK menus, even allowing for currency conversion and the prime real estate premium of the Grafton Street area. There is no need for this extra mark-up. On top of this, the prices have increased fast and noticeably in recent times. It just contributes in its own small way to the cancerous rip-off culture in Ireland.
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The Damage (EUR)

• 8.25 Ebi Katsu
• 7.25 Negima Yakitori
• 12.45 Yaki Udon
• 15.95 Beef Udon

Drinks

• 8.50 Sake (flask)
• 0.00 Green Tea
• 0.00 Water
  

Service 6.50
Total 58.90
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The Score
4.5 Food and Drink
4.5 Service
4.5 Décor
4.5 Ambience
4.5 Value
4.5 Overall Rating

Te Anau: Redcliff Cafe (South Island, New Zealand)

There is not much in Te Anau apart from a beautiful lake, a handful of souvenir shops and this fantastic café/ restaurant which we felt needed a space on this blog. After backpacking for a number of weeks, eating 3 dollar breakfasts and not spending much more on lunch, we decided to treat ourselves at this recommended-by-the-Rough-Guide restaurant. Besides, there wasn't a whole lot else to do in Te Anau.

Decided to start off with a Merlot accompanied by a variety of freshly baked breads with a homemade selection of dips. For mains Suzanne had a chargrilled salmon fillet with spinach & cheese risotto with fresh vegetables. I had belly of pork with sweet potato and a pear chutney. Mouth watering and very very tasty. Unfortunately we didn't have room for dessert but they looked amazing. We would give this a 4 star rating. If you ever go down under Lorcán, make sure you include this in your travels.

Riga: Esplanade at the Reval Hotel Latvija

55 Elizabetes Iela, Riga
www.revalhotels.com

Riga is proving to be very much an emotional seesaw for me (the tablets must have stopped working). I hated this place yesterday, but the Kabuki experience changed my mind somewhat. Today, I woke up and the sun was shining, so I went out and saw all the places that yesterday’s weather discouraged me from visiting. It’s amazing what a little sunshine can do for a place. I started the day by visiting Mentzendorff’s House, a merchant’s house dating originally from the 17^th century, and furnished according to tastes from various periods through its history. Nice house, furnished moderately well, but suffering from the same severe faces I had encountered the previous day.

I next visited the city market – the Centrs Tirgus. This was a enormous change from the glass-covered mall in the old town where I’d taken refuge from the elements and the inhabitants the previous day. Aside from strips of little outdoors stalls strung along the marketplace in rows, it consists of two large pavilions: one with meat, fish and poultry as far as the eye can see or the nose can smell, and another which sold everything from medicines and books to olives and ajvar. Such a contrast also to yesterday’s breakfast at the Hotel Riga: I was able to pick up sausages in pastry for 22 santīmu- that’s about 33 cent! Best of all were the cake stands: fragile-looking French-style delicacies, of the sort that sells in Dublin for over €4, cost less than 20 santīmu each. Astonishing. This is also obviously where the older people of Latvia shop for clothes: it was full of elderly people choosing from budget-priced goods like shoes for 5 lats, or leather jackets of the type worn mainly by circus gypsies. It was striking that there were so few young people there: the anecdotal evidence, borne out in real life, of whole sections of the population upping sticks and moving to Ireland and the UK since the mid-nineties. The whole market was a Soviet legacy to a post-Communist society, but at least there actually was at least one place in Riga where pensioners could shop without fear of ensuing penury.

After a longer-than-planned visit to the Riga Dom, there was just time enough to pick up some hand-blown Latvian glass and put into effect my plan for lunch. Walking up past the Freedom Monument, where I saw a forty-ish couple with a young child lay a wreath of white flowers with red contrast in a suspiciously swastika-like formation, I arrived at the Hotel Latvija. I had been here before: on Friday, when I first arrived, I checked into my own hotel, then walked up the street, in the rain, to check out the Skyline Bar in the Latvija. This lounge is accessed by a glass lift, rising 26 floors over Riga and providing panoramic views of the city. I knew then that I would have to come back and assess the restaurant.

The Restaurant Esplanade is situated on the ground floor of the Latvija, just to the left of the main entrance. I was seated promptly, and took in the environs - and I loved them. I don’t normally fill blog entries with photos, but this time the urge to share is overwhelming. Look at these surroundings! An ornate Orthodox cathedral and a park outside the window I was facing; pristine white linen tablecloths dotting a large, airy, unenclosed space; orange and pink drapes that somehow manage to be tasteful and not in the least garish; and a baby grand piano on a dais just to my left. The sun filled the area, and I knew this was going to be a good experience.

The menu proved to be what I would term “high-class Baltic”, and is not unlike the food on offer at some of the outstanding Stockholm restaurants William and I discovered in the summer of 2001 – I’m thinking specifically of Sturehof, T/Bar or Restaurang J. I decided to order a white Martini as an aperitif (a steal at LVL 1.60), and took no time in deciding what to order.

Deciding to go all the way, I chose caviar to begin. Now, in truth this was what sushi-lovers would know as ikura rather than Caspian Beluga, but it was like a masterclass exercise in how to produce a starter: four blinis, finely-chopped red onion, mustard seeds, crème fraîche, and a healthy portion of salmon roe with a lemon wedge combined to provide a sensation to titillate the taste buds that has rarely been equalled in recent times. The first taste gave me the same feeling as when you drive very quickly over a small hill: you feel like you’re flying in the air and that while your body descends afterwards, you remain on high as you seek to catch up with reality. I was enjoying this food so much that it actually spurred me to visit Stockmann later to buy some Latvian caviar to take home with me. [Personal aside: how is it that I can buy prepared vitello tonnato in a Finnish supermarket in Latvia (disproving Silvio Belrusconi and Jacques Chirac's theories on Finnish food, at a minimum), yet I can't even find the basic ingredient of veal in any supermarket in Dublin? Now, back to the story.]

Continuing the theme of gastronomic excellence, I ordered soup: this was a fashionably-foamy crayfish-rich and saffron-infused potage, on which were resting two diamonds of toast bearing a large crayfish tail each. It was a delectable dish: creamy to taste, with the continuing seafood thread and taste commenced by the caviar. I was really loving this. As the waitress cleared my plate, I ordered a glass of Leopard’s Leap wine – a Cape Mountain white, with tropical fruit and lime tones – to accompany the forthcoming main course, and took another trip to the Skyline Bar to enjoy the Latvian vista expanding as the glass elevator rose higher.

On my return, I had time for a couple more pages of Barack Obama’s book - which has been accompanying me everywhere recently – and then my main course arrived. This was a breast and a leg of pheasant, served with carrots, green asparagus and baby courgettes. The meat was probably slightly drier than I would have, and the gamey taste less pronounced than I had expected, but it was tasty nonetheless.

By this time, I was consulting my watch a little too often, as I needed to get to the Jewish Museum of Riga before it closed. I had my bill presented, and was thrilled to see that the whole meal, including drinks, cost an equivalent of €34. What a delight! I was back on the old Riga seesaw: now I loved the place. But wait …

Here’s a tip for anyone who might think it’s now all sweetness and light in Latvia. Nothing to do with the Reval, or food: just a tip for the unsuspecting tourist. Riga taxi drivers generally look like gangsters, but engage in worse extortion rackets. The taxi from the airport to town will cost you approximately LVL 7 (about EUR 10). On the way back, I was fleeced for nearly LVL 15. I ate the head off the driver, but he didn't care. When you're in an Eastern bloc country, you have to remember that corruption reigns - and the police wouldn't care about one foreigner. I took this taxi from outside the Hotel Riga - a travesty to have that place rated as a 4-star hotel - and now that I think about it, I don't remember a taxi light on the top of the car. Riga in general is not a rewarding place to visit, and the taxi rip-off just makes you want to get out of there as quickly as possible. Get the hotel to ring for a taxi - there's a slight chance you won't be robbed blind. Otherwise, take the bus - it costs just LVL 0.30. There's just one certainty in all this mess: make sure that if you do travel to Riga, you stay at the Reval Latvija and you eat at the Esplanade.

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The Damage (LVL)

• 5.75 Red Caviar
• 3.55 Crayfish and Saffron soup
• 8.95 Pheasant with baby vegetables
  

Drinks

• 1.60 Martini Bianco
• 1.40 Perrier (33cl)
• 2.40 Leopard's Leap Cape Mountain white

Service 4.35
Total 28.00
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The Score
5.0 Food and Drink
4.5 Service
5.0 Décor
4.5 Ambience
4.5 Value
5.0 Overall Rating

Riga: Kabuki

14 Audeju Iela, Riga

www.sushi.lv

Hold the front page! News in from Latvia: while most of it is just as bad as I painted in my last post, it has been partly redeemed just minutes after the last entry was blogged.

I left the internet café like I’d leave a crack den: looking round furtively to see who’d attack me on the way out, and hoping the smell of the interior didn’t cling to me too much. Outside, it was raining: a cold slimy rain that hadn’t relented all day. I tramped through the old cobbled streets, deserted as they had been all day, and turned the corner – in more senses than one.

A block away from my hotel, to which I was headed in the hope of hiding myself away from the sheer misery of the weather, I passed a Japanese restaurant. Given the compact nature of Riga, it was about the fourth time that day I had done so, but the need for some good food I’d recognise drew me inside.

Hallelujah – a modern, clean restaurant where I was welcomed and shown to a table. So unlike the Riga I had experienced to that point; in fact, apart from the fact that the place was absolutely deserted apart from me, there was nothing in common with the rest of the city.

The restaurant is on a street corner, and bounded by floor-to-ceiling glass on two sides. I took the table where these panes met, and had a look at the menu. I smiled on seeing that while the first half of the book was taken up with Japanese fare, the second half offered an Italian menu. I assumed that these were just menus that could be transferred between Kabuki and their next door neighbour, Macaroni: a shining example of a post-Soviet demand economy, I thought. Julija, the manager, disabused me of this notion and came to tell me that I was free to order from either menu. I decided to accept this novel challenge, and set about designing an early-evening Eurasian dinner.

The Italian menu drove me towards a beef carpaccio – something I rarely refuse when offered. It was topped with a dressed rocket salad, and the traditional shaved parmesan and lemon juice. Lovely. The rest of my choices came from the Japanese menu: Nagasaki soup – a chilli-spiced mushroom and prawn broth; some individual maki – two Maguro (spicy tuna), two Sake (spicy salmon), and one Sapporo (spicy scallop with flying fish roe and a tangy mayonnaise); and a serving of eight Sakura maki – consisting of salmon, flying-fish roe, crabmeat, avocado, red caviar. These were washed down by a pot of ginger and lime tea, and a bottle of Gerolsteiner sparkling water. I loved every morsel – very, very high quality sushi. Frankly, I was surprised – the previous 20 hours in Riga had prepared me for something worse.

By this time, the restaurant was still bare – there were two more tables occupied out of about fifteen. I decided to give into the temptation of the picture menu and order an amaretto coffee. Interesting touch: a little white chocolate disc on the side, imprinted in colour with the Kabuki logo. Best of all, it came with an interesting, intricate and memorable chat with Julija. As I told her at the time, her conversation was the pivot on which my view of Riga became less negative. Up till then, I had seen more smiles in the Occupation Museum (well worth a visit) than I had on the streets of Riga. Julija was the first person in Latvia who was actually nice to me: the voice of Latvia less often heard, but which had made all the difference.

Kabuki/ Macaroni is evidently positioning itself as trendy and high-end. Although most of Riga seems intent on charging Western European prices, and is obviously aimed at tourists and their foolishness in parting too quickly with their euro, Kabuki is actually worth it. Just remember that the staff are not the ones benefiting from the Western prices.

The Damage (LVL)
from the Macaroni menu:

• 3.95 Beef Carpaccio
  

from the Kabuki menu:

• 3.20 Nagasaki mushroom and prawn soup
• 2.40 Spicy Maguro Maki *2
• 2.40 Spicy Sake Maki *2
• 2.00 Spicy Sapporo Maki *1
• 6.00 Sakura Maki

Drinks

• 2.00 Ginger and Lime tea
  
• 1.00 500ml Gerolsteiner sparkling water
• 2.20 Italian amaretto coffee
  

Service 8.00
Total 33.15
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The Score
4.5 Food and Drink
5.0 Service
4.0 Décor
3.5 Ambience
3.0 Value
4.0 Overall Rating

Riga: Hotel Riga

22 Aspazijas Boulevard, Riga
www.hotelriga.lv

Arrived last night in Latvia - my first time ever in the former Soviet Union. The hotels are still in it, though, I think - God, breakfast was terrible. Dining room decor is like those Communist-era hotels in Prague - orange juice tasted pure 1970s, rest of the food was the sort of shite you tend to get in hotel buffets and wouldn't touch - fatty, reformed meat; cheese of no discernable provenance; wonky fish... I will be eating outside tomorrow morning.

Riga as a city is beautiful, I think - the pictures in the guide books look great, but I can't really see too much behind the blinding sideways freezing rain and sleet. It reminds me of a sadder Zagreb, or a less exciting Luxembourg (no, that's not a typo). I spent two hours in the Occupation Museum - Soviets, then Nazis, then Soviets again. It was actually quite moving to see how many times these people were on the verge of freedom, then got overrun again. Maybe in a few years, they'll have an EU section.

I have already grouped the only people I have seen: the terrified, the hookers, the undead, the skinheads/ goths/ neo-fascists, and the downright obnoxious. You go into a shop and not only do they not come licking your feet like in Banana Republic (a sycophantic practice which I hate anyway, and performed by meretricious sales fairies flapping around the Eaton centre, looking for commissions), but they don't even say hello like in France or grunt at you like in Ireland. I arrived at the hotel last night just after 23:00 (and about 20 minutes after the plane landed - the city is the size of a village), checked in with an unexplainably-nervous receptionist, then got in the lift - where some Chinese-looking 50-year-old bloke speaking Russian, perhaps from somewhere in Central Asia but obviously twisted drunk, asked me if I did kung fu, and then I think he suggested he would wrestle me. All I could think of was that fight in Borat. I go to get out on the 5th floor (I seem to get room 529 in every single hotel I ever check into), and he stands in my way ready for a grapple. So I basically walk over him. Ten minutes later, on my way back out, I see the concierge talking to him and getting ready to kick him out - or go for round two. You'd never be sure in this place.

This morning I went for a sauna before breakfast. You get the door from the foyer unlocked by some porter; you go down a stairs, twice; along a dark, narrow passage like something in a submarine, then another stairs, and finally you go into some sort of party room. The sauna is off this. I realise then that they have sauna parties here. I am on my own, and in 1974. The heat's not too high, when people start coming in. Men, women, not a towel in sight, and all proceed to the top deck of the sauna, where they sit directly on the benches with their knees up round their ears. I am internally contorted by the thoughts of the hygiene issues there. I leave before someone from the party room comes into the sauna and offers cheese and pineapples on cocktail sticks.

IFC

6 Eustace Street, Temple Bar, Dublin 2
www.ifi.ie

The restaurant at the IFC (or IFI as they insist on calling it nowadays but which I never will) has long been a favourite of mine. Not only does it represent some of the best value food in Dublin without skimping on quality, but it is housed in one of the most beautiful buildings in the city. It dates from 1692, and for 300 years it was the primary Quaker Meeting House in Dublin. The architecture of the period is intact, with meeting rooms turned into two cinemas pivoting around a central courtyard, which is now one of the most light-blessed small spaces of its kind that I have seen. The two-storey wood-panelled restaurant, with its blood-red walls and laid-back atmosphere, offers continued respite from the hordes peopling Temple Bar outside. OK, history class is dismissed now.

I had decided to come and see “Indigènes” (Days of Glory) on the last week it was showing. I knew the film had won prizes at Cannes, but it was the fact that one of the main actors was from Grenoble (though I’d never heard of him before) that spurred me to action and buy my ticket. I had forty minutes to wait before the film started, so I didn’t need to think twice: dinner time at the IFC it was.

From a short menu, I chose the fish and chips option, described as “lime-breaded haddock served with lime and chive dip, home-made chips and side salad”. Generally, I prefer the fish to be battered rather than breaded, but the IFC mode was tasty enough, and large, albeit without the lime flavour that was advertised. The chips were generous individually – real potatoes, not the fast-food corn-starch things on offer elsewhere at this price - although the portion size has been cut back. The dip and salad were spot on, and greatly complemented the fish and chips. I would class the food here as unfussy and comforting, and I will always be back for more. However …

My honest opinion is that the quality of food and service at the IFC has decreased in recent years. This time, some elements were certainly disappointing: I ordered a Cidona, and it was delivered with a dirty glass. The price at €2.80 was not in keeping with the general value one expects at the IFC. There was a plethora of staff compared to the number of customers, yet I couldn’t get timely service from any of them. Are these New Irish trained not to look people in the eye or something? Perhaps they were too busy chatting mindlessly to each other (no doubt emulating their Irish counterparts elsewhere). And yes, the portions are smaller than before, and they refused my 10% discount - which I am due as an IFC member - because the food portion of the bill cost less than €10. Not good enough! And certainly not advertised as the rules! I wish I had had the time to argue, but the film was about to start and I had to get into the cinema theatre proper.

The IFC is now one of those rare locations where I prefer the environment to the food. But this is because the expectation level was set over many years, during which time, I would have struggled to award this restaurant a 5.0 – because it wouldn’t have been enough. As things stand, it still rates highly, but I hope that repeated future visits will generate a better experience and a better score.

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The Damage (EUR)

• 9.75 Fish and Chips with lime and chive dip, and side salad
  

Drinks

• 2.80 Cidona
  
• 1.90 Peppermint Tea
  

Service 1.55
Total 16.00
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The Score
4.0 Food and Drink
2.5 Service
5.0 Décor
4.5 Ambience
4.0 Value
4.0 Overall Rating

Ukiyo

7-9 Exchequer Street, Dublin 2
www.ukiyobar.com

Sam had her sister Cara, her sister’s boyfriend Nick, and her friend Heath come over from Manchester for a weekend. She really should know better than to outsource her social planning to me – karaoke will inevitably feature somewhere. I suggested Ukiyo. Suzanne, Aoife and I had stumbled in there late one night before Christmas, commandeered the mike at some sort of hen party, and ran away quickly afterwards. But I was hooked, and in anticipation at being invited to join the party this time, or indeed inviting myself along like last time, I threw the option out there and it became a runner.

I have no idea what used to be there before Ukiyo. It was never a conspicuous building, and even now, you would never guess that the “Lost in Translation”-style booths on the lower floor even existed, if you just passed quickly by the door. We met in Dakota (the obligatory place for rendezvous nowadays, it seems), and moved quickly over to Ukiyo, where our dinner table was reserved for 22:00.

Walking into the restaurant, we headed for the bar, where we were told there was a two-minute wait to turn our table around, so we ordered a round of drinks. By the time they were poured, the table was ready, so we took charge of it straight away.

It would be a shame to focus on the entertainment at Ukiyo to the detriment of the food – because it’s good. Almost as good as the singing, actually... The menu is relatively long, and focuses on Japanese and Korean fare, in the main. I ordered a tuna carpaccio, described on the menu as “thinly sliced, seasoned, raw, blue fin tuna loin, with rocket, chilli and wasabi mayonnaise dip”. These dozen or so slices covered a large square white place, and the tang of the wasabi proved unbeatable. As a main course, I took the bul gogi – a Korean dish I developed a taste for back in Canada. The menu is a little long-winded here, but expresses the composition perfectly: “sliced, marinated striploin of beef, pan-fried, with mixed vegetables, served on a sizzling plate with rice and accompanied by traditional condiments- kimchi, chilli sauce, sliced chilli, garlic and lettuce leaves for hand rolling the meat”. How could I ever add to that dictionary-style definition? The only strange part was the half-a-lettuce that came with the condiments on a separate place – overkill, let us say. The beef was great – the marinade had penetrated deep, and the spice level was flawless.

The others chose dishes including ebi gyoza (prawn dumplings), beef tataki, salmon teriyaki and grilled seabass. All were pronounced excellent (or fabulous), but the karaoke stars were probably just as pleased, and certainly better lubricated, by the several bottles of wine and sake they put away. Sake makes some people … prickly, perhaps … I know it worked wonders on Heath/ Keith anyway: his performance started even before he left the table. But let’s not probe that too much, and we’ll focus instead on his later renditions, which spiced up our lives even more than the kimchi could at two o’clock in the morning. I’m just sorry that my phone battery was running low: YouTube needs some new idols – that’d be five salarimen on the verge, and a restaurant where the ambience is hard to beat, and the food is outstanding at every course.

Keep an eye out for another Ukiyo review soon: either because some people are jealous that I was such an outstanding performer last time, or they just want to try to prise the microphone from my hand at least once, there’s a challenge (re-)match on the way. I’m guessing it’ll be an evening not to be missed, and the same goes for the review. And if this trend continues, we’ll be renaming the blog “Karaoke Karōshi”.

Note: the bill was kindly covered by Sam, so the prices below are indicative of my own food choices only. I'll try to be more attentive next time, but the multiple flasks of sake really aren't conducive to remembering details...

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The Damage (EUR)

• 12.00 Tuna Carpaccio
• 17.50 Bul Gogi

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The Score
5.0 Food and Drink
5.0 Service
4.5 Décor
5.0 Ambience
4.0 Value
5.0 Overall Rating

Searson's

42-44 Upper Baggot Street, Dublin 2
www.searsons.ie

This morning, I got into work at 08:45. I saw Cian come in at 09:00 on the dot. By the look of him, it was impressive he made it at all. By 09:30, I could see it was high time he needed a trip to Starbucks. That was where we saw Sam stagger through the door, craving caffeine. Same symptoms, same cause. It was going to be one of those days, and an outside lunch would be called for.

Searson’s is a long-established pub on Upper Baggot Street, right at the junction with Waterloo Road. Niamh’s father used to own it or manage it or something some years ago, but since then, ownership has passed to the Thomas Read Group. It shows: the décor is dark wood, there are yellow lightshades – like Ron Black’s or The Bailey – and I like the familiarity. The lunchtime offering is dealt out from behind a carvery-type counter, located at the back of the long bar, and just before the exit to the patio. Being the only one not suffering, I knew I would make the best choice of the lot.

The menu is standard fare for lunchtime pub grub in upmarket bars: alongside soup and salads, main courses include curry, pasta and chicken breasts. Real sort of secretary food: you’d imagine the Bridget Joneses of Baggot Street eating here, protesting that they couldn’t possible manage any more than a small salad, before they stop off at the Spar for a mega-size Dairy Milk and a box of Cornettos. I saw people carrying something I wanted, and so went for the burger. It wasn’t exactly what I expected. It was a good and substantial beef patty, 5 inches across and over an inch deep, and I had it covered with some sort of sauce and got vegetables on the side. But it wasn’t what I’d been eyeing up earlier.

I returned to the table, to see Sam half-way through a bap, containing numerous slices of roast rib of beef and a horse radish cream. She had my dinner! To make things worse, it came with a choice of two side salads, whereas I just got the standard side veg. No, hold on: worse even than that, was that Crawford arrived at the table, followed by Cian, with the “burgers” – so they all had the same thing, and they all had what I wanted. All of them. Except me. To top it all off, I had just paid €2.50 more for the burger than I would have for the roast beef bap.

Now, my own mis-selection was actually really nice: good, juicy beef with a smooth, creamy tomato sauce and well-cooked potatoes and carrots. It would have been fine if I had chosen it as my first choice for real, and it would have scored well. I guess I just disappointed myself.

There was a special offer on at the bar, where you could buy soft drinks for €1 with any main course. I took a bottle of Lucozade, but decided Cian needed the sugar more than I did. Lunch lasted more than an hour – making up for all those twenty-minute lunches we seem to have had recently – and my co-diners eased into recovery mode as they wolfed down their definition-worthy burgers. The others might not even remember what they had to eat today; but at least I’ll know better next time.

Oh, and finally: thanks to Cian and Sam for the prandial entertainment: painful hangovers are always hilarious when they’re suffered by someone other than yourself. I haven’t laughed so much in ages. It nearly stopped me crying over my missed burger.

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The Damage (EUR)

• 10.95 Irish Beef Burger with potatoes and vegetables

Drinks

• 1.00 Lucozade (300ml)
• 0.00 Water
  

Total 11.95
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The Score
3.0 Food and Drink
3.0 Service
4.5 Décor
3.5 Ambience
3.0 Value
3.5 Overall Rating