Market Bar

Fade Street, Dublin 2
www.marketbar.ie

The first part of this review comes to us courtesy of Tim who, on seeing I was to review Market Bar, offered his own content based on his first ever visit. I was thinking of censoring the names to avoid psychosis, tears and possible bloodshed, but then in the spirit of the night that was in it, I thought: feck it. Publish and be damned. The night is question has been referred to ever since as Black Thursday: it occurred in December 2003, and is the first night (of many) that we all went out together. The transcript of the evening and the repercussions follows:

Thursday 18:00

1. Pub somewhere (Grafton St., maybe) for civilised drink
2. Market Bar for tapas dinner
3. Pub
4. Pub
5. Bar - sat outside, cold
6. Bar
7. Eddie Irvine's bar
8. ...[Blank]...
9. Cafe En Seine
10. ...[Blank]...
    
11. Lillie's Bordello
12. ...[Blank]...
13. ...[Blank]...

Friday 04:00

14. Sin
15. Al offers to streak through Temple Bar but gets thrown off disrobing by an automatic searchlight, highlighting the whole escapade.
16. ...[Blank]...

Friday 09:00

17. Being woken by the sound of Al screaming "Aaaaaggghhhh, it's 9 o'clock"
18. Seeing missed calls from client and London office, wondering why we aren't at our 8am meeting in Ballycoolin. Realise we are in Ballsbridge.
19. Thinking career was over.
20. Hailing taxi and rubbing toothpaste into teeth on journey to client office. Realise we can't lie our way out of this one.
21. Having worst day at work ever, but manage to salvage career.

Friday 18:00

22. Driving to Enniskillen in a crappy Fiat hire car, in torrential rain with ineffective wipers, on roads with potholes that could swallow the car, with no lights/cats eyes and lorries driving down the wrong side of the road.
23. Arriving in Enniskillen to be greeted by a scene that wouldn't have been out of place in Father Ted - instead of a cup of tea, soda bread and bed which is what I’d spent the whole journey dreaming about.

The adventure this time was tamer, less inebriated, and at least nobody lost anything this time ... like their dignity, their self-respect, or their clothes. I arranged to meet Sam there at 19:00, and while I waited for her at the table I was lucky enough to have procured at peak time, I enjoyed an alcohol-free Erdinger – tall, cold, great mousse of a head, and absolutely no after-effects. Sam arrived after a while – it was her first visit – and we commented on the beauty of the building exterior and the sheer size of the dining room. I remember that this space had changed so much in recent years: in 2001, it was a disused sausage factory; by the first anniversary of September 11, it had become a temporary art gallery housing the travelling photography collection of here is new york; a mere 12 months later, it had morphed into the Market Bar. Noticeable about the venue is the lack of music – something to do with planning permission and disgruntled neighbours, apparently – and the collection of clogs on the far wall. The restaurant proper is at the aft of the restaurant, and walking in the main door, you pass a blackboard with the full menu chalked up for perusal and approval. I somehow never seem to notice this board until I’m on the way out. Same again this time.

Sam and I had come to Market Bar following my excellent experience of Swedish-influenced cuisine at Eden the previous night. Market Bar was listed as participating in the food festival and, given their usual array of food, we were expecting the full Smorgasbord of Scandinavian delights. What we were offered was salmon. Oh yeah, in large or small portion … you can have salmon. And that’s as far as the Swedish influence went – it didn’t seem like there was too much Nordic ingenuity in the menu planning here. We had a laugh at this, and ordered.

Market Bar is a staple favourite of mine; they offer a menu that I would describe as Franco-Spanish tapas – plates of food flavoured through regional cuisines of Langedoc, the Pyrenées, the Basque Country and Catalonia. The fixed-priced concept means you can order large portions for €10.50 for or smaller ones for €7.00, and all orders arrive in appropriately-sized glazed earthenware.

No prizes for guessing that, even though the “selection” was both laughable and negligible, my own take on Stockholm Syndrome propelled me towards the gravadlax as a starter. I’m glad I chose it: consisting of a half-dozen slices of salmon, layered over a green salad including the obligatory rocket, and doused liberally with a dill and mustard dressing, it was delicious. Sam, on my advice I think, chose the smoked pâté, and was rewarded with a dish of tureen, sea-fresh and substantial to the palate, served alongside light toasts.

I suppose I’m wrong in describing the dishes here as starters and mains: all dishes are served together, it’s only the size that differs. It’s service à la française, rather than the usual service à la russe. The “mains”, then, consisted of my choice of duck confit – two large portions of gamey duck, supported by a deep tier of puy lentils and caramelised baby onions. I had had this dish before, most recently with Aoife and Suzanne after the one-day trip to Amsterdam in December, and with fond memories restored, I tucked in to find it as satisfying as ever. Sam ordered a dish I hadn’t tried before; getting conservative in my old age and sticking with the tried and tested on repeat visits, I had missed out on the brochettes of chicken – several skewers of flavoursome though not spicy chicken, the morsels on each skewer interspersed with roundels of quality warmed Spanish chorizo. We also had a portion of patatas bravas, that even in the smaller size seemed substantial. Great combination, great taste, great choice on Sam’s part.

When I had managed to cajole a table at about 19:30, I was told we’d have to vacate it by 21:30. Well, we didn’t. We could see the staff hover slightly nervously as the waiting line grew longer and the clock edged past half nine, but they had the professionalism to allow us a few minutes’ grace before presenting us with a bill. This is what I like about Market Bar: in addition to the pleasing interior, the table settings, and the consistently great food, the staff are dutiful, informed and friendly, and don’t treat you like just another table cover. But I guess there are exceptions to every rule: Aoife went to Market Bar the day after Sam and I had been, and the staff told her the Swedish menu was “a mistake” and they had never offered it at all. Like I say, such wilful ignorance among the staff is a true exception here; so long as it remains so, Market Bar will remain a regular fixture in any good restaurant guide to Dublin.

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The Damage (EUR)
Starters

• 7.00 Swedish Gravadlax
  
• 7.00 Smoked Salmon Pâté
  

Mains

• 10.50 Duck Confit with Puy Lentils and Caramelised Onions
  
• 10.50 Chicken and Chorizo Brochettes with Green Salad
• 7.00 Patatas Bravas
  

Drinks

• 4.50 Non-alcohol Erdinger (*1)
• 15.00 Malena Red wine (*3)
• 2.00 Espresso
  
• 2.00 Black coffee
  

Service 9.00
Total 74.50
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The Score
4.0 Food and Drink
4.0 Service
4.0 Décor
4.0 Ambience
4.0 Value
4.0 Overall Rating