I am often asked if I am recognised when I go to a restaurant. If there is a sudden flurry to get me to the best table with a glass of bubbly on the house landing like a rogue wave. There is perhaps a handful of industry stalwarts who know all of us scribes. There may, rarely, be a bit of shuffling to seat us at one of the best tables, and everything is double checked from the kitchen. I did hear “restaurant critic” being shouted from the pass about a fellow scribe at a new opening earlier this year as I lurked unnoticed under their nose.
The truth is, I’m a middle-aged woman who could be mistaken for any number of others like me – not the balayage brigade with their expensive tweakments, but more the sort that Ruth Reichl donned a wig to impersonate. I rarely get clocked. So, no surprise, it’s business as usual as I find myself trotting behind the central casting maître d’ in Peploe’s, past rows of empty tables for two, to a prime view of the bustling service and pay station. Siberia, in an almost deserted restaurant.
We are soon joined nearby by a large table of corporates, ordering all the low-hanging fruit and circling back for anything outside the box, but unfortunately short on juicy insider tips or market-shifting revelations.
So we focus on our prescribed reading, a classic listing of bistro staples. Apart from the overuse of the word “truffle” – usually code for truffle oil (the petroleum-derived synthetic flavouring Anthony Bourdain despised, known as 2,4-Dithiapentane to give it its chemical name) – it’s a cheerful line-up, with crab, foie gras, gambas, fried veal kidneys, fish, veal ragu and steaks. Plenty to choose from.
The French onion soup (€13.50) arrives like a bubbling cauldron of nostalgia, a lava flow of sweet, caramelised onions buried beneath a golden cap of aged Gruyère cheese on a sourdough crouton, struggling to contain the molten contents beneath. The scalding broth, a beefy abyss, delivers a tongue-searing hit, dragging up strings of cheese and soft onions with every perfect, scorching spoonful. Scampi is as you would expect, a crisp coating of light batter clinging to a few plump Dublin Bay prawns (€19.50) served with a few tossed green leaves.
There are a few wines under €40, but realistically, you’re looking at prices beyond that on a list that graduates to some very fine bottles in Burgundy and Bordeaux, a clear reflection on the people who dine here. A Brouilly “L’Enfer des Belloquets” (€47) a gamay from the Beaujolais region, works nicely with our meal. We ask to have it slightly chilled, and that is no problem at all. Service, by the way, is absolutely lovely, and the room has by now got quite the buzz as more tables have filled up.
The veal saltimbocca alla Romana (€34) lands with confidence – thin veal cutlets, crisped prosciutto, and notes of sage, all swimming in a velvety Marsala sauce. It doesn’t so much “jump in your mouth” as say lick the plate; the sauce is very good. So too are the chips which arrive in a little copper pot.
The halibut arrives nicely cooked, golden and crisp on the outside, with capers adding a pop of saltiness. A bunch of baby broccoli is dolloped with a rich, buttery hollandaise. It’s a dish that eats well, but at €42, it’s hard not to wince at the price. The alternative? Farmed sea bass for €36.50, which still feels steep for something I wouldn’t order.
We finish with lemon meringue pie (€13.80), which has a promising golden glaze, but that’s where the good news ends. The pastry is thick and stodgy, the lemon filling about as zesty as mashed potato, and the meringue is lifeless, not the airy cloud it should be; and the sugar is at that point where it’s starting to liquefy.
It is such a shame that our last dish was such a disappointment, as up to that point, we had been marvelling at the fact that so little has changed at Peploe’s since it opened 21 years ago. Graeme Dodrill, the executive head chef, has sidestepped trends and fads, offering French bistro fare which exudes confidence without pretence, keeping loyal patrons coming back. It’s a quiet assurance that sometimes all you need is a menu that speaks for itself.
Dinner for two with a bottle of wine was €179.30.
The verdict: French classics in an atmospheric room
Food provenance: MK Meat, Kish Fish, Glenmar, crab and scallops from Gerry Fisher, Artisan Foods and Caterway.
Vegetarian options: Tempura of mushrooms and aubergine Parmigiana; croquette of chickpea with red pepper hummus.
Wheelchair access: Fully accessible with an accessible toilet.
Music: Unobtrusive, in the background.
Photograph: Tom Honan/The Irish Times.
