We hear about the restaurants that come and go – the dazzling new openers that capture attention and the heartbreaking closures in an industry environment that has been nothing short of a bloodbath. But what about those who endure? The operators who have, and who have faced recessions, shifting trends, staff shortages and pandemics, and are still standing? What is the secret to survival in an industry notorious for its high failure rate?
For these six restaurateurs, survival has meant adapting, staying the course, expanding or passing the baton – whatever it took.
‘A bowl of soup can be as moving as a tasting menu’
Aoibheann McNamara, Ard Bia, Galway
Ard Bia is one of the rare Irish restaurants that has evolved, adapted, and flourished with ease. At its helm is Aoibheann McNamara – a chef and entrepreneur whose approach to food has always been shaped by a restless curiosity and a love of travel. From the spice markets of Marrakesh to the coastal kitchens of Lebanon, her influences run deep, weaving together bold, unexpected flavours with the best of Irish ingredients.
McNamara’s route into hospitality was never conventional. She opened her first restaurant in Donegal, running it seasonally so she could spend winters abroad, learning about food not from books or Michelin-starred kitchens but from home cooks, street vendors and producers whose knowledge had been passed down for generations. When she moved to Galway in 2000, her restaurant shifted through four locations before settling into its current home by the Spanish Arch. Through recessions, storms and industry upheavals, Ard Bia has remained, not by staying the same but by knowing when to change.
Years before Middle Eastern and North African flavours became familiar to Irish diners, McNamara was cooking with sumac, za’atar, and preserved lemons. At Ard Bia, slow-braised chickpeas with saffron and cumin sat alongside Connemara lamb, and blistered flatbreads were served with wild Irish greens and tangy labneh. But when those flavours started turning up in supermarkets, it was time for a refresh, stripping back the menu and refocusing on simplicity.
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What has never changed is McNamara’s belief in thoughtful, ingredient-led cooking. “I’m not the type to intellectualise food,” she says. “It’s about how it makes you feel – in your stomach, in your soul. A bowl of soup can be as moving as a tasting menu if it’s made right.” That ethos has seen Ard Bia through financial crises and shifting dining habits. Rising costs have forced constant adjustments, from renegotiating with suppliers to growing more produce in-house, but the restaurant has never lost sight of what matters.
‘Everything arrives in a bag now. Not here’
Olivier Meisonnave, Dax, Dublin
Olivier Meisonnave has spent the past 20 years doing something few restaurateurs manage – making a fine-dining restaurant last without dilution, reinvention or expansion. Dax, on Dublin’s Pembroke Street, opened in 2004, has survived two recessions, a pandemic and the relentless rise in costs that have shuttered countless restaurants around it. While others followed trends or overreached, Meisonnave stuck to what he knew – a restaurant with classic French cooking, precise service and a commitment to running a small, tightly controlled operation where staff are paid and treated properly.
The floor is run with old-school efficiency, and in the kitchen, Graham Neville’s cooking is sharp, classic and exacting. “Young chefs come in now, and they don’t know how to fillet a fish or butcher a rack of lamb,” Meisonnave says. “Everything arrives in a bag. Not here.”
Meisonnave and Neville worked together in Thornton’s, and their two Michelin star experience is quietly evident in the precision of everything they do at Dax. The menu has evolved but has never wavered from its classic core. The cooking is rooted in technique, and the atmosphere is something rare in fine dining – warm rather than formal.
Meisonnave believes success lies in hiring the right people, paying them properly, and making them want to stay. Staff retention at Dax is unusually high in an industry notorious for burnout and turnover.
What sets Dax apart is that it has never outgrown itself. “Sixty-six seats – that’s it. That’s the perfect number,” says Meisonnave. It has never taken on unnecessary debt, never overstretched to fill another site or chase a trend.
“Dublin isn’t London or New York,” he says. “You hear about restaurants opening with €5 million fit-outs – that’s madness. You can’t survive on three busy nights a week with that kind of debt. A restaurant is about control. When you lose that, you lose everything. And you have to be there. Too many restaurant owners think they can put a manager in place and step back. You won’t last.”
It has also given back. For its 10th anniversary, Dax partnered with the Simon Community, raising €12,000 in one year. Now, for its 20th, it has teamed up with Basis Point, an Irish charity funding education for disadvantaged children. Every table will add €3 to the bill for a year, with all proceeds going to the fund.
‘I got rid of banana fritters and the curry. I still get grief’
Kevin Hui, China Sichuan, Sandyford, Co Dublin
For years, Chinese cuisine was pigeonholed into a handful of dishes – sweet and sour chicken, beef in black bean sauce, fried rice – a far cry from the centuries-old techniques of a complex culinary tradition. Breaking through that barrier has been an uphill battle, one Kevin Hui has fought for most of his career.
His father, David Hui, set the foundation in the 1980s by introducing chefs from Chengdu, Sichuan’s capital, at a time when the idea of authentic Chinese food was almost unthinkable in Ireland. The reaction was predictable. “People didn’t know what they were eating,” Hui says. “Dishes would come back untouched – too spicy, too salty, too unfamiliar.” Slowly, through adjustments, education and perseverance they won people over.
By the time Kevin took over, the restaurant had gained a strong reputation, but he knew it needed to evolve. In 2007, he moved China Sichuan from its original location to Sandyford. The transition was rocky, leading to financial strain, legal battles and a complete rethink of the restaurant’s identity. Hui stripped out the cliches, ditched the sizzling plates, and refocused the menu. “We got rid of banana fritters and the curry,” he says. “People lost their minds. I still get grief for it.”
But it was the right call. By elevating the quality of ingredients and recruiting chefs from world-class Chinese kitchens, China Sichuan transformed into one of the country’s most respected restaurants. Yet recognition has always been harder to come by. “There’s still a ceiling,” Hui says. “A European restaurant is judged on the food alone.”
Now, Hui is looking ahead to the next phase of China Sichuan. A new head chef, “Jack” Lew Kong Loy has taken the reins (an alumnus of the prestigious Hakkasan). The kitchen is going back to its roots, refining the classics rather than reinventing them, with an emphasis on technique and balance, and classic dishes like Peking duck.
Hui is also planning a dedicated takeaway outlet. “People are ready for a proper Chinese takeaway,” he says, “something beyond the usual five rotating dishes.”
‘You need to find a new audience all the time’
Dennis Cotter, Paradiso, Cork
Dennis Cotter never set out to change the face of vegetarian dining in Ireland. When he opened Café Paradiso in Cork in 1993, vegetarian restaurants were synonymous with worthy food – brown rice, nut loaves and an earnestness that drained the joy from eating. Cotter wanted a restaurant, not a crusade – just a place to cook exciting, inventive food that happened to be vegetarian.
Paradiso was small, informal and fun, with a menu that took its cues from Cotter’s own cooking at home, a style that owed more to his time in London and New Zealand than the worthy cafes of the era. It was new and exciting.
His first major turning point came in 1999 with the publication of The Café Paradiso Cookbook. Expectations in the diningroom changed overnight. Customers came in looking for a particular dish from the book, or expecting the food to live up to a new standard.
From that point on, the approach tightened. The casual, intuitive cooking of the early years became something sharper, more intentional. The menu changed, and so did the way Cotter worked. It was no longer just about the food – it was about the produce.
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Cotter didn’t start out with a mission to source locally or follow the seasons, but when he began working closely with farmers and cheesemakers, everything shifted again. His menus had always been ingredient-driven, but now, instead of shaping dishes around ideas, he was shaping them around produce. Good relationships with Bill Hogan, who made Gabriel cheese, and later with organic vegetable grower Ultan Walsh, cemented this new focus.
Cotter hasn’t been in the kitchen full-time for more than a decade. Paradiso’s food is now led by Spanish chef Miguel Frutos. That shift is part of a bigger transition. Cotter is stepping further back, handing more control to long-time restaurant manager David O’Malley, and figuring out where he fits in the business.
A restaurant can’t be static, he maintains – it must grow, mature, and shift with its audience. It also can’t be afraid of leaving some people behind. “You need to find a new audience all the time,” he says.
‘People don’t just want dinner – they want an occasion’
Máire and Paul Flynn, The Tannery, Dungarvan. Co Waterford
When Máire and Paul Flynn opened The Tannery in Dungarvan 28 years ago, the idea of a destination restaurant in a small coastal town seemed risky. Dining of that standard belonged in cities, where footfall and deep-pocketed customers were a given. But Paul, already a highly regarded chef with experience in top London kitchens, wanted to cook on his own terms, in his own place, without compromise.
The Tannery was a gamble, but it worked. Nearly three decades later, it remains one of Ireland’s most respected restaurants.
For Máire, who runs the business, survival has never been about standing still. Running a restaurant is no longer just about what happens in service. “You can’t wait for the phone to ring,” says Máire. “You have to be online, you have to be visible, and you have to make it easy for people to book. If a customer can’t book with you in three clicks, they’ll book somewhere else. Most of our bookings come in online now. You wake up, and they’re just there. We couldn’t possibly go back to how it was.”
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It’s also why they made a bigger adjustment to the business, adding rooms beside the restaurant to turn it into a full experience. “If we didn’t have the rooms now, we wouldn’t still be open,” Máire says. “People don’t just want dinner – they want an occasion. They want to have a glass of wine, stay over, and make a night of it.
“The way we work has changed, but the goal hasn’t,” she adds. “You have to stay relevant, but you also have to stay practical.” That means understanding customers, keeping the experience effortless, and making the business as bulletproof as possible. “You can’t wait for quarterly accounts any more. We look at our numbers every week – margins, staff costs, energy bills – and adjust accordingly.”
A restaurant’s success is never just about the food, but at The Tannery, it remains the foundation. Paul Flynn’s ability to cook with clarity has kept The Tannery relevant through every change in the industry. It has weathered economic crashes, shifting dining habits, and a generation of new restaurants that have come and gone.
‘You need a strong team, and you need to keep them. We’ve been very lucky’
Patrick Guilbaud, Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud, Dublin
Patrick Guilbaud has spent 44 years running one of Ireland’s most famous fine-dining restaurants, steering it through economic crashes, shifting trends and a global pandemic, all while retaining two Michelin stars. Earlier this year, he received the Distinguished Leader in Business award at The Irish Times Business Awards, recognition for a career built on vision, consistency and an unwavering focus on quality.
Michelin has been central to the restaurant’s identity for decades. It was the first in Ireland to earn two stars, in 1996, and has retained them ever since – no small feat. “It keeps you on your toes. It brings in tourists. The local customer knows who you are, but international visitors trust Michelin – they look at the guides.”
Guilbaud says that to get a Michelin star, you have to be on top of your job all the time. “We have to ensure that we are inventive, creating dishes, discovering new produce. The best thing is that we have beautiful Irish ingredients, and we try to promote them in the French way.”
Some dishes have never left the menu. The lobster ravioli and the signature pithivier of chicken are classics that regulars refuse to let go. “We can’t take the pithivier off – people ask for it,” he says. “But we refine it, improve it, add new elements. You evolve the dish, but you don’t lose its essence.”
Running a two-star restaurant is about more than food – it’s about weathering the tough times. The recessions in the 1980s and 90s hit hard, followed by the financial crash in 2008. “When we started, we were borrowing money at 24 per cent interest. You have to be prepared for the hard times,” he says.
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Most recently, it was the pandemic. “We were lucky,” he says. “We had built reserves over the years. Government support helped, but without a buffer, it would have been difficult. The biggest issue now is finding good people. You need a strong team, and you need to keep them. We’ve been very lucky there.”
After four decades, succession is in motion. “I’m 73, so I’m slowing down. Charles is taking over with Stéphane and the rest of the team, and they’re doing a great job,” he says, referring to his son Charles Guilbaud and Stéphane Robin, his long-serving restaurant manager.
