Trocadero – or “The Troc”, as its devotees affectionately call it – is widely acknowledged as the unofficial green room for Dublin’s actors, playwrights and those tireless raconteurs who insist they once saw Brendan Behan causing an almighty ruckus outside the Palace Bar after one too many.
Open since 1957, it has welcomed presidents, ambassadors and half the West End – Judi Dench, Hugh Grant, Alan Rickman and Roger Moore among them – morphing subtly over the years while somehow managing to preserve the air of a place where time has not so much stood still as poured itself a large whiskey and settled in for the evening. The red velour booths, the walls lined with autographed photographs of theatrical luminaries, and the sort of service that comes from a front-of-house team who have been here longer than some of the furniture, all conspire to create the sense that time passing is not something to be fought but something to be embraced.
Worried that I won’t “get” the Troc, I go full Severance and summon an innie – Richard J, a close pal who knows a thing or two about Dublin’s theatrical crowd from his Dance Ireland days.
The menu is a roll call of grand old restaurant dishes – the kind once printed on laminated menus in places where the dessert trolley made the rounds, pausing tableside like a visiting dignitary. And that is precisely why people love it.
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Starters read like a greatest hits album from a simpler time, before food got ideas above its station. Golden-seared scallops (€15.95) arrive perched on a velvety cauliflower purée, with the added drama of Clonakilty black pudding crumbled over and a few dabs of apple gel. The chicken liver pâté (€12.95) is the right side of old-school – a generous slice rather than one of those delicate quenelles that whisper “fine dining”. It’s a smooth, boozy slab, unapologetically rich, and quite marvellous with accompaniments of prune and Armagnac purée and toasted white soda bread.
We order a bottle of Il Faggio Montepulciano (€38.50) from a wine list that plays it safe with plenty of crowd-pleasers under €40, and a few punchier numbers should one feel like grandstanding.
Trocadero takes its beef seriously – 28-day dry-aged Angus (€38.95), served with braised pearl onions, and either Béarnaise or pepper sauce. The sirloin is rare, as ordered, seared so that the edges are crisp, and allowed to rest. It is the kind of steak that reminds you why ordering sirloin is always a safer bet than fillet. The pearl onions are a nice touch – just softened, slightly sweet – and the pepper sauce is thick, creamy, and just hot enough to remind you it’s there.
The rack of Wicklow lamb (€38.95), neatly trimmed, with a delicate pink centre, arrives bathed in a thick, glossy red wine jus. It is old-fashioned in the best sense.
The creamed spinach (€5.75) is rich, buttery and rounded with garlic. It’s the ideal thing to swipe through steak juices between mouthfuls, making the case that salad should never have been an option. Crispy chips play an admirable support role.
Dessert is the peanut mess (€10.95), a joyous, chaotic heap of peanut parfait, ice cream, and chocolate fudge sauce. Cold, sweet, crunchy and fudgy, it demands to be eaten with the kind of enthusiasm that sends spoons clashing. It’s the perfect way to end a meal like this.
Trocadero has always had a touch of theatre, even in its origins – founded in 1957 by Eddie Lassides, better known as Eddie the Greek, whose Greek Cypriot heritage must have seemed impossibly glamorous in a city where spaghetti was still a novelty. But for as long as I can remember, it has been in the very capable hands of Robert Doggett and Rhona Teehan, who have expanded its footprint over the years without breaking its spell.
Yet for all its famous faces, the Trocadero remains resolutely itself – not a shrine to the past, but a place where the past has never been asked to leave. There’s no Josper grill, no new-fangled kitchen kit, yet there’s a reason the Trocadero is still here. It has zero interest in chasing awards or trends; it’s here for people who want to eat in a restaurant, not an experiment. Old-school in the best sense – confident, charming and built to last. Dublin’s food scene has changed beyond recognition in the past decade, but places like this hold the line, standing firm while the city’s dining scene shifts around them. Long may it continue.
Dinner for two with a bottle of wine was €162.
The Verdict: 8/10 Confident, charming and made to last
Food provenance: Kish Fish, Mourne Seafoods, H&D Robinson’s and La Rousse.
Vegetarian options: Mushroom and walnut pâté, herb-crumbed goats cheese, truffle and mushroom tagliatelle, spring onion risotto and plant-based vegan steak.
Wheelchair access: Accessible room with no accessible toilet.
Music: The O’Jays, Tavares and classic soul.
