You can't get staff nowadays. Or at least we can't. Our live-in child-minder is moving on in a couple of weeks and it is not easy to find a replacement. Sad to be losing her, we are enjoying our last few nights of freedom by going out as much as we can, knowing that very shortly we will not be able to go out at all. So, midweek, off we went with a friend to Munkberrys restaurant in Dalkey where they appear to be having the same problem. No fewer than three notices were stuck to the window, all bold print, begging for kitchen staff and waitresses. Notices aside, this looks like an expensive restaurant, particularly if you are standing outside, peering through the slatted blinds behind the high-arched windows. The tables are lit by spotlights, with forests of long-stemmed wineglasses, and the diners look as though they are all on their best behaviour, having a special night out. It is certainly the smartest restaurant in the village, although that wouldn't be hard. For all its rock stars and millionaires, Dalkey has a lot of dreary eateries. (I'm not counting such gems as Ragazzis beside the Club pub, which is a great place, always heaving with people but with room for two more, the best pesto sauce in Dublin, the odd sambuca on the house and a lot of excitable Italian waiters who willingly gather around to sing Happy Birthday to whoever happens to be having a party.)
But at Munkberrys, all was very quiet.
It's an L-shaped room and most of the action was going on at the far end, near the kitchen, where there were two tables taken. A single waitress kept her back firmly towards us. It wasn't the warmest welcome but we were too busy admiring the decor to feel offended. The walls are white, with an odd wall painted orange or burgundy to warm it up. The tables are dressed in starched linen. Fat candles flicker here and there, standing on tall, wrought-iron stands. The floor is of fashionably dark timber. The chairs are steel and curved wood, and look as though they should be very comfortable but, in fact, are hard and lumpy. A second waitress, who seemed also to be the manager, welcomed us in a very friendly way and gave us our choice of tables. We chose a window table, next to an open staircase that goes up to a sitting room where, we were told, people can sit and read the papers during Sunday brunch. Bread - just one type, which was a relief since so many places now have waiters bearing down on you with a basket containing 10 varieties - and mineral water came almost at once, and we were left to peruse the surprisingly long menu. The set menu is £18.95 and has four starters and five main courses. If you go a la carte you can choose from a long list of starters, from £3.50 to £7.50, then pasta, fish or meat main courses ranging in price from £7.95 for pasta to £14.95 for the most expensive fish or meat. Vegetarian dishes are marked with Vs and there is an asterisk beside anything that has nuts in it. This led to a gruesome story about a friend-of-a-friend's-child who ate a fleck of peanut butter by mistake at a children's party and nearly died.
Revelling in my immunity to nuts, I started with the celery soup with walnut ream from the set menu. It came in a small, white bowl on a big, white plate with two slices of crisped apple on the side. It was a lovely, comforting soup, as smooth and nourishing as invalid food, and it was nice to be eating in full view of the rain-swept street, where people were rushing by with their coats over their heads. The others got far more exciting starters - a gorgeous ceasar salad with spicy chicken on one side, and a huge heap of prawns, served with chillies on the other side. By then, we had made inroads into a flashy bottle of Californian Pacific Rim Riesling which had been recommended by our waitress as a substitute for our first choice, the Mad Fish Bay Australian chardonnay, which had not yet arrived from the Munkberrys wine merchant, James Nicholson. We had only chosen the chardonnay for the name and didn't mind changing to the riesling, which turned out to be dry and fruity, but expensive at £19.50, even if it does come in an ad agency's dream of a bottle, with the labels, including one of a reclining female, stuck on sideways, and with a bright orange plastic cork.
After a bit of a wait our empty starter plates were whisked away and the main courses arrived a minute later, which made me wonder if they had been standing by for a while. And indeed my cod with a Mediterranean crust was lukewarm as was my friend's penne with its rich tomato and bacon sauce. Both dishes were just warm enough for us not to ask the waitress to take them back, but threatening to go stone cold if we didn't eat them fast, which we did. The cod was wonderfully fresh and firm, and the crust seemed to be full of delicious Mediterranean bits, but the bed of potato had been pureed until it was too sticky and it, too, was cooling fast. Still, the combination of flavours was strong and delicious.
The penne's tomato sauce was freshly made and full of flavour, but both of us envied my husband, who had had scored with his tower of mignon of beef, topped with roasted tomato butter and sitting on herb and parmesan mash. It looked perfect, was steaming hot, and he didn't leave a trace of it. The set menu has just one dessert, a lemon creme brulee, but you can also have cheese. No ordinary cheese plate, either, with a few wedges of cheese and cream crackers. Instead, you get warm goat's-cheese crostini, with a rocket salad, tomato relish and dark sauce piped around the plate. "Is that chocolate?" asked my friend, trying not to appeared fazed by the idea. We all dipped our fingers in and tasted something quite strange and bitter. It turned out to be a beetroot jus. I wanted a slice of the light-and-dark chocolate torte from the a la carte menu but instead I went for the creme brulee. It was perfectly creamy beneath its sugar crust, and there was enough of it for the other two to share. The a la carte also offered a red bull and vodka parfait with chocolate truffles, but no one had the nerve to try it. We ordered two glasses of dessert wine, but it turned out there was only enough left in the house for one glass. The manager admitted this and gave us the two half glasses, on the house.
After serving our desserts the waitress disappeared upstairs and came down wearing her coat and and carrying her handbag. It was about 10.30 p.m. She perched herself on a high stool beside the door and sipped a digestif. Maybe this is one way of holding onto staff. She chatted for a while to the manager and then left. Soon afterwards, so did we. The bill for three of us, one eating a la carte, came to a reasonable £85.89, including 12.5 per cent service charge. It wasn't perfect but we all liked it a lot.
Munkberrys Restaurant, 22 Castle Street, Dalkey, Co Dublin. Tel: 01 284 7185. Open Tuesday to Saturday, 7.30 to 10.30 p.m. Sunday brunch. Early bird menu at £13.95.
