The weekend was relatively quiet as my parents were visiting and ‘helping’ me move. Unsurprisingly they loved my new area and dad even toyed with the idea of moving somewhere similar. Confirming my worst thoughts about the Cocoon atmosphere of the estate. On Saturday we decided to do some family dining. As the new “South Bar and Restaurant�? in Sandyford has got such an obscene amount of publicity we decided to check it out. After some wrangling for a table I managed to secure one and even got them to pick us up in the chauffeur car. Mum was ecstatic to have a man in uniform drive us to the restaurant and I could hear the wheels turn as to how she could drop this into conversation when next at the golf club.

We decided to pop to the bar first which is downstairs and has a VERY LOUD jazz band. We all ended up sitting in a line at the bar, which wasn’t great for conversation. Also the bar is on the thoroughfare to the loo’s. Not really the ambience you want for a pre-dinner drink. We moved to our table soon after, which was subject to sporadic gales every time the main door was opened. Thankfully we didn’t capsize so a large scale rescue mission wasn’t initiated ( local joke ). Service was enthusiastic but sporadic. Half way through our starters we asked where the wine might be. Still in the cellar was the answer as they had misplaced our order.

After some delay our mains and wine finally arrived. Each main was on the cool side of warm. Acceptable if you were prepared to eat very quickly. The staff, all 5 of them who seemed to be serving our table, were really helpful and apologetic but correct temperature food should be a basic, new restaurant or not. We didn’t order sides, but it became obvious they were needed and they arrived just before the end of the meal. We attempted to order another bottle of wine, but they were sold out of our choice ( after 2 weeks! ). However the sommelier recommended a wonderful replacement, which was far better than our original choice. As we were a somewhat troublesome table we were given complimentary digestifs, which was a nice touch. Although not charging for the barely warm mains might have been a nicer touch. I know you aren’t meant to judge a restaurant so soon after opening, but if they are going to charge full price then I believe they deserve to be judged.

I haven’t focused much on the food as it was lost among the poor floor design and bewildered service. Mum best summed up the experience the next day;

“So, what did you think of dinner?�? me

“The chauffeur car was really lovely.�? Mum

She was right, it was the highlight of the meal. Although I think it will grow into a good restaurant at the moment it is still on a provisional license.

How can I explain last night? Picture four single women, of a certain age, sharing a jumbo packet of Maynard Wine Gums in the front row of an Il Divo concert and you get the idea. My sister is Il Divo’s biggest fan. She attends all their concerts and the CDs are on constant auto repeat in the house and car. As she has exhausted everyone else to drag along, including my parents, last night was my turn.

The evening began with an instrumental melody of the greatest hits by the orchestra. The conductor was rather flamboyant. His hair appeared to start half way back his head and finished somewhere just below his shoulders. Think of a masculine negative of Tina Turner in Mad Max. He was also very tall, angular and curiously awkward for someone who presumably has perfect pitch and rhythm. He moved like the novelty pencil sharpeners I had as a child, (animal held together by string on a plastic cylinder, when you pressed the base it caused the legs to collapse or head to droop). The conductor looked like someone was controlling him in a similar fashion from beneath the stage as he bounced around, rising and falling as he conducted. Thankfully, no one in the orchestra seemed to pay him any attention.

The ‘Il Divo’ boys then arrived on stage. For those of you not in the know the line up is as follows; David (tenor), Carlos (baritone), Urs (tenor), Sebastian (pop singer), which does create a Sesame Street vibe of, ‘one of these things is not like the others’. Unsurprisingly they are all extremely cute and the performances were very good. In fact the only cringe part was the verbal interaction with the audience. When they spoke you wanted to grab some Carr’s water crackers and a good glass of Port. Curiously, Urs from Switzerland was the least cheesy.

During the encore I could hear a low rumble behind me. I assumed it was the sound system, but then realised it was an avalanche of pre HRT women speed walking towards the stage. Now if this were a standard boy band with an audience of teenagers you could understand, but there is something very disturbing about granny hanging off the leg of one of the Il Divo singers.

So, if you are single and of a certain age getting serenaded with Italian and French love songs is a pretty good way to spend an evening. Gorgonzola supplied free of charge.

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The highlight of today will be meeting Helena for coffee. The joys of being unemployed. She is one of my oldest friends, not in a Methuselah way, just since we were children. We were outrageous tom-boys, running around the fields, climbing trees then falling out of trees. Eventually her mum got tired of the rough behaviour and packed Helen off to a posh boarding school. I had to find a new best friend. She did come back some weekends, but she was much more ladylike and only answered to the name Helena.

During our twenties we met up again and shared an apartment. By this stage her dad was a major King Edward ( one time potato eating farmer who sold land, invested in property and joined Ireland’s wealthy elite ). Helena had become a full time trustifarian and uber snob. I acted as wing-girl for her attempts to ‘marry-up’. Mainly because I was unlikely to provide much competition.

Like most things Helena set her mind to she was successfully and at a relatively young age (less than 30!). We call her hubby 4-pack, although never to his face, due to his unusual torso / leg ratio. Apparently this is not the only anatomical irregularity. Proving that the early bird really does get the worm.

Now I meet Helena on a regular basis, depending on what crisis she is having at the time. Naturally she can’t confide in her new friends that she is a less than perfect ‘Drummy Mummy’ (similar to a Yummy Mummy, but spends vast quantities of time in the Dundrum Centre shopping and drinking skinny latte’s). Today is one of those days.

We are due to meet in Starbucks AKA the Dundrum Coffee Creche. Managing to get from the counter to a table without falling over a buggy, stroller or baby bag is a trial. Even when you sit down it’s not relaxing as you have to listen to the screams, as Drummy Mummys greet each other and the tantrums, as they try and convince the IVF twins, Hugo and Sorcha, to eat their organic bran muffins and fair trade chocolate soya milkshakes. It makes growing up in the depression seem like a bonus.

So why do I still meet her? I’m not really sure. Maybe I see a lot of myself in her, or what I might be like in similar circumstances. Perhaps it’s because Dublin is so very cliquey and if you’re not in the gang then you’re outside. But mainly because sometimes she goes back to being just Helen and I get to laugh and act like a 10 year old again, just without the trees.

La Stampa was once ‘the’ restaurant in Dublin. Not due to the food or service, which was at best average, but because you might get to see the back of Anne Doyle’s* head or Chris DeBurgh’s** left elbow. The establishment has gone through a few transformations since and is now operating as Balzac.

Stepping over the threshold my suspicions of another bad meal in Dublin were enforced by appallingly bland decor in the reception area; think suburban semi-detached show house, all pale wood and pictures of trees. Maybe it was to make the clientele feel at home. Also the menu was heavily biased towards fish. Not that I had seen the menu but I could tell from the overpowering smell of fish. ( fresh fish should never smell ).

Things didn’t improve in the main dining room, all the Knuttel pictures were gone, not a bad thing, but they were replaced my a two for one special on Magnolia paint from B&Q. I literally sank into my seat. Looking over the menu, as suspected, fish featured strongly but I did manage to get a starter and main I liked. In a moment of perfect zen harmony my guest, the divine Vintner, managed to select the other two items that I was craving.

The starters arrived VERY quickly which always makes me suspicious. The Vintner’s starter was a source of some amusement as it consisted of only 4 pieces of asparagus. I’m guessing the mark up is pretty substantial, but they were delicious. Unusually, I wasn’t completely full after the starters, so was really looking forward to mains, which again arrived at record speed.

My main was a rump of lamb, which was perfectly pink and so tender that it reminded me of melting snow on my tongue as a child. The ratatouille was a bit strange, but actually worked really well with the lamb. In fact the only issue were the two boiled potatoes that sat on the edge of my plate like Mr. Tayto’s testicles. I didn’t eat them.

The Vintner selected some amazing wine to compliment the food, which is why he is my favourite dinner companion. Desert was a bit strange as we ordered a lemon meringue but got something resembling an Ice Cream Sunday crossed with Eton Mess. Not one for diabetics.

The bill was a week’s dole, but I wouldn’t complain as it was a really fabulous meal and has restored my faith in Dublin restaurants. Although I didn’t get to see the back of Anne Doyle’s head.

*Anne Doyle - local newsreader
**Chris deburgh - sang Lady in Red and shagged the nanny