Another day brightened the capital.
In the morning, I showed Lewis that we were blessed to see another rainbow... in our bathroom sink! We are not sure what created it, but somehow rays of light were refracted perfectly to put a rainbow there to start our day. :-)
After breakfasting in the hotel, our day started with a Campus Tour that we pre-purchased online for the University of Dublin. It is centered in the heart of the city, and it looks like this...
A perfectly-clean tram carried us over the O'Connell Bridge.
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The River Liffey has 19 bridges in the City-Center. Half of them are footbridges for pedestrians. None of them are toll bridges. In NYC, river-crossing require outrageous toll prices.
*To see the bridges of NYC, please use this link: https://halfwindsorfullthrottle.blogspot.com/2021/05/bridges-tunnels.html
We exited at a tram stop named Trinity. (That makes the college easy to identify).
During the medieval era of 1320, there was an unsuccessful effort to create a university at St Patrick's Cathedral. Pope Clement V granted a papal decree. Yet the Irish Catholic hierarchy did not prioritize it. When the Reformation occurred in 1534, the languishing school ended. On their own, Dublin's leaders requested a university to be erected on land owned by the Priory of All Hallows. (It sounds like All Hallow's Eve = Halloween). The priory was founded by Royal Assent from the King of Leinster in 1166, and it included serfs who were "attached" to the land. It lodged visitors from the king, and it grew wealthy. Like many Catholic properties, it was tax-exempt. After it was dissolved by the Crown (as King Henry VIII broke away from Catholicism), its land became available. Dublin's request was approved in London in 1592 at Christmastime.
The University of Dublin is one of seven ancient universities on the British Isles, and it's the oldest in Ireland. It was founded by a royal charter in 1592 by Queen Elizabeth I. This is its coat of arms.
Unlike England's University of Oxford, only one college was created: Trinity College. Therefore, both entities are conterminous, and their names are synonymous. Since the 12th-century, the land belonged to the Priory of All Saints, but the land reverted to the Crown during England's Tudor Dynasty. The last Tudor monarch designated the land for academia.
As we passed through the entrance hall, we noticed that there were no armed guards or metal detectors scanning the students and visitors. Alas, in NYC, mere teenagers who enter their high schools must endure those things due to their violent culture. In Dublin, the absence of them was indicative of a safe society.
Our online instructions told us to meet our Tour Guide under the Campanile (belltower). According to local folklore, if a student is under the bell when it rings, they will fail their classes.
Our guide arrived wearing a sweatshirt and windbreaker.
He announced that it was his favorite time of year. Flowering trees were bright with sweet-smelling blooms, and flowers sprouted from every garden.
Our guide was a sophomore (the Irish equivalent is "Year 2") who majored in History. That seemed apropos for his job. Against an American prejudice of historians (usually based on Hollywood stereotypes), he was athletic, humorous, and conversational with his knowledge (not giving a lecture or dissertation). I anticipated some pre-tour chatter with him about local life in Dublin, but he was punctual to arrive exactly as the clocktower chimed, and our tour began immediately.
It reminded me of being a Campus Tour Guide at my university and customizing my information for each prospective student's academic focus. (I graduated from Alfred University; it was named for King Alfred the Great who unified England's kingdoms and spread education).
Our tour-group consisted of 20 people: most were tourists, but two were aspiring students who wanted to enroll there (with their eager parents). Two couples were American, and there was a Chinese trio with a prospective student. The rest were Irish and English. Lewis seemed to be regarded as the most-impressive visitor because he was born in Manhattan. The other Americans were extra-impressed because (due to expensiveness and population turnover) it is rare to meet someone who was born in Manhattan and continued to live there. That made the other people gawk. I felt like I was coupled to a celebrity.
Our chatty guide informed us that the three buildings at the entrance were begun in the 1750s. From left to right, they were the Examination Hall, Department of Music auditorium, and Regent House (an event space). They look as grand as when they were first built, and that attests to Ireland's conservation mindset.
They replaced brick and wood structures from the 1590s and 1600s. With so much history, it's not surprising that the campus is said to be haunted! With sophomoric energy, our guide promised to show us where the ghost appeared. Moving in a clockwise direction around Parliament Square, he described the chapel and dining hall. Luckily, both were open for us to enter (the dining hall is only open during mealtimes).
Completed in 1798, the chapel is beautiful. We were lucky to get inside and admire it. Its clergy and choir provide daily Morning Prayer, weekly Evensong, and Communion.
An ante-room was brightly lit with tall windows, and visitors could leave their outer garments on pegs in the wall. Please enjoy Lewis' panoramic video of its interior...
To inhabitants of the British Isles, the dining hall of 1760 seems normal for a posh/historic university, but to Americans, it resembled the one in the Harry Potter films. Its soaring ceiling gave a grand ambiance, and long wood tables stretched the length of the hall, while portraits with gilded frames covered the wood-paneled walls and seemed to gaze at everyone.
Aromas wafted from the (unseen) kitchen area and enticed our noses with salivating thoughts. Coming from an excellent Food Program at my university's dining hall, it was nostalgic... but other Americans were wowed with the quality that they smelled.
Adjacent to the impressive hall is Ireland's tiniest cemetery: Challoners Corner. It is named for John Challoner, the first Secretary of State for Ireland in 1560, and vice-provost at Trinity. Eight burials are there.
We approached a long redbrick dormitory named The Rubrics that was constructed in 1700.
Our guide recounted the tale of when the House Master, Edward Ford, wanted to quell rowdy students who threw rocks through his window. Being an ill-tempered man, he fired his pistol at them. They shot back and killed him. A local legend persists that his ghost is the specter that can be seen haunting his window at night, wearing a nightshirt and nightcap.
Modern dorm rooms look like this...
Our group proceeded and admired the pretty landscaping at New Square.
We crossed a small forecourt and saw a wooden structure: the Samuel Beckett Theatre, which was erected in 1992 for performing arts. That part of the campus is called The Narrows.
We segued to the rugby and football (Americans call it soccer) field and the cricket field. The lawns were perfect.
While living in America's wealthiest and most-expensive city, we wish our local parks had talented groundskeepers to make the grass look as nice as other first-world cities.
As we traipsed past open windows, we peeked at pupils who seemed attentive to their professors' lectures. Very different than in the USA. Those parents are getting their money's worth.
During the Era of Enlightenment, Ireland’s relatively-small population made enormous contributions to literature and poetry. Throughout history, Ireland’s famous writers include Bram Stoker (author of vampire tales), Oscar Wilde, W.B. Yeats, Jonathan Swift, Bernard Shaw, and James Joyce. On February 13, 1686, Swift was granted his Bachelor of Arts degree from Trinity College Dublin “by special grace” (his grades didn’t qualify for it, but the college gave it anyway). Swift moved to England and applied for enrollment at Oxford University. They didn’t understand Dublin’s terminology about his grades, so they admitted him; he didn’t correct them.
Near the Biochemistry School, we entered a grove of trees and shrubbery that the administration dedicated for ecological resurgences: honeybees, butterflies, and birds. "Bee Hotels" were mounted on tree trunks, and specific flowers were planted to help their populations mature.
In addition, the grass outside the main entrance is deliberately left uncut to create a "meadow" that those endangered species can use for refuge. Students continue to use the area to commune with Nature. Relatedly, we never saw a scrap of litter—or discarded beverage/cup/bottle—anywhere on the university property. (Also very different than in the USA).
We also saw the newly-built building for studying Business. Acting as the opposite of "corporate coldness", the sleekly modern structure was adorned with panels of "hanging gardens". That greenery provides cool shade and improves the ecosystem.
Next, we toured the stately Museum Building of 1857, with masonry covered with sculpted varieties of Ireland's flora and fauna. It contains the university's Departments of Geology, Mechanical Engineering, and Civil Engineering.
The triple-height lobby has Romanesque domes and broad marble bannisters. Mounted to a wall, the skeletal remains of a prehistoric elk wowed us, with a wide set of huge antlers!
Moving along, we arrived at a cubist building that was erected in 1967. It was the Berkeley Library.
Juxtaposed to it was a rectangular lawn named Fellows' Square that students lounged on. Some sipped mugs of coffee while glancing at their devices, but most socialized in cliques.
(That is also different than many campuses in the USA where students are fixated on their devices and forget the importance of conversation). The sun shone, and few people needed coats. We love February in Ireland!
As our tour ended at the Old Library, our guide guided us into the queue to see the Book of Kells. It's a national treasure.
At that moment, he invited anyone to discuss local life with him because he was a native Dubliner. Alas, an American pair monopolized his time trying to find a good place for a hamburger (that is VERY stereotypical of Americans. We never do that; we eat local specialities wherever we go, and burgers are low on our list of preferences). *Later, we saw the guide again and wanted to inquire with him about Dublin, but he was preoccupied with his next tour.
Constructed in 1712, the Old Library is an impressive building.
As I mentioned in Part 2, it was designed by an Irishman named Thomas de Burgh, who graduated from Trinity College. As a Member of Parliament, High Sheriff of Kildare, Governor of the Royal Hospital Kilmainham, and a famous architect, he was hired by royalty to build the Royal Barracks (1701), Custom House (1704), and Dr Steevens' Hospital (1719), the Armoury at Dublin Castle, and St Mary's Church (1700)—which was near our hotel as a popular restaurant.
The Book of Kells (Gospels) is the oldest book in Ireland. It was written and illustrated in the 800s. The illustrations are inventive masterpieces that still enchant people's imaginations. The fact that they survived so many centuries and relocations is astounding. A helpful docent told us that the Book is technically four books. They are stored in a air-controlled vault in the library, and historians rotate them for viewing—always choosing a charming page to be open for display. On the day that we visited, this was the fully-illustrated page that was chosen for viewing. So colorful and intricate!
Using ancient Celtic designs, each page is loaded with fanciful and geometric drawings. The scribes of that era had a partiality for interlacing shapes. It really makes your mind work, as you visually trace the lines or shapes as they blend with each other!
Another docent told us that were extremely lucky to visit the campus at that time because they are putting away the Book of Kells and the contents of the Old Library so that the very old structure can be fireproofed. (The disastrous inferno at Paris' Notre Dame Cathedral sparked them into action).
To preserve the book for future generations, visitors cannot touch it or flip through its pages. So, enlarged images of many pages are erected throughout the gallery for up-close examination. The images were as tall as us.
The situation reminded us of visiting a similar exhibit of the Sistine Chapel before we actually flew to Rome to see the real one inside Vatican City. *To see that extraordinary experience, please use this link... https://halfwindsorfullthrottle.blogspot.com/2022/03/our-trip-to-italy-part-5-of-7-vatican.html
Ascending a historic staircase, we found ourselves facing the impressively long Old Library.
Passing through the double-doors, we instantly inhaled that indescribably wonderful smell of old books! Love that!
Imagine how incredible it smelled with thousands of ancient books filling two levels of tall shelves! Tomes and ancient documents galore.
In truth, half of the library was already emptied for the room's refurbishment, and librarians were (quietly) boxing statues and wrapping figurines with bubble-wrap. Sunshine streamed through the ceiling-height windows, and it illuminated the very dark woodwork that surrounded us.
Lewis and I posed in front of the alphabetic sections for our initials.
Centered in the room was a wooden harp that was created in late 14th-century. Notice Lewis peeking through the middle at you.
The hand-carved decorations were lovely. This medieval artifact is truly another national treasure because it was used as a model for Ireland's coat of arms!
As the national symbol of Ireland, the Celtic-style harp is proudly featured on governmental crests. A vehicular bridge in Dublin is shaped like it!
After such grandiosity, the gift shop was a letdown. Most trinkets were generic. Apparently, nobody thought to offer souvenirs featuring iconic/unique emblems, structures, items, or trademarks of the college. Surprisingly, few items related to the Book of Kells! (That disappointment also reminded us of the Vatican).
*To see my amazing university experiences, please use this link:
https://halfwindsorfullthrottle.blogspot.com/2013/05/college-memories.html
On the topic of colors, we observed that Irish guys are not afraid to wear pastels or flowery shirts. Unlike American men, their masculinity is not challenged by colors.
It was fun to be away from the "everyday black" that mundane New Yorkers cover themselves in. (Living in a dirty city doesn't help).
Exiting the 40-acre campus, Lewis and I walked on Pearse Street, named to honor a pair of brothers, Patrick and William Pearse, who were revolutionaries for Irish Independence. We meandered south, looking for a place to have lunch. It was a gorgeous afternoon to see the capital's gorgeous buildings.
Facing the Ha'Penny Bridge that spans the river, Lewis and I lunched at a gastropub named Merchant's Arch.
With riverside views, the main room has a double-height ceiling and a mezzanine of additional seating that overlooks the room.
We sat at the bar, and a silver-haired bartender welcomed us politely. The room was partially full. We declined beer and asked for tap water. In America, if you go to a bar or pub and don't order alcohol, you can expect the server to grumble and detest you for "wasting a seat and not spending enough". In Dublin—at a popular pub—the bartender smiled contentedly and simply gave us water. No grudge. That was nice. That's what you get when you pay servers a livable wage and provide government-funded Universal Healthcare. Glancing at the menu, we knew what we wanted to eat: Fish & Chips, and a Ham & Chicken meat pie (seen below).
Together, they cost €39.45. The man was happy to take our order. When Lewis asked what type of fish it was, he was considerate and wanted to verify with the cooks. He telephoned the kitchen (which was impressive to us because we never saw that infrastructure occur during our lives in the USA—and if it did, we wouldn't expect the overworked kitchen staff to answer the phone). Yet, in Ireland, the phone was answered, and a quiet conversation produced our answer. That morning, the chef went to the Fish Market and bought haddock for the recipe.
I asked for directions to the lavatory, and the man told me but bashfully apologized for "renovations" occurring in the stairwell that led to it. I braced myself for the type of sloppy/cursing workers seen in NYC with debris and mislaid tools strewn on the floor. In actuality, the workmen were perfectly neat and continually swept any debris to a corner. They saw me and stopped their drilling/woodwork, and they politely pointed to the stairwell to the Men's Room. Looking up, I was awed by the stylish stairwell that curved up to the second level! Resembling a tower, it had red-painted walls that were adorned with 100 pictures. It reminded me of the fairytale stairwell in Harry Potter books!
Going downstairs, the lavatory was immaculate. Hand-fashioned pipes and antique (but refurbished) sink knobs gave it a vintage ambiance, despite the automated urinals.
During our lunch, two clean-uniformed workmen needed to do something at one end of the bar, so the bartender approached us to apologize for any noise. Just as we witnessed in Germany, their power-tools were the quietest we ever heard! We barely noticed their drills penetrating the wall. It was done quietly and thoughtfully so it wouldn't disturb the customers. That never happens in New York! Such small details accumulate to provide a bigger perspective of excellence in Dublin. Maybe they were also Considerate Constructors.
At night, musicians are hired to entertain customers.
We look forward to returning!
We also loved the restaurant's location that made it easy to exit and cross the pedestrian-only Ha'Penny Bridge towards our hotel.
That day, we accomplished four miles of exploration, so it was a fun luxury to take a midday nap at our hotel. Fully recharged, we freshened ourselves and headed out for a special night. The air felt nicely warm. At 5pm in Northern Europe, Dublin was 10-degrees warmer than New York City was at 12pm in the afternoon. It was refreshing.
We walked around the corner to have pre-dinner drinks at Bar 1661.
That time, we were escorted to at banquette. We recognized the musician, who drank at the bar as a customer. A redheaded waiter greeted us cheerily. He was delighted that we were returning after a previous visit! Both drinks—and table-service—cost €27.
With friendly inquisitiveness, he asked why we were dressed spiffily? Our elegant attire was intended for the celebration of our anniversary dinner in Dublin. He knew us for less than 10 minutes, but he was genuinely happy for our accomplishment. The Irish are happy people. With celebratory ebullience, he served us two complimentary aperitifs! That was a nice gesture. As if we were lifelong chums, he asked where we were going for dinner. I mentioned the name of the restaurant, but he didn't recognize it. Nonetheless, he wished us a wonderful evening there.
Soon after, he returned to our table. Wide-eyed, he said that he repeated the restaurant to his coworker, and she knew it and described it to him. He said that she and he hadn't been there, but "it's supposed to be one of the best places in the capital". That endorsement was encouraging.
As we rode in a tram to our destination, our imaginations and appetites revved with anticipation.
Before our trip, I made dinner reservations to celebrate our 12th-year Anniversary in Dublin! I chose a famous place.
Chef Patrick Guilbaud was born in France and relocated to Ireland in 1981. That year, he opened his restaurant and named it after himself. Lewis and I flew across an ocean to have dinner there because it was Ireland's first restaurant to achieve two Michelin stars. It was conferred with its first star in 1989, and it was bestowed with a second star in 1996.
The upscale eatery is situated within a redbrick townhouse from the Georgian era.
It faces The Office of Taoiseach (Prime Minister). By the time we arrived, it was handsomely illuminated.
In daylight, the stately structure looks like this...
*Incidentally, the president's role is mostly ceremonial, as if the person was a constitutional monarch who was elected by the people. Presidents can have the role for up to two seven-year terms. But, true "executive-branch power" comes from the Cabinet of 15 governmental Ministers, which is headed by Ireland's Prime Minister.
As we approached, the front door was ajar... which was unusual.
We pushed it open and stood in the small vestibule, but nobody was there to greet us. Perhaps the sound of the door closing roused a woman to appear from the Coat Check area. She took our winter garments. Simultaneously, a slender man approached from the Bar Room to welcome us. He collected the data of our reservations, and I reiterated what I told the reservationist that it was a special occasion to celebrate our anniversary. He replied, "Yes, I see that." Then, he asked if we wanted an aperitif or cocktail before dinner? We did. Nonetheless, his response was peculiar: if you know that customers are celebrating their anniversary, you say "Happy Anniversary". Unlike the staff at The Shelbourne Hotel, none of the employees at Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud wished us a Happy Anniversary... at any time during the night. That seemed like sloppy awareness.
The fellow led us into the "Bar Room". It is more apropos of a Service Bar because customers cannot linger at the small bar. The fireplace did not function.
The suited man did not pause to give us time to admire it, and he ushered us to a pair of armchairs in an adjoining room.
That room was not plush. Instead, it was dimly lit and meagerly decorated with a few clusters of narrow chairs that were near tiny tables, illuminated by retro-looking pole-lamps with angled spotlights.
One couple sat in a corner, and another arrived after us and sat against the wall. The drink menu arrived on a digital tablet: all cocktails cost €20.
Lewis ordered Teeling Irish Whiskey, and I requested a gin martini. However, the server jotted it down but walked away without inquiring about my preference of gin. Their menu includes 9 types of gin, so it would be sensible if someone let the guests choose. I got up and pursued him before the bartender got the order. I expressed my curiosity to try Glendalough Rose Gin, which is produced locally in Dublin with rose petals and freshly-foraged botanicals.
By the time I returned to our armchairs, Lewis had been told to browse the dinner menu. He started with the vast wine list. Our cocktails were presented nicely. We clinked our glasses together and toasted to happiness.
However, after our first sip, the server reappeared and asked if we finished reviewing the menu? We admitted that we hadn't. Within moments, a man wearing a double-breasted suit approached us and asked if we finished reading the menu and were ready to place our order? Looking askance at him, I answered that I had not. He glided away and returned with a paper menu, which he handed to me to read. His name is Stephane Robin, and he is employed as the "Host", yet he behaved more like a Dining Room Captain (but an inattentive one).
After experiencing meals at restaurants around the world with 1, 2 and 3 Michelin stars, we are not accustomed to being hurried to decide on our entire menu so soon. The time was only 7:30pm! Customarily, guests have drinks beforehand. After awhile, they are escorted to their table. At that point, menus are presented.
We didn't understand the rush for us to finalize our entire meal within 10 minutes of our arrival. Moreover, well-trained waiters usually perceive cues from their customers, so they don't overstep. The team at that restaurant was inept, and I will describe more examples. As such, we initially intended to consume an eight-course meal, as part of the Chef's Tasting Menu for €235 per person. (Note: it's not available for vegetarians or vegans). However, Lewis felt ruffled by their curt expediency (to get us into the Bar, make our drinks, and take our food order), so he "downgraded" his intention to choose items from the A La Carte menu. I concurred. The restaurant allows you to choose an Appetizer and a Fish or Meat course and Dessert for €140 per person.
Taking a third sip of my drink, I focused on selecting food for my dinner. Seeing us scan the menu, the server came back to us and asked if he could help us decide? It almost seemed nervy for him to get our order as fast as possible. He jotted down our food selections on his notepad. Then, he invited us to move to the dining room. No, he never offered "bar snacks" to accompany our drinks, nor did he encourage us to sit-back and enjoy them.
The dining room is austere, and its barrel-ceiling makes you think that you're underground. Modern art adorned the walls.
We were seated at a banquette between pillars.
From the huge wine list, Lewis selected a 2020 bottle of Alsatian Riesling, from Famille Trimbach. It was valued at €100.00. We were never assisted by the sommelier, Ernesto Piloto, and he did not come to consult us on the restaurant's repertoire. (Later, he did not come to our table to present the bottle or offer our first sips). He was on-duty that night, so his absence was unexpected.
Our amuse-bouche consisted of puffy gougeres and flat egg-yolk tarts.
A vested food-runner presented us with an assortment of freshly-baked breads with Isigny butter. We rose our eyebrows with disappointment because that is a type of butter that we can find in our local supermarkets.
We began with Roasted Castletownbere Scallops with green apple and sumac, coated with jalapeños scallion butter. The harbor-town of Castletownbere is on Ireland's southern tip, in County Cork. It's one of five main fishing ports for the island and contains the nation's Fisheries Training School.
Next, we ate pan-roasted Duck Foie Gras, positioned on top of chunks of Pineapple, dried with dark drum caramel and Tonka. Disappointingly, the kitchen prepared the dish with cubes of pineapple, which made it resemble the type that comes from a can.
Of all the stylistic approaches to use, why choose one that is so easily relatable to a "pedestrian" presentation. I disliked the combination of flavors because the fruit was too sweet for the savory foie gras. It reminded me of Hawaiian Chicken, which is a gastronomic abomination. Making it worse, the plating was lackluster. In fact, everything that was carried to our table suffered from underwhelming plating. Certainly, you expect prettier and fanciful presentations at a 2-star restaurant.
Looking back at the menu now, I'm not sure which of the other three appetizer options would've been better: ravioli of blue lobster; a single Croquette of Suckling Pig; blue fin tuna tartare over rice.
When that course was consumed, our empty plates sat on our table longer than normal. A dark-skinned server came over and asked if we were finished? I said "Yes". He stood there and scanned the room for bussers to remove the dishes. 30 seconds ticked by, and he sighed. That was absurd for a "fine dining" experience. Finally, I asked if he could do something about it... and he suddenly remembered that he had two hands to remove each of our plates. Lewis was perturbed, and I agreed.
We looked around the room and saw the host/dining room captain standing impartially against the wall. He was useless.
Evidently, he lacked the sharp perceptiveness of others whom we dealt with, otherwise he would've helped the clueless server and oversaw the room so that lapses in service never occurred. (If Lewis and I were Michelin Guide Inspectors, those types of mistakes would be inexcusable and costly).
Moments later, a bored-looking man in a black suit crumbed our table. In truth, he crumbed it after dinner, too... and continually missed a crumb of bread above the place where all of my dishes were laid. Maybe he wasn't looking at what he was doing.
At least a young man in a white shirt and black vest kept our water goblets full... and he took initiative to refill our wine glasses twice. He was the only employee to "grace our presence" with a smile. That is indicative of the overall workplace attitude.
For his main course, Lewis chose the line-caught Seabass (not captured in a net or with industrial methods; a person used a fishing pole). It was very good.
As a lover of game meat (with a partiality for venison), I was excited to taste Sika Deer. I received two segments: a loin layered in pancetta, and a shank that was braised in red wine with sweet onion and cloves. It was the only thing that was superb.
Towards the end of that course, an old man with white hair and sad-looking eyes appeared at our table wearing a suit.
He did not introduce himself to say who he was. Without a smile, he merely shook my hand and asked, "Is everything going well?" He did not shake Lewis' hand, which was unusual and on verge of impolite. Bristling from disdain from our slipshod treatment, I managed to say "It's fine." But my facial expression and tone of voice conveyed unmistakable displeasure. Without any further words, Chef Patrick Guilbaud walked away from us.
After evaluating that scenario, it would've been better if we never encountered him. He failed to instill any excellence or grandeur in his own business.
While dining there, we were unaware that the restaurant had a cheese trolley, and—shamefully—nobody offered us a Cheese Course. We only noticed the trolley after we were done eating, and it was in the far corner of the room.
For dessert, the menu failed to make a positive impact. It seemed like it came from a diner. Do they need to employ a pastry chef (and a team) to offer such basics: "Homage to Milk & Honey" with a buttery biscuit, Rum Baba, or a Chocolate Tart? None of that sounds like a "wow"-worthy menu from a 2-Michelin-star kitchen. Instead, it sounds like a tired menu that lacks inspiration. If you intend to offer Rum Baba, you might as well serve Cheesecake.
When you pay to visit a Michelin starred restaurant, you anticipate an "experience". Rightly so. Since its inception in 1900, the Michelin Guide asserts that earning one star is indicative of "high-quality cooking that is worth a stop at", and two stars indicates that "the excellent cooking is worth a detour to have". Clearly, the staff at Restaurant PG forgot that long ago.
I asked our server for his recommendation. It was the rum baba, and Lewis and I agreed to share it. The dessert menu stated that it was flamed with, "Your Choice of Rum".
It was disheartening that none of the desserts came with an inscription of "Happy Anniversary". For example, our anniversary dinners at the Four Seasons palazzo in Florence, Momofuku Ko, Chez Josephine, Aquavit, and The Modern in Manhattan, the Ambassador Hotel in Chicago, and the Culinary Institute of America (Paul Bocuse School of French Cooking) presented clever ways of saying "Happy Anniversary". Yet nothing occurred at PG.
Their coffee beverages are all priced at €8, yet they are made with Nespresso capsules. Why would a high-end kitchen use prepackaged coffee, instead of applying the effort to grind beans for freshness, and then harnessing their flavor via an expertly tamped/pulled beverage? Perhaps Patrick seeks advertising patronage or commercialism. It seems scandalous and sacrilegious to use anything prepackaged.
As two people cleared our plates, our server asked if we enjoyed our night? It takes a lot for Lewis to get angry, and he was, yet he mustered composure. He looked squarely at the man and stated, "You missed the mark today. The service seemed a bit 'off'. There were a lot of things you could do better. Do you agree"? The man had a full range of responses to ponder, yet he merely said, "I apologize. We will do better next time." What?! Why say that? That reply was imbecilic and unapologetic. In the history of the hospitality industry, that answer must be one of the worst—and unprofessional. He didn't gather feedback from us. He didn't try to discover what went wrong. How did he expect to lure us back? Or did he have a natural expectation that "everybody returns to Restaurant PG because it's famous"? Morons work there.
When paying our €512.00 bill, Lewis was extra-gracious to still leave a gratuity of €40.00. (Being only 7.5% of the total, it indicated our displeasure. Normally, Irish restaurants accept 10%, and 15% is for outstanding service). We prepared to depart, yet nobody wished us a Happy Anniversary. In fact, the idiotic host stood there as we passed him and merely nodded at us. No verbal salutation. His job title is "host", which implies hospitality. None of his interactions with us were hospitable. Perhaps he's merely tired, too.
Leaving the dining room, I descended the stairs to use the lavatory. When I returned upstairs, I saw our coats piled on a chair in the vestibule. I hadn't requested anyone to fetch our coats, and I didn't like that they were unattended. It is irresponsible to leave people's belongings near the front door without anyone being in the room. (Remember that when we arrived, the front door was ajar and nobody was there, so it doesn't create a sense of security). I had my coat half-on when the woman reappeared and offered to help get my second arm through its sleeve.
We are unsure how Restaurant PG retained both of its stars for so many years. There were too many failures during our meal. Many of those things should never happen. A reassessment is necessary.
A drizzle dampened the city, so we hailed a taxi at the nearest intersection. The comfy vehicle zoomed without delay, and it cost €11.40. As customary, Lewis added €1 as a tip. As we entered our hotel, the Front Desk team—who surely get paid less than employees at Restaurant PG—welcomed us with the warmest smiles. We appreciated that. Despite standing on their feet for hours and hauling luggage, they remained upbeat. Such manners should be everywhere.
Taking soothing showers, we rinsed away the memories of a special occasion that was spoiled by uncaring ineptitude. Thankfully, we also had reservations at a better place during the next evening. That comforted Lewis. I intended to redo our anniversary there (and it was utterly perfect).
Oíche mhaith! Join us for our wonderful finale by using this link:
https://halfwindsorfullthrottle.blogspot.com/2023/03/our-trip-to-dublin-ireland-part-7-of-7.html
