Restaurant Review: The Mews, Baltimore Village
The Mews Restaurant
While her eyes invariably glaze over whenever I mount the soapbox, Me Ol’ Doll (MOD) becomes positively narcoleptic when I commence waffling about the nosebag, hearing little or nothing, writes .
Thus she arrives at The Mews somehow anticipating a knock-off hipster joint banging out drinks in jam jars, food on old bin lids, with special discounts for the profoundly bearded. Indeed she gushes surprise for several minutes, absorbing this sleek take on elemental: bare stone walls, bright white low wooden-beamed ceilings, conservatory and the Zen simplicity of Rohan Reilly prints throughout — swish, yet entirely of its place in charming Baltimore by the sea.
Sherkin Island Oyster and Wild Salmon (from Sally Barnes) arrive as amuses bouche: pureed oyster emulsion, seaweed ‘shortbread’, fermented kohlrabi, packing oomph, a briny depth charge; julienned ‘chip’ of exquisite oily salmon atop crisp, dried, pungent cod skin seems ethereal in comparison. Brown Lemony Brown Crab on warmed boxty pancake hums with gentle anise from sweet cicely, but MOD remains to be impressed.
That changes with Langoustine Wasabi, pillowy muffin wearing carpaccio of sweet raw langoustine, peppery wasabi emulsion and coriander flowers. “I’d eat that for breakfast, dinner and tea,” she says. “Every day. Forever.”
Tomatoes (from Vincent Collins) is a medley of one of summer’s finest fruits, augmented with creamy whipped Macroom buffalo ricotta, onion, basil and borage flowers; we mop tart juices with the previous course of lovely sourdough, polished rustic crust, seemingly hewn from mahogany.
Cod, Seaweeds, Mussels features superbly steamed pearlescent cod, pronounced saltiness revealed as intentional when paired with foamy mussel sauce and mayonnaise, seasoning sublimely calibrated to absorb saline excess. A smorgasbord of sea plants (‘weeds’, an impossibly mean-spirited descriptor for such glorious oceanic bounty) offer multiple riffs on the marine melody: sea purslane’s green apple, rock samphire’s salty crunch, lemon-infused sea spaghetti and demure gossamer crisp of dehydrated sea lettuce startling with its gustatory honk — Neptune’s ‘morning breath’, but in a good way.
Mushroom, Pine, Lemon Balm is broth, fermented mushroom and dried slivers of shiitake uniting to suggest hazelnuts, a savoury woodland Nutella — apparently not, but the alchemy of flavour is undeniable.
While a white Burgundy (Domaine Andre´ Bonhomme, Vire´ Clesse´ 2016) has served superbly, I order a glass of Pinot Noir (Chauvenet-Chopin, Nuits-Saint-Georges 1er Cru, 2014) specifically to tackle the locally-reared quacker in Skeaghanore Duck, Beetroot, Potato. Its elegant muscularity cuts through fat and duck’s liver sauce while soft fruit notes echo blackberries and beetroot accompanying tender pink meat. Steamed Orlas are baptised in melting Gloun Cross Farm Butter and, whatever about dying for Ireland, I’d happily do it for more of these magnificent spuds.
MOD’s meat-free alternative turns out to be a charred quarter of crisp white cabbage served with several variations of … cabbage! This includes pickled red cabbage and a freshly-juiced verdant cabbage ‘sauce’. If that reads like an old stereotype of Irish culinary limitations, it is in fact delightful: loose, playful, yet immaculately balanced, hinting at more intriguing directions should chef Ahmet Dede loosen stays on his controlled culinary precision.
Whipped Milleens, paired with tart sweet loganberries, and a ‘custard’ of toffee-ish five-year-old Coolea in a melt-in-your-mouth short pastry case are quasi-desserts, both technical triumphs, in every respect, but if you believe, as I do, that you can’t improve on the perfection of Irish farmhouse cheeses, it suggests an Instagram filter on the Sistine chapel. Cleansing Dill, Sorrel granita is a restraint on sweeter excesses of Elderflower sorbet while Strawberries, Meadowsweet, Rose hits its marks even if Dave Bushby’s divine berries aren’t quite at their early season ‘champagne’ peak.
Writing about a recent Michelin-starred meal in France, I said, if international standards are — as Michelin dubiously claim — absolutely equal, then I could rattle off several Irish restaurants also meriting a star. The Mews was close to top of my list. James Ellis and Robert Collender are consummately talented restaurateurs with chef Dede delivering superbly their hyper-locavore immersion in the terroir of west Cork’s land, shores and seas. It is also a pleasure to note truly exceptional service.
Granted, it operates in a (thoroughly justifiable) price range that is more special treat than weekly habit but tonight is money well spent, an undoubted highlight of this year’s dining to date. And, having spied West Cork Beard Oil in the men’s bathroom, it’s also a teensy weensy bit hipster after all.
