Restaurant review: Glebe Gardens fitting replacement in Skibbereen

Joe McNamara Glebe Gardens Skibbereen, 68 Bridge St, Marsh, Skibbereen, Co Cork, P81 PR20

Sat, 29 Sep, 2018 - 01:00

Glebe Gardens Skibbereen, 68 Bridge St, Marsh, Skibbereen, Co Cork, P81 PR20

Tel: 028 51948; glebegardens.com/skibbereen/

If there was one surefire way to alleviate the profound disappointment at news of the closure of Carmel Somers’ Good Things Café, hardly a wet weekend in its new Skibbereen home, it was learning the Perry family, owner/operators of the splendid Glebe Gardens restaurant in nearby Baltimore, were assuming command, chef Bob Cairns at the helm.

Somers may be gone but her stylish stamp remains all over the serene space, a blessed haven on a mouldy West Cork morning, perfect weather for soup, today, Swiss chard and chickpea. In a country where soup-making inevitably involves the blender, reducing all to liquid puree, the denser, the better, this Italianate version is an especial joy: Nutty whole chickpeas, wilted leaves, diced chard stalk, sautéed to yielding softness, all swimming in sublimely balanced, light broth/stock, perfect for dunking accompanying focaccia.

Spiced beef flatbread is a visual treat: Pinky-purple beetroot yoghurt, glistening ‘rubies’ of pomegranate, wearing a ‘windfall’ of whole coriander leaves. Underneath lies spiced beef atop bread striped and blackened on the chargrill. Tasting is an equal pleasure: Succulent braised meat soaking into very excellent in-house flatbreads, sharp lactic yoghurt hit, the only thing preventing a swoon away altogether into the blissful embrace of pure comfort. No 2 Son makes away with most of it; you could hardly blame him.

In my early days cheffing in London, one of the first restaurant dishes I recreated at home was a pot of mussels, a novelty for exiled Gaels, unheard of in most Irish or British homes in the ’80s, a ghastly decade for home cooking, then enduring a slow suffocation by convenience food. Mussels remain a domestic favourite but the prime ingredient is of a different order to anything I ever cooked or tasted across the water, from whence Bob Cairns has relatively recently arrived.

He must be in clover for the rather miserable molluscs available back then in central London weren’t fit to trim the beards of these majestic Roaringwater Bay mussels, plump meat freighted with sweet marine umami, classically delivered in garlic, white wine, and shallots, delicious stock soaked up with more pillow-soft focaccia.

Toonsbridge mozzarella, tomatoes, cucumbers, mixed leaves is just that, save dressing, a twist of pepper. You could recreate it yourself, if so minded, but it would only taste this good if you do like Cairns, sourcing stunning produce from Glebe’s Baltimore mothership gardens, particularly deeply flavoured tomatoes, with just enough sharp/sweet acidity to cut through creamy mozzarella, an elemental assemblage of finest local produce with minimal interference to suggest Somers’ ‘ghost’ still walks the room.

I confess to a weakness for ‘toasties’ or toasted cheese sandwiches, pretty much my daily staple through teenage years, and my response to their appearance on a menu remains Pavlovian and then some, too often scuppering any original ordering intentions — as happens when I spy toasted Hegarty’s cheese, charred scallion and tomato relish. Toasties are simple to make yet often disappoint.

This rendition, though, is a triumph; marvelous crusty, chewy, near-carmelised in-house bread, oozing rich, melting Hegarty’s cheddar, piquant sweet relish and scallions further elevating a sumptuous mouthful. It is left to excellent homemade pickles (onion, swede, carrot, white turnip) to slice through the reverie, grounding once more with gentle, sweet acidity. A German pinot noir (Bender, 2015) is a fine companion, spicy red fruit, caramel, not overly tannic but sporting a long, elegant finish.

Sinfully exuberant creations from the ‘sweet trolley’ shamelessly flaunt their attractions and the progeny return with superb chocolate tarts, a lemon meringue concoction, and a well-judged orange cake, slathered in fresh cream. Two very fine coffees (Golden Bean) complete our meal.

A rather schizoid service should be noted: Front-of-house manager Sasha is superb, extensive experience to the fore; our principle table server is laughably bad, a fellow server not much better. (A return visit to a Sasha-less restaurant is also problematic, suggesting time be put aside for Sasha to dole out extensive training.)

Glebe Gardens has always had high culinary standards but in Bob Cairns they have found an exceptionally sympatico chef, still in the early throes of his love affair with West Cork produce, confident enough to eschew showboating yet continually, discreetly, adding his own original twists. Our only real disappointment is missing out on what looks an especially enticing evening menu. That too will be rectified — and soon.