Fern: Like it? Love it

AVOCA is the bubble not even the yummy mummy of all recessions could burst.

Begun in the 1970s, when the Pratt family stepped in to save an 18th-century woollen mill from being turned into a holiday complex, the food and retail empire has grown into one of Ireland’s greatest brands.

Even in these challenging times, weekend queues still throng Avoca foodhalls in Dublin, Wicklow, Belfast and Galway. Customers still devour the mohair throws, nostalgic toys, quirky kitchenware and homemade pies of our poshest pick ‘n’ mix. It’s a remarkable success story.

The Fern House is a relatively recent addition to the empire, a table-service restaurant complementing the retail, gardening and foodie offerings at Avoca on the old Jameson estate at Kilmacanogue.

It’s an airy, opulent and very beautiful room and a slice of heaven for D4 day-trippers — a place where you could imagine the spirit of Laura Ashley sipping Prosecco with freshly plucked raspberries.

Despite the whiff of pretension, it works perfectly. Built in Victorian style, the Fern House’s huge windows create a lovely continuity between the greenery outside and the potted ferns and lemon trees within. A virtue is made of mismatched furniture — chunky, comfy, quirky pieces anchored by black-and-white tiles and a long, earthy red-brick wall. It really is a gorgeous space.

We visited as a group of six celebrating my mother’s birthday, and straight away ordered two Avoca Antipasti patters (serving two at €16.95 each) for the table. Two huge wooden boards arrived covered in charcuterie, olives, cornichons, hummus and tomato pesto, along with several doughy slices of toasted olive bread just waiting to be ripped apart by eager fingers.

It’s the kind of thing Avoca does brilliantly. The sundried tomato pesto was zingy without being overbearing — and importantly, I think, not too oily. The meats, including a peppery salami and thin slices of prosciutto, were sweetly moist and thick with tang. Everyone tucked in.

For a main course, I ordered a roast fillet of seabass (€19.95), served with a crumby crust, tinged with sundried tomatoes. The fish was light and fluffy, snow-white inside, and dished up on a base of crushed broad beans and garden peas. The minty greens could have dominated the plate, but the well-handled fish, together with a caper and tomato salsa, was enough to hold them off.

Of the other mains, hearty portions of pan-fried monkfish (€23.95) and braised lamb shoulder got lots of oohs and aahs. A 10oz sirloin steak (€24.95) was the most expensive item on the menu — though it came with a generous helping of chips cooked in duck fat, and a summer bean salad.

In an inspired touch, the Fern House also does platters for dessert (€15.95). Warming to the communal theme (by then, forks were lunging all over the place in a tasting free-for-all), ours came with a little sliver of lemon tart, shortbread biscuits, a pot of apple and blackberry crumble, a baked chocolate fondant and a raspberry posset. It was demolished within minutes.

There’s so much to like about this restaurant. Tap water is brought in jugs with fresh sprigs of mint, and refilled automatically. Coeliac options are plentiful, and a decent selection of wines by the glass starts at €5. The service felt casual, but had depth — our waiter knew his menu.

Our only quibbles were the fact that we waited too long for our initial order to be taken, a bottle of Sancerre (€36) was not properly chilled, and a side of potato gratin (€3.95) arrived undercooked. That said, when we drew our waiter’s attention to these, a cooler was brought for the wine, and the gratins were promptly replaced and scratched from the bill.

All told, we enjoyed a fine evening in a lovely room with just the right amount of bustle, added to by the summery Wicklow sunset outside. A happy birthday indeed.