Burrata & Heritage Tomato
€15Puglian burrata torn over tomatoes picked that morning, basil oil, aged balsamic.
- Vegetarian
- Gluten free
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Delivery & collection
Within 8km of the city centre, usually 35–50 minutes. Free delivery over €60.
35–50 minutes
From the moment you order to the moment it is at the door.
8km radius
City Centre, Douglas, Blackrock, Ballintemple, Bishopstown and more.
Free over €60
Otherwise €4.50. Collection is always free.
The delivery menu
Dishes carved at the table — the turbot, the chateaubriand, the oysters — stay in the dining room where they belong. Everything else travels well, and we pack it to arrive hot.
Small plates built to be shared, or not — we understand either way.
Puglian burrata torn over tomatoes picked that morning, basil oil, aged balsamic.
Made each morning from what the market had that day.
Six hours of shells, brandy and cream, poured at the table over picked white crab.
Sweet, dense and entirely plant-based, with pumpkin seed oil drawn across the top.
Onions cooked down for three hours, dark beef stock, a raft of cheese on top.
Leaves from Ballymaloe growers, dressed to order.
Anchovy, raw egg yolk and Parmesan emulsified to order. No bottle involved.
Beets baked in salt until they taste of the earth they came from.
Freekeh, tenderstem blackened over the coals, tahini loosened with lemon.
Ninety seconds at 450°C in the oven by the window.
Three ingredients with nowhere to hide. The dough is 72 hours old.
Spreadable Calabrian salami, hot from the oven, cut with a thread of raw honey.
No tomato. Just cream, four kinds of mushroom, and truffle shaved at the table.
Bronze-cut and hung in the pasta room before service.
Shin and short rib cooked down for five hours until the sauce clings without help.
Thin enough to see the filling through. Brown butter, sage, a rasp of lemon.
Carnaroli, stirred the whole eighteen minutes, loose enough to move on the plate.
Landed at Union Hall and Castletownbere, driven straight to us.
Firm, sweet monkfish in a broth built from the same day’s shells.
Irish beef, dry-aged 42 days, grilled over Irish oak.
Forty-two days in the ageing room. Grilled over oak and rested as long as it cooked.
The tender one. Peppercorn sauce made in the pan it was cooked in.
Ground in-house each morning. Served until close.
Chuck and short rib ground each morning, aged Coolea, and a bun we bake ourselves.
Brined overnight, fried to order, hot sauce and slaw doing the heavy lifting.
Built to be a good burger, not an apology for one.
What excited the kitchen this week. It changes without warning.
Skin rendered until it shatters, meat left properly rare, sour cherries to cut it.
Twelve hours at low heat, then blasted for crackling that carries across the room.
The pastry section works to its own clock. Worth the wait.
Seventy per cent Valrhona, salted caramel centre, fourteen minutes from order to table.
Barely set, sharp with buttermilk, poached rhubarb spooned over the top.
Caramelised almost to the point of worry, molten in the middle.
Classics kept honest, and a few of our own.
Eight weeks in an oak cask behind the bar. Softer, rounder, still bitter where it counts.
Irish single pot still under a cloche of applewood smoke, released at the table.
Cucumber, dill and a whisper of dry vermouth. Cold enough to hurt.
Four hundred labels downstairs. These are the ones we push.
Flint, lemon and sea air. The glass we pour more of than any other.
Tar, roses and grip. Give it twenty minutes and it opens like a door.
From one family, one village, one year they thought was good enough.
Poured at room temperature, water on the side, no ice unless asked.
Oily, spiced and unmistakably Irish. The one we hand to people who say they don’t like whiskey.
Smoke, iodine and a long salt finish. Not for everyone, and that is the point.
Roasted in Cork, ground to order.
Roasted eight kilometres from this room, ground the second you order it.
Double ristretto, milk stretched to silk, no foam to speak of.
Made in the bar, not opened from a bottle.
Pressed each morning, sweetened with a thyme syrup made in the same pot.
All of the bitterness, none of the morning after.
Smaller plates, same kitchen, no compromise.
A six-inch version of the real thing, from the same oven.
Fresh pasta, good butter, Parmesan on the side. Nothing hidden in it.
Whatever came in that morning, grilled rather than fried, with proper chips.
Checkout
Order WC-00000 — with you around 20:00.
A demonstration checkout. No payment was taken and nothing is being cooked.
Reserve
A table, quickly
Callback
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