Harp Bar moment

Mr Q and I dined out recently at what restaurant reviewers nowadays describe as a 'neighbourhood restaurant'. I may be wrong, but my understanding of this term is a suburban restaurant, usually without any distinguishing decor, cuisine, wine list etc, that caters for people living in the immediate area, who will happily put up with the lack of glamour in return for comfort and convenience - an enjoyable meal out, not too pricey, and none of the hassle associated with travelling into town. On any given Saturday night, fellow diners will generally fall into the same socio-economic grouping and there will be lots of discreet nodding by the likes of Mr Q to fellow professionals, and the likes of Wine Goose to faces she recognises from the school run.

Most married couples on nights out 'a deux' do have occasional lulls in conversation and here I can fill these lulls by earwigging on parallel discussions i.e. how well Child A is doing on the school rugby team and how Child B is likely to get the lead part in the school play this year. And so, it was with great delight on my part, that on this occasion we were placed at a table next to a pair of Disco Ball clad ladies on a big night out. Homogeneous Blonde Southsiders both (the kind of girl that most men like Mr Q end up marrying), they looked liked they were getting up to leave as we arrived. But something persuaded them to park their derrieres and order another bottle of wine. A fruity little red, my ears were pricked.

I expected scandal, and I got it. Cheating husbands, affairs, names named. Even Mr Q could not avoid overhearing their now too-loud chatter, and for most of the meal we did manage to keep up a good flow of conversation, in a valiant attempt to shield the ladies from the eyes and ears of the entire dining room. Then, like in all the best novels, the evening drew to its inevitable conclusion and the adulteress uttered a name we both recognised. Our simultaneous sharp intake of breath awoke them from their reverie and they dashed outside for a cure-all cigarette, their wine bottle now empty. We left the restaurant soon after and repaired to a local hostelry for a nightcap, only to see them stumble in moments later.

There's a very fine line between ordering a second bottle and going home. Wine Goose and all her geese friends have crossed it many times, usually with exceptional results! But if it's revelation time, surely it's better to cross that line well away from home, or any resemblance of home. Those ladies might have travelled out of their local area, but they really should have stayed on that bus and opted instead for a noisy pizzeria in the city centre.

Back in the last century, before we were all so liberated and liberal, I had a friend who handed out some very good advice to another friend. This as a result of her showing up in her local pub with a man who should have been elsewhere, and being surprised when they bumped into mutual acquaintances. What, he said, were you thinking of, taking him there? You should have gone to the Harp Bar on O'Connell Street.

Obvious in hindsight.

For Sunday dinner this week the Q family enjoyed a delicious roast leg of lamb, served with roast veg and potatoes, accompanied by Chateau Beaumont 2004, a Cru Bourgeois from the Haut Medoc. Classic vanilla, cassis and blackcurrants on the nose. Importantly for goose, not too tannic on the palate, smooth and well balanced with lots of fruit. Widely available, from €16.99.