Dawson Street killed my long fealty to stilettos. Killed it stone dead. I loved a spindly heel, particularly if attached to a shoe that was Fabriqué en France, oh là là. I could run for a bus, dance around a handbag, perch atop a tall stool, glower down at enemies without missing a single step. But Dawson Street, adjacent to a former place of work, broke my spirit.
The construction of the bit of Luas track connecting the green and red lines — which some unknown clatter of goms had abjectly failed to do in the original build — had turned the thoroughfare into a thorough nightmare for the vertiginously shod. One careless step would propel the unwary into potholes the size of Boris Johnson’s ego. The odds of traversing the obstacle course without a turned ankle or stubbed toe were as long as those of Micheál Martin ever resting his rear on a sofa in the Oval Office. Defeated, I bought a pair of flats, transforming instantly into a petite six-footer, and cursed the banjaxed boulevard.
Then two unforeseen things occurred. First, it transpired that eschewing the business of spending nine hours a day on tippy-toe was a merciful relief, and without the click-clack of stiletto heels, one can more easily run, dance and sneak up on enemies. Second, what eventually emerged from the construction chaos was a street of unexpected beauty.
Dawson Street was neither entirely one thing (a shopping area) nor the other (a business block). It has the pretty 18th-century Mansion House, where I’ve always wanted to live, and the Dawson Lounge, the capital’s smallest bar with a maximum capacity of three rugby alickadoos, two barristers and a poet.
But when it came to character, that was about it. The blunt hammer of city planning had long demolished its Georgian buildings to make way for unlovely offices. Like Cinderella, Dawson Street languished while the parallel pedestrianised Grafton Street had all the fun.
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No more. It now wears the glass slipper. It’s a pleasure to stroll the wide and airy street, buzzing with shops, bars, cafés and restaurants, and glimpse how it might have looked in its glory days.
For many years, a tall, rickety wrought-iron gate stood largely unnoticed at the Stephen’s Green end of the street, which guarded the entrance to a narrow passage and dingy courtyard where stood a mews and its original stables, dating from 1780.
This tucked-away bit of old Dublin has been sprinkled with fairy dust, transformed into a gorgeous food-and-drink wonderland. First stop is the Lennan, formerly an auctioneers, and since last week a cosy gastro-bar with leather seats, nooks and the lingering aroma of fresh paint. The adjacent lane, sparkling with lights, leads to a covered courtyard furnished with tables, a giant red umbrella, potted olive trees and a bar. Opening onto this yard is a bright, cool lounge in the former coach house where Amin concocts delightful brews from an interesting cocktail list.
Then it’s up a flight of stairs into what was once a hayloft but is now destined to be the most-misspelt restaurant in town, Lennan’s Yard (named after William Lennan, a saddler who was based on Dawson Street in the 1800s).
It’s a lovely room, with branches of eye-catching foliage whimsically decorated with (empty) birdcages and twinkling lights, and exposed stone walls decorated with Irish art. The tables are well spaced, the atmosphere welcoming and relaxing.
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The executive chef is Ryan Bell, formerly of Shanahan’s, and the menu of six starters and seven main courses is hopping with meat and fish. Dishes are meticulously created with Irish produce and French sensibility.
For starters I chose Hogget scrumpet, which absolutely sounds like a porter-soused character from a Seán O’Casey play, but which absolutely is not. The scrumpet (which is a piece of meat coated with breadcrumbs) was a juicy, dense roll of tender shreds of lamb served with a tangy kohlrabi, Roscoff onion and fermented turnip. The Sis selected the goat’s cheese to start, served with a silky puff of buttermilk and honey panna cotta and drizzled with a tangy 21-year balsamic dressing. “It tastes like spring,” she said happily.
Sis went for the Wexford lamb as a main course, and it was substantial: a trio of cutlets, charred outside and pink within; and a cut of neck and rump, served with asparagus and fresh mint sauce, garnished with morsels of morels and wild garlic, French sweet onion and saffron rouille, with a jug of meaty gravy. My main was the fish of the day, pan-fried sole with lemon and a serving of asparagus, creamy crab and chilli and a scrumptious bowl of cloud-light, sweet roasted artichoke purée.
We both fell upon the side dish, a crispy stack of oblongs of beef dripping potatoes with a garlicky mayonnaise (“the healthy option,” said the approving server).
We were now replete but miracles do happen in wonderland, and we speedily put away a shared rhubarb parfait, a colourful deconstructed dessert, the stalks poached in champagne and tossed with wedges of meringue and ice cream.
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The service was flawless, a balance of friendliness and efficiency from the manager Valerio and his colleague Lorenzo, both Italian, who after much thought recommended a bottle of Sichivej Barbera d’Asti Superiore. A velvety, medium-bodied wine from Italy’s Bel Sit winery in Piedmont, it matched excellently with both the meat and fish dishes.
It was midweek, but most of the tables were full and no one seemed to be in any hurry to depart. It’s the sort of room where you want to linger after the plates have been cleared.
A lot of money has been spent on the complex (the majority stakeholder Shane Mitchell also runs Asador in Ballsbridge and Prado in Clontarf) and it shows, in a tasteful fashion. Much of the original material from this listed building was recycled into the design; a pair of old barn doors have been repurposed as art.
The Lennan’s Yard complex also mercifully curtails all “Where shall we go for a pre/post-dinner drink?” debates, as it contains aperitif and digestif options under the one roof. Just wear a warm coat over the glad rags — despite the bit of good weather, it isn’t summer yet.
This city hideaway had a low-key opening late last year and still feels like a bit of a secret, but it won’t be for long. And for God’s sake, mind how you go on the steps to the hayloft in those high heels.
Lennan’s Yard
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21a Dawson Street, Dublin 2
What we ate
To start
Hogget scrumpet €13
Goat’s cheese €12
Mains
Fish of the day (sole) €32
Wexford lamb €34
Beef dripping potatoes €5
Dessert
Rhubarb parfait €10
To drink
Bottle of Sichivej Barbera d’Asti Superiore €55
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Total: €161
Summary
A delightful city centre oasis serving quality fare. An ideal one-stop venue for a celebration night out.
