The Last Straw/Frank McNally: I was delighted to see the publication recently of Dublin Tourism's guide to dining out in the city. It's mainly for tourists, of course, but locals will benefit too. Especially from its insistence that restaurants should be able to offer a two-course meal for under €30, 20, and - excuse me while I fall around laughing - €10.
If this works out, it will go a long way to changing the perception that Dublin restaurants are ludicrously over-priced. No doubt this is an unfair perception, based on ignorance of catering costs, such as the huge expense obviously involved in translating the names of local dishes into French. But now that eating out has become normal behaviour in Ireland, the prices could be normalised a bit too.
It's not that long since going to a restaurant was an eccentric way to spend an evening, and I have sad memories of one such night back in the 1980s. For young readers, I should explain that the 1980s was a particularly dreary decade, which in Ireland lasted until 1993. It's easy to forget these days, when we're spoiled for choice about which Europe we belong to, "old" Europe or "new" Europe. But back then, we were grateful to belong to any damn Europe at all.
Among the places where you could pretend to be European in late-1980s Dublin was this little Italian restaurant I occasionally went to for lunch. It was friendly and inexpensive, but it was struggling, because nobody knew it existed. Rather poignantly, I thought, it was located in a place called Fade Street (as was the entire country at that time), just around the corner from everywhere. It was the classic well-kept secret, but it badly needed the services of a good PR company to let everybody know just what a well-kept secret it was.
The proprietor was a large Italian man who always wore a dark suit and was very polite to customers. He also had a permanently wistful look. I used to think this was because of how few people had turned up for lunch. And yet one day I counted a record 10 full tables (I was emotionally involved with the business by then) and he looked just as wistful as ever.
So to help a good cause, I brought my girlfriend there for dinner one night. We were first to arrive, which was OK, because someone has to be first. But by the time we'd finished the starter and ordered main courses, we were still the only customers.
Dusk fell outside, and with his usual decorum, the proprietor lit the candle on our table, and then the candles on all the other tables as well. But still nobody came in.
By now we were glancing out the window at every person passing, in the hope someone would join us. Occasionally people would stop to study the menu, and peer through the curtains. And when they did we would do our best to exude relaxed-yet-sophisticated bonhomie. But all we exuded was desperation, and the people invariably passed on, to the brighter lights beyond Fade Street.
Finally, when we were giving up hope, another couple entered. Even better, they were clearly regulars. In fact, they were so relaxed about the whole dining-out thing that they skipped starters or anything else and just ordered main course - the height of sophistication - which they ate and paid for, before leaving with the same unworried air.
Alone again, we ordered desserts, and lingered over them in the hope that social patterns were different in this part of town and, any minute now, a dozen customers would arrive, after cocktails. But nobody else came.
Once I attended a play in a small theatre on a wet night, in an audience of 11. We were almost outnumbered by the cast, and under such pressure to perform that at the final curtain, we felt like taking a bow, hugging each other, and going to the pub.
But having a whole restaurant to yourself for an evening is another experience entirely.
As we dawdled over coffee - we would have ordered more courses, but it was a small menu - the proprietor went around the other tables and, with the same solemnity as before, blew the candles out. He looked even more wistful than usual; but we were heartbroken. We paid and left, and the restaurant closed soon afterwards (just for the night, at first, but later permanently).
I don't know what happened to the man in the suit, and I worry about him occasionally. Maybe he went back to Italy and opened a little trattoria. If he did, I bet you can get two courses for €10 there, no problem.