Heading north for nosh

Being southsiders we were a bit bemused at the idea of going to dinner in Malahide. It seemed so far away. For this reason we chose the 10 o'clock sitting at Oscar Taylor's, the big revamped restaurant on Dublin's coast road to Portmarnock.

The eight o'clock sitting would have been too early, we reckoned, just in case we got snarled up around the East Wall or lost in Coolock. We took the map and gave ourselves a ridiculous hour-and-a-half to get there. In fact, it took no more than 25 minutes to skim over the East Link Bridge and head up in a straight line from Fairview.

"That wasn't so bad, was it," I said a bit sheepishly as we cruised down the main street like tourists. Arriving in Malahide is a bit like going on holidays. It's such a pretty village, with tree-lined streets and swish boutiques selling cruisewear. The people are good-looking too - blonder and more tanned than their southside counterparts and altogether more glamourous. After all, this is where many an Aer Lingus stewardess goes when she meets a wealthy man and settles down.

Malahide folk are sportier too. Everywhere we looked people were speed-walking, jogging or cycling. The tennis club was hopping, with all the floodlit courts full.

We drove around the smart new Marina Village, then out onto the seafront where there were people kicking balls about and couples striding by in matching tracksuits. We felt very blobby indeed as we drove right up to the door of Oscar Taylor's, an hour early.

The least we should have done was walk along the seafront. Instead, we went in to see if they could fit us in earlier.

Oscar Taylor's Steakhouse is the restaurant part of a small hotel, the Island View, which replaced the old Oscar Taylor's restaurant last summer. Owner Hugh Curran, who also has the Coachman's Inn near the airport, did a major refurbishment involving a new bar, a very large upstairs restaurant and 11 bedrooms. The entrance is past the hotel reception - deserted at that hour - and up a wide carpeted stairs and beyond the Piano Bar where there were people drinking but nobody playing the piano.

Although there was a pleasant buzz in the restaurant, it wasn't completely full. We were shown to a table near the back - an okay table but not a great table, and a bit too near the swinging kitchen door. There were better empty ones, including some with big comfy-looking sofas instead of chairs.

The best tables were at the front, overlooking the sea, and the very friendly waitress moved us to one of them. On our raised dais-like corner we had a great view of the huge L-shaped room with lots of big tables for parties, most of which were full.

The clientele ranged from new-born to 90, with lots of family parties, children running around, businessmen with clients, groups of women laughing uproariously and smoking like trains, and a few couples saying absolutely nothing to each other.

The decor is club-like, but more like a lavish American yacht club than the stuffy antique-ridden Irish variety. The vaulted ceiling is timber clad and hung with brass lanterns, the floor is polished wood and everything ship-shape and obviously expensive.

It all gives the impression of being by the sea, but with plenty of landlubber comforts, like the chairs. These are vaguely Biedermeier in style with high curved backs and nice, big padded seats.

Alas, while the comfort is American style, the service isn't. We ordered cocktails from the long drinks menu but 15 minutes later they still hadn't arrived. When they finally appeared they weren't worth the wait. A White Lady isn't a complicated cocktail - it's just gin, Cointreau and fresh lemon juice - but the Oscar Taylor's version, for all its showy shaped glass, tasted just like lemonade.

"A good White Lady should all but flatten you," said my husband, who makes a particularly lethal one at home. "This one has no kick at all." Neither did my Campari Soda, which came in a small juice glass and tasted watery.

"I wonder is there a Cert course that shows you how to make cocktails using absolutely no alcohol," he said, rather bitterly draining the last of the lemon drink.

No sign yet of our waiter, nor of a bread roll, although by this stage people who had arrived after us were being served from trays the size of satellite dishes.

By this time we knew the menu by heart. It's a big fold-out laminated one with a painting of chefs stirring up something in a huge pot. The face of the resident chef is cunningly dropped into it, and we recognised him later striding through the restaurant wearing a huge chef's hat.

Starters range from steakhouse classics such as deep fried mushrooms, prawn and avocado, to more elaborate seafood concoctions, priced up to around £7. Main courses are divided between fish, shellfish, steaks and house specialities with not a lot in it for the vegetarian. It's the sort of food that Irish people really love at heart - high on saturated fat, low on vegetables - comfort food for a cold climate.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," said our waiter, rushing up to the table waving his pad. A good-looking fellow, he quickly let us know that the reason he was addled was because of his forthcoming exams. He is studying economics in Trinity and, after that, he's off to become a stockbroker in New York, though not the sort of stockbroker that Jeffrey Archer's son and his mates turned out to be with their Ferrari club. Oh, to be 20 again.

He took our order, apologised again for being slow, recommended the stuffed pork as a main course, while admitting that he had never actually tasted it, and explained that both our dishes came with chips and garlic potatoes. Sure, who needs greens anyway? My fillet steak would also have Oscar Taylor's special mashed potato underneath it, so the starch angle would be covered from all sides.

I had the mushrooms to start. They were exactly as they ought to have been, coated in breadcrumbs, fried to a crisp and presented with lashings of garlic mayonnaise and a bit of lettuce camouflaging a huge heap of coleslaw. David had seafood St Jacques, which turned out to be some prawns and scallops sitting on top of a heap of mashed potatoes, coated in seafood sauce.

`A good wine like this needs to breathe," said the wine waiter flourishing our £18 bottle of Fleurie, but forgetting to put any wineglasses on the table. "If we could have some glasses it could breathe in those," we suggested.

"Ah, but then you might be tempted to drink it before it's ready," he said in a way that made me want to give him a smart kick on the ankle. He came back with the glasses but didn't stay around to pour the wine. Meanwhile, two businessmen had arrived at the next table and ordered a couple of steaks and an expensive bottle of Wolf Blass. "A good wine like this needs to breathe," we heard him chant.

Ten o'clock came and the room was still surprisingly full for a weekday. The Fleurie was lovely and light, unlike the food, which was lovely and heavy. My fillet steak with pepper sauce was cooked exactly right and tasted very good. There was too much of it, though, especially with all that mashed potato, garlic potatoes and chips. These did not look very appetising in their small white and cold breakfast bowls. The chips were limp and soggy, and not freshly cut as the menu claimed.

It was all the more annoying to see the next table getting a similar bowl filled with big brown crispy looking chips. David's Pork and Clonakilty pudding wrapped in pastry was far nicer than it sounded. It looked like a bronzed tennis ball but the pastry was very light and the pudding sweet-tasting and delicious.

The dessert menu was predictably calorific - banoffi, profiteroles, ice cream. We shared a Knickerbocker Glory and got a tall, elegant sundae glass filled with ice-cream and topped by that fluffy cream that comes out of an aerosol can and tastes of nothing at all.

The cappucino that followed was that incredibly milky coffee which people used to drink years ago before going to bed. At 11 p.m. the place was still very much alive and apparently on a Sunday it's completely jammed. The waiting staff, though a little lax, were very pleasant and this is obviously a place to come with a crowd.

The bill, including cocktails and mineral water came to £68.45. Service is not included and we paid our bit towards the waiter's fare out of Ireland.

Oscar Taylors, Island View Hotel Coast Road, Malahide, Co Dublin. Phone el 01 845 0399. Opening hours: Monday to Friday 5.30pm until late. Saturday and Sunday, 1 pm until late. Weekday lunches for large groups by appointment