Lolling over a long, lazy lunch

Where is a nice place for girlfriends to meet up and have a long and, let's be frank, boozy lunch in relative peace and comfort? I nominate Brownes Brasserie in Brownes Hotel on St Stephen's Green. Having opened just before Christmas it still has a spanking new feel to it and, since not many people seem to know it's there, you can get a table without booking.

Another thing: the tables are well spaced out so you can gossip away without the people at the next table hearing every word. The decor is boudoir-like, and, after the first spritzer or two, the food tastes terrific. Joan Collins was seen teetering down the steps there a week or two ago and if it's good enough for her, etc etc.

The building used to be a gentlemen's club where the Ancient and Most Benevolent Order of the Friendly Brothers of St Patrick could dine, drink and stay over in appropriately fusty surroundings. Then Barry Canny and his wife Dee took it over and the smell of gravy and Pledge was banished for ever, as was the life-size portrait of King Billy from the bar.

Now the walls are hung with expensive wallpaper in muted "heritage" colours and the ceilings are gilded within an inch of their lives. You step into a cosy anteroom that has comfortable low sofas, heavily scented lilies and a man at a desk sorting through bookings on his computer.

Huge, double doors with bevelled glass panes open into the diningroom, and everyone looks up at each new arrival. The mirrored walls and enormous French chandelier made me feel as though I was stepping into a Barbara Cartland book. All that was missing was the exquisite coltish debutante with her huge eyes and necklace of rubies the size of pigeons' eggs given her by the hateful Duc D'Arrogance. There are banquettes on one side and tables on the other, and we were seated promptly at a table for four. The waiter whisked away the other two settings as we sank into the high-backed red velvet chairs.

It's an airy, high-ceilinged room with a frieze of urns and plates running around the top of the walls. This, we were told later, took weeks to complete and cost a small fortune. The artist, one Suzanne Garuda, counts the Sultan of Brunei among her clients. The menus are long cards with a jazzy illustration down one side. They looked a little casual and paw-marked for such a pretty room. Still, the prices are reassuring - no main courses over £9.50 and the most expensive starter is £4.50. If you want to spend more, you can have a plate of oysters at a guinea each. Not much joy for the vegetarian, though, with just one suitable salad to start with and pasta and vegetables on the main course list.

We ordered those spritzers and they arrived quickly, along with a big chrome basket of brown and white bread. The waiter was back in a flash to recite "ze speshils of ze day". Couldn't understand a word except zat zere wur shallots involved somewhere along the line. He repeated them all over again but we were none the wiser.

Much later, a friend joined us for a drink. When he asked for a glass of house white the same waiter nodded, jotted it down on his pad and then asked him how would he like it cooked - medium or rare. This sort of thing is a bit wearing after a while. Even if you can speak a bit of Spanish or Italian, it cuts no ice with the waiter or waitress from deepest Portugal or Latvia. God be with the days when the waiter would start off in Franglais and then lapse into a broad Dublin accent so that everyone could relax. Despite the language barrier, the service was extremely prompt and we were soon tucking into Caesar salad (me) and sauteed baby squid with chilli oil (friend).

The squid came deep-fried rather than sauteed, with the chilli oil on the side in a shallow dish. My friend wasn't too sure what to do with it and ended up dipping her rather chewy squid every so often.

The Caesar salad was a manageable one - no huge fans of lettuce that have to be swallowed whole, and, thankfully, no raw egg in the middle. There were masses of croutons and, lurking under the lettuce, a handful of chopped up bacon and red onion. All covered in a creamy dressing with parmesan on top. It tasted fine at the time - but, Omigod, the garlic! I was gargling Listerine for the next 24 hours.

The confit of duck main course that followed was a far milder dish, although the poor waiter got into a real tangle trying to explain that it would not be served, as advertised, with colcannon, but with rosti.

The duck leg came teetering on top of a layer of fresh spinach with a rosti patty underneath. No sign of the lentil puree that was to accompany it, but there was a rich gravy that the Friendly Brothers might have liked.

My friend's fillet steak was described as "just right", and she finished every last bit. We had two more spritzers instead of desserts. The dessert menu is brief and to the point - there's a heavy chocolate thing and a few lighter fruit things, as well as cheese. My double espresso came in a delicate wide-brimmed cup, and with the correctly cloudy surface. We sat on into the afternoon, and noted that none of the other lunchers seemed to be in a hurry to get away. This is nice, as there is nothing more depressing than having a leisurely lunch in a restaurant that is empty by 2.30 p.m.

To delay things further we asked to see some of the bedrooms upstairs. The Brothers would be pretty envious if they could feel the thick carpets and try out the pink marble-lined bathrooms. My favourite room was the first floor suite, which has three windows overlooking the Green, and a huge mahogany Murphy Bed that Marilyn Monroe apparently slept in once upon a time. It costs a mere £350 per night. The bill for lunch, including coffees, spritzers and a couple of glasses of wine came to £52.65. Service is not included.

Brownes Brasserie and Townhouse, 22 St Stephen's Green, Dublin 2. Tel: 01-638 3939 Opening hours: Lunch Monday to Friday, 12.30 p.m. to 3 p.m. Dinner Monday to Saturday, 6.30 p.m. onwards.