Booking a table for four on a Saturday night isn't easy, particularly if you leave it until the last minute and no one can decide where or what they want to eat. Ideally, you should start a couple of weeks in advance to be sure of getting the table you want in the restaurant that everyone is talking about. Otherwise it's out with the Golden Pages and lots of whining from everyone ("No, not Chinese; I can't bear Chinese", "God we had an atrocious meal there", "No, the service is diabolical, last time we didn't get the main course until one in the morning") with the general consensus being that there isn't a decent place to eat in Dublin.
We started ringing around at about noon on Saturday, having narrowed the choice down to four restaurants within a mile radius. The first two were booked solid, the third could only take us at 7 p.m. and we would have to be out by 9 p.m. sharp - which left The Black Tulip Bistro in Dun Laoghaire. We all knew it - had passed it hundreds of times on the way to Bloomfields - but no one had ever been there, or known anyone who had been there either. Still, they could take us at 8.30 p.m., so we went for it.
To people of a certain age, The Black Tulip is better known as the place that used to be Trudis. You will find it at the quiet end of Dun Laoghaire in the middle of a forlorn row of shops that, back in the good old days before planning regulations, were simply slapped onto the front of a little terrace of Victorian houses beside St Michael's Hospital. You can see the front doors of the houses peeping out between the shops, and the top floor windows overhead. What makes The Black Tulip really stand out from its neighbours is its startling black and yellow frontage. The tall, plate-glass windows are dressed in monstrous black and cream curtains that are tied back, making the inside look like a stage set. It would be intriguing to come across it in the back streets of Amsterdam, but in Dun Laoghaire it manages to look a bit, well, black.
A far cry from its glamorous heyday as Trudis, when Roly Saul presided over the bar, and the rich red, club-like room heaved with people drinking expensive wines until all hours of the morning. Or so it seemed. Roly's sister Delia, who went on to open a nightclub named after herself in New York, was always throwing parties in Trudis and the gossip columns gushed. Like Shrimps, Trudis had what used to be known as cachet. Getting a waitressing job there was harder than passing the exam to the diplomatic service. The tips were legendary.
All that was long ago. We sidled up to the door, ready to run if it looked empty. No, it was quite full, and we cheered up a little. Just inside we were met by two huge and mad-looking Paul Berg chairs, as though the king of the trolls and his wife were expected to dine any minute. But the madness ended there. Further in the room looks ordinary, unlike the food, which turned out to be superb. We were ushered upstairs, not to the mezzanine which had survived from Trudis days, but to another dining area in what would once have been the back bedroom. It is a sombre flannel grey room with a whiff of damp and overhead lighting bright enough to force tomatoes.
Our table was a round pod affair that was a bit too low to be comfortable and let out incredible squeaks every time it was leaned on. "Like the bed next door in a cheap hotel," muttered one of our friends, making it squeak again and again until we were all nearly under it laughing.
Kate was seated in front of a mirror in the full glare of a many-branched light which, thankfully, was on a dimmer switch. We asked for it to be turned down and the waitress twiddled with it rather doubtfully. "I look 40, no, no, that's it, now I look 30, that'll do," said Kate. A few minutes later the manager came along and switched it up full again making everyone in the room look positively haggard. With the table going hammer and tongs we were soon telling stories about things we had all heard behind partitions and getting rowdy over our Sancerre.
The guffaws didn't go down well. All around us couples were hunched over tables for two, having whispery conversations. Not romantic conversations by the look of them, but earnest chat about the plumbing or the au pair's bad breath or whether to replace the seat covers in the mobile home. In other words they were all firmly married and not ashamed of wearing sweatshirts on their night out. And they all fell on the food as soon as it was put down in front of them. So did we, for that matter.
The menu is short but intense with a string of accessories to each dish - the sort of food that you could make at home if you had the kitchen to yourself for the whole day and lots of interesting ingredients to play with, but, let's face it, how often does that happen? And then, why make it yourself when someone else will do far better? Do you really have the time to shell mussels and cook them in white wine and garlic cream then serve them up in filo with bacon and brie? Or to shred smoked chicken and dress it with baby potato salad, creme fraiche and a puree of basil and tomato? These were the two best starters and we had all soon forgotten about the decor.
My dish of fresh crab meat dressed with lime juice, gazpacho and chilli oil was fresh, even if there was an inordinate amount of shell in there, while Kate's baked goat's cheese came melting over orange segments with fresh beetroot, and was declared divine.
The main courses were equally original and beautifully cooked. Kate had the roast breast of guinea fowl just to taste the accompanying mango mash and cauliflower mousse. It sounded fiddly but tasted wonderful. Roast breast of barbary duck came in plentiful slices with rosti potatoes and fettucine of vegetables, while exceptionally tender lamb was served with a creamy potato dauphinoise and a crisp aubergine galette. My smoked haddock risotto was plentiful, but it was just warm when it hit the table and cooled rapidly after that, so I had to leave half of it behind.
We left a long break before desserts but then rallied enough to share a perfectly made tarte tatin with ice cream and a rich chocolate and pecan tarte with freshly whipped cream.
Years ago, sitting on buses and trains I would spend all my time looking at worn-out people and giving them imaginary makeovers, with new clothes, hair cuts, perms, make-up, jewellery the lot. I would love to do the same to The Black Tulip. The food is brilliant, but the setting is just a teeny bit depressing. Our bill for four - including three bottles of wine, mineral water and coffees - came to just under £160 without service.
The Black Tulip Bistro, 107 Lower Georges Street, Dun Laoghaire, Co Dublin (01-2805318). Opening hours. Dinner: Monday to Saturday, 5.30 pm. to 10 p.m. Earlybird menu: Monday to Friday, 5.30 p.m. to 7.30 p.m.
