Ómós Digest #127: An Assassination Custard
By Cúán Greene
An Assassination Custard
Is there anything more unbearable than the thought of a chef reviewing a restaurant? That answer is a hard NO… but a meal at Assassination Custard in Dublin 8 warrants some form of documentation at the very least. This memo, if you will, reminds one that shaved bottarga, roasted tomatoes and labneh are a blissful trio, or that those small amounts of bread served often on a perfectly proportioned, oval metal plate are what the customer appreciates. It probably comes across as quite ostentatious, my practice of documenting every meal experience, but even acknowledging the bad experiences can be as valuable as reflecting upon the very good ones. Above all else, it’s a reminder of what not to do and what to watch out for. Occasionally, during a meal, I might experience something so profound that there and then, halfway through my dish, I must document it, in the fear of forgetting that moment of magic. For the most part however, I tend to leave that to after, with my accompanied guest in mind (and the fear of looking pretentious).
I must confess, despite professing that Assassination Custard is the best restaurant in Ireland, I am far from a regular. There’s no requirement to spend two hours there; many drop in for a dish or two, but so tempting are the dishes and so good is the experience, that I tend to need to indulge in the lot, which requires commitment – physically, emotionally, financially and timewise. For me, lunch here is a reminder of what food and dining can be. What I adore about this restaurant's food offering is that the menu never feels confined to any given structure. There’s no formula, no etiquette, no main course. There isn’t even a ‘proper’ menu (it’s written daily on a paper sandwich bag). In contrast, I’ve wondered what it is that makes restaurant menus so ubiquitous. Is it an homage to tradition? Do the best-in-class dictate a structure, with the rest following suit… or is it the customer’s expectation that stifles creativity? In retrospect, does the ‘menu formula’ encompassing a starter, main course and dessert, or the predictable structure of a tasting menu inhibit culinary expression? Maybe. A break in this pattern requires outliers like Ken and Gwen of Assassination Custard to disregard the status quo. It’s a marriage of cooking from the heart, a great deal of taste, and a melting pot of culinary influences, stemming from years of travelling to North Africa, the Middle East and Southern Italy. That of course, combined with a deep appreciation for Dublin and Ireland.
The dishes may come across as simple but they are the product of intense research and passion. A deep knowledge and intertwining of cultures is evident through Ken and Gwen’s extensive terminology and reference to dishes of foreign influences. That meshed with the compulsion to cook seasonally, be it a bitter green from a farm in North Co. Dublin, or an Italian blood orange in peak season. At times, their dishes remind me of the very best ones I have cooked at home; those concocted from what is available at hand. One of their dishes started with a modest ingredient like lamb’s liver. The liver is marinated in aromatic fenugreek oil, flash-fried, thinly sliced, and finished with chopped parsley and briny hot pickled green chillies. It’s the perfect melody of flavours, causing me to stop and stare at the plate in delight, jealousy and wonder all at once. It’s genuine simplicity at its best. Pure spontaneity and resourceful thinking. This dynamic duo at the helm of Assassination Custard, are masters of making the very calculated appear off the cuff. Their cooking is a testament to that, but their aesthetic and service style screams of it too. The paper bag menu is a great example of it and Ken’s cylindrical red hat, somewhere between a Turkish fez and a deli hat, is now nothing short of iconic.
At the risk of making this article appear like a review, I’m intentionally going to break the predictable and very arduous mold by bypassing the subject of price. A meal like this is invaluable, so who cares what it cost me, whether that be a couple of euros or a substantial dent in my monthly rent allowance? Why don’t we just get back to what’s important.
