I WAS in Dublin. Alone. Don’t ask me why; it’s better if you don’t know. The summer streets were crowded with revellers all looking for the Friday night craic. Cloudless skies and a beating sun were making thirsts rage. I could have done with a drink myself, but there was something I needed to do first, and I needed a clear head to do it.
I’ve read too much Raymond Chandler. If you really must know, I was in Dublin alone because I’d not looked at any of the five calendars we have in the kitchen, all of which clearly stated we had a Christening to go to in Belfast the same weekend I’d booked a surprise trip down south.
My wife and brother decided they’d go to that, saying they didn’t want to cause a family rift. They looked a bit too happy to see me go off by myself, if you ask me.
OK, now here’s a question for you. Why are there no old people in Dublin? I mean it. I don’t think I saw anyone over 37. It’s like some very particular pied piper has enticed all the wrinklies away, playing the theme tune to Bargain Hunt and offering free tartan trolley bags to anyone who followed him.
I walked past a queue for a bar, at the head of which security were checking ID. They stopped one man and accused him – I didn’t realise it was a crime – of being 40. He was turned away insisting he was 25. It was like a scene from Logan’s Run.
My youthful good looks were not going to keep me safe for much longer, so I decided I better eat and get back to the hotel before curfew. A friend had given me a list of places to try. Klaw was the closest. It’s good for funky fish, he said. To be honest, I’m not sure I want my fish to be funky. Fresh? No question. Dead? Preferably. Funky? Hmmm.
I needn’t have worried. The place itself was great, and the fish was even better. Klaw is not so much a restaurant as a wide corridor, open on to the street. At a point that’s not very clear, the eating area becomes the kitchen.
The menu is on a blackboard spread across the wall. It changes according to the catch. Everything on the menu the night I was there was caught in Irish waters apart from the blue crab, which had been brought in from China. (I’d been hoping the Blue Crab was an evil genius being chased by Richard Hannay, or a sapphire recovered by Sherlock Holmes to save the reputation of a society lady. Turns out it’s just a crab that’s blue.)
I often find these places a bit intimidating – I’m never quite sure what to order, and it feels just a bit too trendy. Once again, I needn’t have worried. The staff are incredibly friendly and passionate about the food. They were delighted to hear I’d never had an oyster and served me four, each from a different part of the coast, sitting in their shells on a bed of ice.
They gave me instructions too – not in a clever clogs way, just because they wanted me to enjoy them as much as they did. Two chews, then swallow.
I ate my oysters naked – I didn’t want anything to disguise the experience, and it was the hottest day of the year. You really could taste the difference between the locations. The Waterford, my favourite, was sweet and mild, whereas the Flaggy Shore had a strong mineral taste, and a powerful hit of the sea. One of the waiters said a regular described it as being kissed by the ocean. More like being punched by a mermaid, if you ask me, but then poetry was never my strong suit.
The grilled prawns were tender and juicy, and the crab added a sweet, delicate contrast to the macaroni cheese. Some lovely swigs of Guinness really complemented the whole meal.
I wasn’t fussed about the puddings – stodgy cookies, basically – but everything else about Klaw is terrific. Fresh fish, cooked with fun, simplicity and know-how. You don’t need anything more.
THE BILL
Four oysters – Galway, Dooncastle, Waterford, Flaggy Shore – €1.50 each
Grilled prawns – €12
Mac ‘n’ Cheese with crab – €7.50
Whoopies x 2 – €4 each
Guinness x 2 – €6 each
Total: €45.50 (£35.90)
