Deep in the Curragh in Milltown, there is a pub and restaurant called the Hangedman’s
Arch – but above the door in the car park it says ‘The Hangedman’s’ leaving you
wondering the Hangedman’s what? I’d gone to Kildare to meet my friends Patrick
and Louise Guinness, and at their house we were joined by two more friends, Mandy
and Blaithnid. The five of us set off in Patrick’s Jeep with Louise giving us the
directions. It was a clear night and a waning gibbous moon hung low in the sky to
the west as we drove across the open expanses of the Curragh, past the race track,
on to a fork where we eventually took the right road, and then right towards Milltown.
Up and over a humpy bridge crossing the canal, and there suddenly on the left is The
Hangedman’s. The Restaurant is upstairs and has its own bar, which is where we sat
and looked at the menus and wine list, I was given the job of picking the wines,
so I dutifully checked out the list, which isn’t overly long – about twenty-five
wines – buts it’s very reasonably priced. Just a few examples of what you can
find: a Hunter Valley Shiraz for £15.50, Antionori’s Chianti Classico Riserva
for £18.80 and a white Marques de Caceres at £12.50, all good value. Eventually
I chose a Chilean Montes Reserva Chardonay at £14.00 and its sister red, a Merlot
at the same price.
The menu is a large, laminated sheet with a smaller one attached. The smaller one,
listing three starters and three main courses, changes weekly, while the larger
changes quarterly along with the Seasons. Starters were centred on £6.00, while
main courses ran from £13.50 up to £17.00 for a ten-ounce fillet, served as medallions.
There were some interesting dishes: among the starters were a wonton of prawns,
green-lipped mussels in a cream sauce and a warm beef salad. Then for main courses
there was venison, escalopes of turkey, beef with Roquefort sauce, honey-roast duck
and paupilletes of sole. We’d started with the idea that we’d all pick different
things, but Patrick, Louise and I all picked the mussels while Mandy had the
deep-fried brie and Blaithnid had the Clonakilty black pudding. For main course
Louise had the turbot, Mandy had a vegetarian dish of roasted vegetables with a
wild mushroom sauce, Blaithnid had the beef with Roquefort sauce, Patrick had
venison and I chose the shanks of lamb.
We sat at the Bar, which was warm and welcoming and it was here that our orders
were taken. An old open fire place with a crane and various iron pots was a
feature of this room, as too were the very large groups of people with silly
hats having their Christmas parties, who mostly went into the dining rooms
before we did. It was while we were ordering that I discovered that green-lipped
mussels come from New Zealand. When we were called to our table we found that
there are three dining rooms, and all of them were very full of people. The
first has a long table of over twenty people, the second was set for a similar
number and ours had a party of over a dozen as well as smaller groups. This
kind of capacity normally means that service will be absurdly slow, and at first
I had my doubts if any kitchen could cope with such a large number of people
wanting to be fed at the same time. I needn’t have worried, the service was
excellent throughout the evening.
Our starters arrived and before me was a plate of big, fat, succulent mussels. Or so
I thought. They were tough, and had an odd aftertaste. Louise found the same with
hers, but Patrick’s were just fine. I wasn’t too fussed about it and enjoyed a
taste of Mandy’s Brie and Blaithnid’s Clonakilty pudding, both of which were
very good. But a couple of moments after the plates were cleared the manager was
at the table, “was there a problem with the mussels?” he asked. “Not really,” I
said, “but they were a little tough.” “I’m very sorry,” he said, “they’ll come
off the bill.” Normally I wouldn’t bother relating stories like this, but
this time I am because it’s a perfect example of how a restauranteur should
behave when something goes wrong. Bear in mind that this was a very busy
restaurant, but he was prompt, professional and polite and took the dishes off
the bill at once without question. That’s what should happen in a properly run
restaurant and full marks to The Hangedman’s for dealing with problems so well.
As a result, instead of being cross and irritable, I was full of admiration for
his professionalism.
All our main courses were very good: I liked the Roquefort sauce on Blaithnid’s
beef. Patrick’s venison was extraordinarily tender (probably farmed), Mandy's
vegetarian mix was tasty, Louise's turbot was nicely cooked and my lamb shanks
were delicious. If this kitchen can make food this
good when under severe pressure, I’ll be delighted to return when things are less
hectic. Deserts are described as a surprise, and we hade a mix on the plate for us
all to taste – I particularly liked the ice cream with crushed meringue. We ended the
meal with decent coffees.
The drive home involved a loud and almost tuneful recreation of the Ronettes and
the Shirelles in the Car, which the sober Patrick had to endure stoically, a fun
end to a good night, where the bill came to a little over £30 a head.