Totally Dublin 1
GASTRO WORDS Conor Stevens PHOTOS Killian Broderi
ck LOVE LETTER Kaldero The last time I was in this room underneath The St Stephen’s Green Centre it was a branch of Wagamama and I was politely asked to extinguish the just-lit Dunhill dangling from my mouth. This was a couple of weeks before the smoking ban came into effect – on March 29th, 2004. I remember this not because it was the world’s first such work-place edict but because that was the day of my thirtieth birthday. Tempus fugit etc. For those today who don’t chow down in suburban shopping centres Wagamama is a successful Pan-Asian chain launched in London in ’92. It probably introduced many of us round-eyes to chopsticks and still has its fans. It was to wholesome Asian food what The Body Shop was to ‘smellies’. I’m not going to explain The Body Shop but for many of my vintage it was the scent of first girlfriends. Malls seem to be having a moment right now, not least among the protest-prone. I’m told that the redevelopment of The Phibsboro Shopping Centre is now a hot button topic for the ‘brutalists’ and I’ve heard even more preposterous claims about the architectural significance of the one that sits above this restaurant. Where I wonder were these hand-wringing Insta-conservationists when I observed my lonely vigil to decry the destruction of the unlovely Crumlin Shopping Centre? Whatever – chef Richie Castillo and partner Alex O’Neill had been trading (as Bahay) since the pandemic, first in a food-truck and then doing the pop-up peregrinations, much like Chubby’s in fact. I’m sure that I had eaten Filipino food before Castillo’s but the stuff that was put up to us at one of those pop-ups (in the Harold’s Cross Warehouse Market) was something of a revelation. 28 Since last Autumn the Bahay pair have had the run of this space and Kaldero (a pot or cauldron in the Tagalog tongue) has been revealing the many delights of this unsung (in Dublin) cuisine to a receptive audience. I don’t generally enjoy windowless basement dining-rooms but it is what it is. The long communal benches of Wagamama are long gone – you’ll want to be in one of the comfortable booths that punctuate the length of the open kitchen. It’s louche and clubby and not in the pass the port to-the-left way – there’s a serious looking turntable set up, mercifully vacant on the night. I don’t want to eat at the club or dance in a restaurant. Not at this stage. The slightly-sweet bread-rolls (Pandesal) are delivered from the oven, fluffy and puffing out gusts of steam. Tear and drag through the Roasted Yeast Butter. Mo’ butter, mo’ better. The house (Pinakurat) Bloody Maria ratchets the umami up further still. I normally wouldn’t countenance a Mary of any kind after 3pm but I’m attempting to be less rules-based. It’s built on smoky Del Maguey Mezcal and so moreish that it almost orders another for itself. If that happens you should have the tempuragrade Crispy Aubergine with Whipped Tofu and Tamarind Salt. If you can resist the urge to order another starter (pampagna) listed as Chicken Joy (not the bird’s I’m guessing) you might busy yourself with the Stir-Fried Roaring Water Bay Mussels. The ochre liquor is of uncommon depth and suggests coconut milk and fish-sauce. There’s a gently insistent heat that tugs at your sleeve. RWB Mussels is a producer menu shout-out that has now reached almost Ballymakenny potato levels. It’s as if other mussels and potatoes have ceased to exist.
