Trendy and modern European translate to either successful or unchallenging, at least by Dublin standards. Either way, most of those places barely make an effort with the furniture and so the prices can be hard to justify; perhaps they’re convinced the chef’s competence will overshadow anyone noticing that the management skimped on decor. Lottie’s has a little more than the menu to show for an otherwise lowkey presence, though. It’s a testament to Rathmines going slightly out of its way with how its restaurants look than other Dublin locations.
The pink walls, mustard couches running along them, and wicker-back chairs would make this spot a good fit among the standalones on Charlotte Street in London where artists and writers rub shoulders over organic wine. It does draw an understated crowd — on the evening we are dining, patrons are dressed in elegant jackets, muted cardigans, and non-blingy earrings. It seems like they’ve all been invited to the same party at which everyone is young enough to stay past midnight but old enough to avoid saying slurred goodbyes.
A compliments-of-the-chef plate of foccacia arrives audibly at the table next to ours, right after my dirty martini is placed in front of me. It doesn’t make us feel less valued: all of the iterations on the martini menu come with a complimentary snack of crisps and a buffalo ricotta and chive dip. However, I do notice that my drink stood at the edge of the bar for a few minutes, much like a heartbroken stag hoping for company, until the crisps were ready.
Made in-house, the crisps are impressively thinner than any of the ones found in the aisles of Tesco, SuperValu, or even Donnybrook Fair. They’re high on salt, balanced by the light creaminess of the ricotta — a dream team with the cool and savoury dirty martini, which holds back on the brine to a precise level.
We do eventually get our own plate of foccacia (one we’ve made a conscious decision to order). The bread has a sea salt-studded crust; it’s soft and warm enough to make the accompanying whipped honey and chilli butter melt into it. Potato skins with gribiche — our second (technically third) starter — are crisp, carby cups loaded with a mustardy, eggy filling dotted with flecks of parsley.
The menu proudly lists entrées that are good enough to be mains and a couple of them abide by that guideline by offering two portion sizes. Our mood for the evening is more small plates/tapas-style dining than a big meal, and so we choose to skip the heftier mains in favour of a harissa cauliflower steak and Korean fried chicken.
Despite having ordered smaller portions for both, neither felt like it was meant to be a foreword to mains. Lightly grilled cauliflower is flattened over a plate smeared with romesco, and fritters of smaller florets adorn the top along with chimichurri. The cauliflower at the bottom is cooked to a pleasant texture — neither soggy nor tough — and the crunchier, fried florets draw the final arc of the circle of the vegetable’s life by rounding out its overall dimension fully.
Korean-style fried chicken is becoming as popular on modern European menus as strawberry matcha lattes at cafés frequented by people who never step out without manicures. It’s a safe choice for many demographics, but Dublin definitely has time and space for more imaginative chicken preparations — especially when the mandate isn’t traditional. Sticky, sweet and spicy gochujang clings to pre-decided morsels of batter-fried chicken that would have been a hit had the chicken not been overcooked. It feels like an irritable toddler in need of appropriate discipline to be able to grow up to be a lady or gentleman. The sauce on the side could have benefited from more thought, too: it’s essentially buffalo wing sauce melded with very fatty mayonnaise.
At the end of our meal, our server asks if our order was enough to fill us up (at the onset, we had indicated we might order more). The portions are generous enough to warrant skipping dessert, if you decide to order similarly to us. However, the thoughtful closing question aside, service here can be a little distracted and delayed. It’s something those in charge might want to consider fine-tuning, along with allowing more experimenting in the kitchen. Lottie’s doesn’t serve ground-breaking food, but it’s a restaurant I’d return to for good drinks, reliable nibbles, and a gathering of friends that doesn’t take itself too seriously.
