At Lagom in Kenmare, the Big Green Egg runs the kitchen. It grills, smokes, braises, and roasts, fuelled by oak shavings and Galway lumpwood. Very Swedish, in a way – if you imagine Sweden as a place where everyone is outdoors in perpetual daylight, calmly barbecuing things to perfection.
And perhaps the owners, Brendan and Liz Byrne, do – Brendan having spent two years in Stockholm. Lagom, according to the website, is a Swedish word with no direct English equivalent – something about balance, harmony and feeding yourself from your surroundings – “not too little, not too much, just right”’.
The room has Scandi energy, although I should advise at this point that it’s not my Mastermind specialist topic, and I’m not sure that watching The Bridge counts for much. Still, the space is lined with birch saplings rising from the floor like they’ve wandered in from a forest, dividing the room with pale, iridescent bark.
It feels gently choreographed, with warm putty walls, slate and light wooden floors, and art that might reward inspection, had I not been guided to turn left. Promising if you’re boarding a plane – though here, it leads to the point where the restaurant simply runs out of room and softens into kitchen clatter. Three birch saplings frame the entrance to the triangular area with slate-blue walls, detailed with wooden reeding and a dried foliage wreath, and a clear sense – with the neighbouring table for four – of not quite being at the main event.
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The menu is concise – five starters, five mains and four desserts. Bread comes to the table. The bun-shaped bread looks intriguing – treacle bread topped with white sourdough, like a miniature pint of the national stout in carb form. The second bread is a more rustic sourdough, which I prefer.
The wine list is short and focused, with bottles from €29 to €95, all European, and 10 available by the glass. We opt for the Diez Siglos Verdejo (€34), a crisp white that pairs nicely with the crab starter (€14.50). It’s a generous helping, piled into a squid ink croustade and topped with sharp hits of acidity: pressed cucumber, apple, rocket, dillisk and chive flowers.
The St Tola goat’s cheese tortellini with beetroot and red cabbage borscht (€13) reads like a familiar pairing but lands sharper than expected. The pasta is firm but silky, filled with a lactic creaminess. The borscht – closer to salsa than soup – brings earth and acidity. Tear open the pasta, stir the filling through, and it all works beautifully.
The fillet of hake (€29), cooked on the bone, is the only misstep – it’s a shade overcooked. There’s a crisp of dillisk, a sharp tomato and prawn salsa, and a well-charred wedge of gem lettuce. The structure makes sense, the grill is doing the work, but a little sauce, perhaps a beurre blanc, wouldn’t hurt.
The lamb rump (€31) is impressive. A thick slice, well-seared, cooked pink, with a crust tasting of oak, fat and smoke from the Big Green Egg. It is quite heavy on the salt, which may not suit everyone. With it comes lamb cannelloni – a roll of pasta tightly packed with shredded meat and, possibly, cabbage, in a slick of pea purée, roasted apple and faint mint. It’s rich but measured. The vegetables are superb: miso-glazed carrots, baby broccoli, cabbage, golden roast potatoes.
Dessert toys with nostalgia. It’s called a rhubarb “iceberger” (€8), which is a clear nod to the HB classic. How could I not order this? And what a joy. Instead of a brick of vanilla ice cream between two cakey biscuits, it’s a sandwich of gingerbread holding marinated rhubarb and something like semifreddo. The rhubarb has been soaked in Champagne – just enough to lift the sharpness. It’s the sort of dessert that sounds twee on paper but absolutely floors you in real life.
There’s a confidence here that doesn’t need translating. It’s in the shortness of the menu, the way the fish is grilled on the bone, how the lamb embraces the grill, and how the acidity adds freshness to the crab. It’s in the vegetables – not an afterthought – and in a dessert that starts with a nod to childhood and ends with structure and bite.
Lagom doesn’t circle back to explain itself – it just cooks, quietly, like someone has thought through each element. Not too much, not too little. It’s just right. Enough to make you want to come back, and sit somewhere nearer the birch tree plantation.
Dinner for two with a bottle of wine was €130.
The Verdict: A ceramic grill and a steady hand give Lagom its edge.
Food provenance: Spillane Seafoods Killarney, Paudie Randles butchers, Glenbeigh Mussels, and Garryhinch Mushrooms.
Vegetarian options: There is a full vegetarian menu.
Wheelchair access: Fully accessible with an accessible toilet.
Music: “Jazz Lagom” playlist.
