I won’t pretend this was a bolt from the blue. I’ve been eating at Forest Avenue for years and each time I leave thinking the same thing: surely this is the year Michelin stops dithering and finally hands over the star. I predicted it would land this year, and when John Wyer picked up the gong with his wife Sandy Wyer in February, his voice caught. “It has been a long time coming and I just never thought this would happen.”
The official line, of course, is evolution. Inspectors like to murmur about “progression”, as if a restaurant must complete some spiritual pilgrimage before it is deemed worthy. Yes, there were tweaks after lockdown. But let’s not rewrite history. The cooking here has been at this level for many years.
I booked well in advance. I know how these things go. A star is awarded and suddenly the phones melt and everyone claims they were “meaning to try it for ages”. And so I arrived not to see whether it deserved the star, but to confirm what I already knew: that this was a kitchen that had long since earned its place, and would now have to endure the consequences of success – fuller books, higher expectations – without losing its regulars.
What is remarkable is the price. A three-course lunch at €55, a tasting menu at €75 for lunch, rising to €95 in the evening with a few additional flourishes. For a newly starred restaurant, that feels quietly subversive.
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I opt for the tasting menu. Of course I do. If you’re going to measure a kitchen, let it set the rhythm. I skip the €75 pairing and pick a Coteaux Bourguignons Gamay (€48) from a grower-led list that stretches to Pétrus 2007 at €11,000, but is sensibly stocked well below that stratosphere.
It’s a six-course menu, starting with “surprises from the kitchen”, which is effectively five incredibly delicious amuse-bouches, delivered with the sort of composure that suggests this is simply how things are done.
Yellow carrot and Dublin Bay prawn bisque – frothy, saline and faintly sweet – is rich and creamy. It disappears in a few glorious sips. An onion tart filled with a Coolea mousse follows, its intensity balanced by a sharp, translucent disc of jelly with a smack of acidity. Beetroot appears next, diced with geometrical precision and packed into a crisp cylinder over smoked yoghurt – earth against lactic tang, smoke threaded through.
Even when the tone shifts towards the marine – cubes of bluefin tuna lifted with blood orange and a gloss of Japanese spinach, and cod belly in tempura, the batter fracturing to reveal tender flesh – the precision holds.
The surprises draw to a close and the official menu starts with bread, a warm focaccia, which arrives with a parsley root velouté frothed to a light foam, truffle and pine nuts peeping through, adding quiet texture.
We move back to the sea with wild sea bass crudo, sharpened with apple and frozen horseradish, a vivid oil made with the green tops of organic celery and parsley, and a few restrained dots of smoked cashew. Then cod, which has been steamed perfectly, so the flesh opens in defined petals. A beurre blanc pools beneath, glossy and assured, studded with Goatsbridge trout roe that flickers salinity through each forkful. A brown purée of fermented rice grounds it, earthy and savoury. It is exacting, classic and fully resolved.
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For the meat course, it is suckling pig. The whole free-range animal is brought in and used throughout the restaurant, which explains the superb flavour of the shoulder – fat rendered until translucent, crackling that shatters. The loin is neat, pale and impeccably cooked, a study in contrast beside the shoulder’s intensity. Pickled green pepper corns dressed with mustard seeds bring a prickle of heat, while a charcutière enriched with foie gras pushes the sauce to the brink.
For dessert, a sophisticated croissant pudding is topped with milk ice cream, and surrounded by a pool of manzanilla crème anglaise. A choux bun, piped with cream and a piercing clementine purée, brings it to a clean close.
John Wyer’s food is precise and distinctive, crafted with a light touch. The tasting menu flows rather than overwhelms, portions and pacing are carefully judged. Some dishes feel so resolved they would not look out of place at two-star level.
The star confirmed what regulars already knew. At €75, it is difficult to think of better value at this level.
Lunch for two with water and a bottle of wine was €204.
The verdict: Star quality and a €75 tasting menu of restrained, delicious cooking
Food provenance: McNally Farm vegetables, Wine Tavern Farm free range suckling pig, Glenmar seafood
Vegetarian options: Vegetarian menu available
Wheelchair access: Fully accessible with an accessible toilet
Music: Bill Withers and classics in the background
