Now that a summer of sorts is here, we have been indulging that well known yuppie pastime of looking for a holiday cottage. We have trawled through Co Wicklow, tramping over sand dunes and venturing down boreens in the hope that there might be a little affordable gem at the end of it all.
So far no luck but twice our search has taken us through Roundwood and subsequently into the Roundwood Inn. The first time we went with ex-pat friends for Sunday lunch, the second time for dinner.
Everyone knows the Roundwood Inn, it seems, chiefly as a place where you can have great pints after a country ramble. We weren't in pint-drinking mode on the Sunday with several children to mind - although in true Irish style minding meant plying them with minerals and crisps and allowing them to collide frequently with tourists.
Sunday lunch is obviously the best time to come here, because there is a great buzz, both at the bar and in the long dining room off it. There is a more formal restaurant too, but this was full on the Sunday we visited and it is only open at weekends. This seems an odd policy in the month of June.
But back to Sunday lunch. You walk through the doors into the lovely odour of pints and smoke, and a view of people tucking into oysters and smoked salmon though an open archway. "We'll have some of that," you might think in your innocence, but join the queue. Most of the people propped up at the bar were waiting for a table, and had been for quite some time. This is good, you think, in that they obviously don't hassle the people who are lucky enough to be sitting down and eating.
After a while, though, you begin to resent those family parties who are intent on having three courses and lingering over every dish as though it was their last. I certainly began to anyway. The way to the Ladies is through the dining room and I tooed and froed a bit, looking meaningfully at a couple who had spread out their belongings at a table for six, and had long finished their coffees.
"Half an hour or so," we were told at the bar, but it was an incredible hour and a half before we got a seat. By then the bonhomie had worn pretty thin, one child had put salt and pepper into an old man's pint and we would have eaten the leg of the table.
We had put the order in long ago at the bar, from the blackboard menu. It is short but enticing with far more interesting things than the usual lasagne and coleslaw you get in pubs. Westphalian Ham had a substantial ring to it, as did Hungarian goulash. But there was also a good selection of seafood - oysters, fresh crab, smoked or fresh salmon.
We ordered a bit of everything, bar the goulash, and when we finally sat down the table quickly filled up with big platters. The smoked salmon was delicious, the fresh crab utterly fresh and there was lots of it, the oysters were plump and tasted of the sea and there was brown bread and chips with everything.
The Westphalian Ham was a surprise. It came in wafer thin slices carefully arranged around a plate like Parma ham. Not substantial at all, since every slice could be folded over and over until it was about the size of a pea, but very good with a strong peppery taste. We had to eat it all in double quick time before the children exploded, and were finished everything and back in the car in about 20 minutes.
We returned for a quiet dinner on a wet evening, and spotted a couple of tourists dressed in bright yellow raingear heading in the same direction. They weren't sure which door to use and so we nipped in ahead of them and were able to bag the last table in the dining room. A bit mean but it backfired on us because a few minutes later the waitress came and asked if we would mind sharing, so we got the tourists after all.
They turned out to be a nice couple from Munich who had spent two weeks touring in a camper van. They loved it, but couldn't believe how expensive everything is. After a lot of thought they ordered pints of Guinness and chowder, while I had more of the Westphalian Ham. When it arrived I could see them looking at it sideways, so we all shared it, and they declared it to be absolutely excellent stuff, as good, or better, as they would get at home. It came with a small dish of freshly made coleslaw and sliced pickles.
We also had a half dozen oysters - the only quibble was that they came on an ordinary plate full of crushed ice. Not a problem, but one likes a bit of razzmatazz with one's oysters, like those silver dishes on stands that the French serve them on. But there is more substance than style here.
The Germans had ordered roast chicken as a main course and it arrived in baskets with lots of chips. They found the baskets particularly quaint. We had played it safe with the goulash - not a summery dish, granted, but just right on a wet miserable evening. It was incredibly rich and sticky, with a spicy flavour and chunks of tender meat with no fat. It came with shredded red cabbage and slightly shrivelled boiled potatoes.
The room was becoming cool, even cold and we asked the waitress if some more briquettes could be added to the small fire that was smouldering rather than burning in a huge open fireplace. No problem she said, and did nothing about it.
AT the next table a man was dining alone and sketching what looked to be architectural drawings with the help of a bottle of Fleurie. The rest of the tables were taken up by pint drinkers who had spilled over from the bar and the atmosphere was decidedly local.
We had a very long and tortured discussion about the German economy visa-vis the Irish - with Germany sounding like Ireland 20 years ago in some respects. At last I know how to pronounce Gerhard Schroder - and it's not the way they say it on the RTE news.
The apple tart to finish with was home made but bland - no butter in the pastry and that makes all the difference. Our friends had to be back in their camping spot by 11.30 p.m., which saved us having to explain exactly how the Famine came about. We left too, intending to come back, but on a Sunday and early.
Lunch for four adults and three children came to about £65, while our dinner for two, with two pints, two glasses of wine and coffees was £53.
The Roundwood Inn, Roundwood, Co Wicklow - phone (01) 281 8107. Open seven days. Restaurant open Friday, Saturday and Sunday lunch only.
