The five hungry ladies bemoaned the lack of a proper burger in Dublin for quite some time before Bunsen set up shop on Wexford street earlier this year. We tried GBK. We tried The Counter. We tried Jo'burger. GBK had disappointed us for some time. The Counter was fine. Jo-burger was a good concept, but failed to properly deliver on the important stuff; i.e. the thing itself. Then, we tried Bobo's. It rose to the top of the Burger heap immediately, but yet, we found something lacking. Having tasted the burger creations of Lucky Chip, MeatLiquor and MeatWagon, we could never be fully satisfied with what was on offer on our shores. Burger glory was, sadly, across the sea and out of reach. How were we to satisfy the gnawing urge inside of us, save lining Michael O'Leary's pockets more often than was wise?
Then, one of the ladies spotted this.
As if by magic we found ourselves seated in the sparse restaurant, staring down at the sparse little menu-slash-business card. The options? Hamburger, cheeseburger, fries. Double or single patty. Thick cut, sweet potato, or shoestring fries.
Everything about the place said economy. We all knew what we were there for, there was no time for frivolities. When our provisions arrived, and we took the first bites of our cheeseburgers (the hamburger didn't even come into it), we realised what we had been missing in the burgers of Dublin. Simplicity. Good meat, freshly ground and well seasoned. Good quality cheese, perfectly melted. A bun with the right amount of give and bite. Lettuce, onion, tomato. Ketchup, mustard, mayo. No fancy sauces. No Mexican or Asian twists. No gardens of rocket, no blue cheese. Not a slice of bacon in sight. There was so much this burger was potentially missing, and yet it felt perfect and complete.
It's just as Confucius said, life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated. Thank you, Bunsen, for bringing the burger back to basics, where it belongs.
Hungry Ladies Rating (An explanation of which can be found in our earlier post, here):
4 Hungry Ladies
Burgerlicious.
If only Martin Luther had stuck to the right sort of manifesto.
If only he had been born in another time, another place; he could have stayed away from religion, and Germany, and nailed his edict to the door of a little holy house in Rathmines village and feasted on something far better than a diet of worms for the rest of his days.
This holy house is the Manifesto, a small and unassuming Italian establishment on the main street. The edict nailed to its door, had Martin been lucky enough to be born in its time, would read, Catucci-esque: You gotta eat here.
You'd be forgiven for not knowing about this gem, even if you're a local: the restaurant front is grubby and nondescript and more than one of the Hungry Ladies passed by it, heretically, without a second glance. But once you're inside - oh - it really is divine. As soon as we'd passed the threshold, we were greeted by the balm of the wood burning oven, which continually churns out homemade bread and pizza. Once you're seated - should you be able to get a seat, that is - and have managed to whittle down your order - very difficult with the variety of salacious dishes on offer - you're rewarded for all your hard work with a basket of freshly baked, salted bread bites, warm from the oven. Try and make these last until your starters arrive. Try, and fail.
Of the starters we would strongly recommend the gnochetti: creamy and moreish with a wonderful bite, and none of the heavy earth taste you'd expect from a dish with beetroot in the title. The tiger prawns with orange and avocado and the scallops with spinach and passion fruit are also worth a mention, as is everything else we tried on the menu.
For mains, we opted for a mix of pizza and pasta; le nostre carni will have to wait for our next visit.
Manifesto have two award winning pizzas on their menu: Mamy (Gold medal award for best pizza in the WORLD, 2006) and Don Corleone (best pizza in Ireland, 2011). We opted for one of each, and were not disappointed. Of the homemade pasta, we ordered the ragu, which was delicious, even if the meat was a little chunkier than what we had been hoping for, and the seafood scialatiello, which was devoured in a hallowed silence. We also tried the ndunderi, a medieval dish similar to gnocchi, with ricotta cheese and a prawn and jerusalem artichoke sauce. Thank you, Manifesto, for bringing this one back from the Middle Ages. To wash it down we had the house red, a very drinkable wine that comes in a bottle labelled with the neat Manifesto logo. Altar wine, it was not.
We were too full for dessert, which is rare amongst the Hungry Ladies, but with the bread baskets and generous portions, we had to admit a satisfied defeat.
So, should you bother? There are more Italian restaurants in Dublin than there are Christian denominations; is this, I hear you ask, the one worth parting with your cash for? To that we answer, louder than a Magdalene congregation, yes. Your money might not be able to buy you a place in the afterlife these days, but it can guarantee you a few rapturous moments in the new church of the Five Hungry Ladies.
Join us. Pull up a pew. With one bite, we swear you'll be converted.
Five Hungry Ladies rating:
A quick explanation of The Hungry Ladies rating system, as this is the first.
There are five ladies in the group. Each of us cast a something/5 vote after a meal, and the votes are totted up and averaged, in the interests of democracy and fairness.
The final vote is measured in Hungry Ladies:
1 Hungry Lady: Eat here only if you absolutely have to.
2 Hungry Ladies: You can eat here if you want, but don't say we didn't warn you.
3 Hungry Ladies: Eat here, sure, but don't expect miracles.
4 Hungry Ladies: You really should eat here.
5 Hungry Ladies: YOU GOTTA EAT HERE.
The Five Hungry Ladies rating for MANIFESTO:
5 HUNGRY LADIES
Yep, we went there. 5 out of 5 on the first review. Trust us, it's worth it.
Welcome to the table of the Five Hungry Ladies. Take a seat. We're going to take you on a culinary adventure through the streets of our dirty aul town, Dublin.
A great food culture has sprung up in the Irish capital over the past couple of decades, and in the last few years, especially, Dubliners have seen the tone of new eateries change from would-be and actual Michelin style restaurants, predictable pub diners and well-known international fast-food chains, to unique, rough-around-the-edges hipster hubs with a more streamlined, focused menu. The most successful of these tend to turn the spotlight on one dish and, through passion and obsession, hone it into a sublime eating experience, without pressing too heavily on the average wallet. Posh grub and pub grub still hold court on the two opposing ends of the Irish foodie spectrum, but many more shades are emerging in between the two. This new 'indoor street food' style restaurant is a nod to the kind of establishments that wouldn't be out of place in New York and London; a likely by-product of our emigrant culture. Us five gals, well, we're starving, so you can take us anywhere ... as long as the food is up to our, rather discerning, standards.
We are five ladies who like to talk about food. We like to think about it, often, to dream about it, and, happily, to eat it. A lot. Our manifesto for Five Hungry Ladies is to give an honest, democratic (five opinions distilled - with difficulty - into one) critique of everywhere we eat. And also to eat everywhere. We're basically trying conquer the city of Dublin one mouthful at a time. The first restaurant we're going to talk about is, funnily enough, Manifesto.
So get comfortable in that seat of yours. Bring a cushion for your weary arse, because you may be hanging around for a while yet. Hungry? Don't worry, refreshments will be provided.
