The Manifesto.

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.