Mark
Google
This isn’t just dinner. It’s therapy.
We stayed upstairs in Belvedere House, right above the restaurant, which is perfect because you’ll need a short commute to bed after what Conor serves downstairs. And then? He’s there in the morning making your breakfast like some kind of culinary vigilante who never sleeps.
Dinner: The oysters were so fresh they practically apologised for being out of the sea. Rob had the Korean chicken starter and gave it the kind of silent nod usually reserved for baptisms or operatic finales. Every plate was calm, considered, confident. No foam, no smear, no edible petals trying to distract you. Just actual seasonal local food. Seasoned. Balanced. Delivered by staff who know what they’re doing.
And then breakfast… That photo doesn’t do it justice. The eggs were perfect. The black pudding didn’t crumble into ash like it does in sad B&Bs. The (home baked) sourdough was crusty enough to fight back. Coffee strong. Mushrooms cooked like someone respects mushrooms.
But the real story is Conor. During Covid he built a gorgeous guest patio in the back garden with his bare hands for drinks and craic.
He’s there. He’s present. He opens the door, cooks the food, chats to you like an old friend, and makes the whole thing feel personal. Not forced. Not Instagram-ready. Real. His family work with him his daughters are his team.
So book it this place is REAL. Eat everything. Leave a tip. And stop pretending Dublin has all the good food — Carlingford’s over here doing it properly. And with heart.