Danny Kennedy
Google
If you're looking to be stranded on a remote island, served microscopic food portions, and charged the GDP of a small nation for the pleasure, then congratulations—you've found your dream destination in Inis Meáin Restaurant.
Let's start with the location. What kind of masochist puts a restaurant on a rock in the Atlantic where Wi-Fi fears to tread and the wind sounds like it wants to kill you? After surviving the boat ride (which doubles as a nausea endurance test), we were greeted not by warmth or welcome, but by a building that looked like a concrete shoebox pretending to be minimalist.
Inside, it didn’t get better. The decor screamed, “We spent all the money on Instagram lighting and forgot to buy chairs people can actually sit on.” The staff, though polite, had the kind of calm intensity you’d expect from people trying not to cry in front of customers.
Now, the food. Oh, the food. Each plate looked like a modern art installation made from leftovers of a better restaurant. “Locally sourced” must be code for “we foraged this from the side of the road.” I had to use a magnifying glass to see my main course. I left hungrier than I arrived, but spiritually bruised.
Wine list? More like “guess which bottle costs more than your flight here.” I wept quietly into my overpriced glass of something French while contemplating life choices.
Overall, if you enjoy being broke, cold, and existentially confused, Inis Meáin Restaurant delivers. Otherwise, stay on the mainland and eat a sandwich.