Pera

What should we know about Pera?

As costs keep creeping up in every restaurant ‘round town, value is a more premium currency than ever. That’s part of why we’ve seen such interest in the new, higher-end Turkish outlets popping up all over Dublin to cater to the growing diaspora – for all they’re a little pricier than the corner kebab spots spilling sauce down drunken fronts every weekend night, places like Reyna, Chiya, Sultan’s Grill and Sofra still represent absurd value for the quality of quick casual food they’re dishing up.

Pera is a name we’ve heard whispered in the same breath more than once from those in the know since their opening almost exactly a year ago, so when they expanded into the larger unit beside their prior Mary Street home with a revamped new dinner menu in the past weeks, we knew the time was right to poke our noses in.

Where should we sit?

You’ll likely have your pick at all but the busiest times - the new unit, previously home to Casa Brasil, has space to spare, and is much cosier than the pokey few booths packed into the previous space next door. There, they’d also allowed diners head upstairs to a spillover space shared with Pickosito – more comfortable, sure, but far from the action.

In the new setting, the left of the long entryway space plays host to a lengthy kitchen counter with a street-facing charcoal grill, glistening döner spits and a shiny new wood-fired oven in prime position for loving, longing stares from the two-tops opposite.

If you’re a little less obsessive than us about watching food prep in action, the four-tops a bit further back offer extra space for the more sizeable spreads you might be minded to order, albeit with wood-backed seats better suited to quick stopovers (or late night visits) than long, lingering lunches. For those, turn the bend at the back for a cosy corner kitted out with leather banquettes lining the wall and high-backed two-seaters. This is a roomier space ideal for a catchup with friends or a family outing, with plenty of high chairs at the ready.

What are they cooking?

Don’t skim over the menu here – among the typical döner, charcoal grill and mezzes that might at first glance seem the same as similar spots, are a few standouts rarely seen about Dublin.

Chief among them is tombik (€10.90), a puffy pouch of crisp-shelled bread stuffed to bursting with lamb, chicken or mixed döner shavings and the typical kebab salads. With no disrespect to the thin lavash flatbread that’s a mainstay of most kebabs around town, this made us wish for a world where tombik is the default. The blistered bread crust and airy interior are two delicious sides of the same high-heat coin, and it's a package good enough to eat alone, regardless of filling. It’s a bonus then that the meat’s great too, with heaps of generously juicy thin-sliced chicken falling out the sides as we stuffed ourselves (but no provenance to be seen).

Iskender (€17.90) is a real rarity where Dublin kebab shops are concerned (not even Talbot Street’s Iskender itself, bizarrely, serves it). Diced chunks of tirnak pide, a dimpled doughy bread, are topped with mounds of fresh-cut lamb döner and doused with a reduced tomato sauce and melted butter topping, all served beside a heap of strained yoghurt. The deep sweetness of the cooked-down sauce and cool richness of the yogurt play off the lamb’s rich flavour, though our portion’s few chewier chunks left us wondering if the döner hadn’t gone too long without being carved – the tell tale toughness of added time up against the heat had us thinking how much better this would be at busier times.

If you’re adding on mezzes, don’t miss the atom (€5.90), served with a fresh disc of tirnak pide alongside. This kicked our iskender into an altogether higher gear, with breath-stinkingly strong garlic stirred through strained yogurt and topped with fiery dried chilli oil – a full-on flavour feast far more assertive than regular yogurt alone. We packed it into the tombik too - it’s hard to imagine any dish this wouldn’t improve.

Three things sent us hurtling headlong into the baked flatbread section: our constant quest for value; that spanking-new wood-fired grill; and one glimpse at the size of the pide and lahmacun being pulled out of it. The latter was one of our must-tries from Sultan’s Grill and it’s both better and cheaper here at €6.90 a serving to eclipse all but the biggest of heads. Pastry so crisp it practically shatters at the touch is spread with minced lamb, diced onions and peppers, oven-rendered fat giving it all the texture of spread sausage. Pile it high with the fresh salad on the side and wrap it up tight – as budget lunches go, you can’t do much better.

We’d be happily filled from that alone but if you’re properly ravenous look at the “Turkish pizza” that is pide (€12.90). We can never pass up sucuk, the fermented beef sausage with layers of mild spiced flavour, scattered here among a molten excess of cheese just-about hemmed in by the singed paper-thin crust, perfectly punctuating the gooey, stretchy indulgence. This one's for sharing.

Not even arch gluttons like us could stomach the thought of dessert after all of that, as tempted as we were by the glowing fridge opposite. Baklava and rice pudding look the part, while a glimpse and whiff of a bubbling kunefe en route to another table gave us every faith it's on the level we lapped up at Sofra.

How was the service?

Very fast. We almost told them they’d got the wrong table when our food arrived out spread across the arms of two staff what felt like ten minutes after we’d ordered it - this is a great go-to when you need a good feed quick. Friendly but unfussy check-ins followed suit – you’re in safe hands.

What did it all come to? 

Three of us ate to the point we kinda wished we hadn’t for just short of €20 a head – that’s just silly value for a feast like this. You would find it very difficult to spend much more than that and have any hope of leaving empty plates behind.

What’s the verdict on Pera?

A Turkish coffee (€3.90) to finish here is obligatory – only such strong, stark caffeine could get us up out of our seats after all that. The two-pour prep over hot sand is a whole ritual we wish they’d given us more of an angle on, but the dainty delicate cup and its deeply aromatic notes is after-dinner show enough.

It’s a Turkish tradition to turn the cup over after and tell your fortune from the shapes the unfiltered grounds leave running down the sides, Our seer skills might be rusty, we’re pretty sure ours predicted we wouldn’t be needing dinner that night, and that there’s a horde of people who’ll be rushing into Pera for value and quality like this.