Terra Madre

What should we know about Terra Madre?

The bathroom tap never fully stops running. You’re not likely to get a knife and fork in the same style, never mind from the same set. You might need to ask a stranger to squeeze in to let you get out. And it’s one of our favourite Italian restaurants in Dublin, no question.

It’s not in spite of its copious quirks that Terra Madre stands out – it’s because of them. More than anything else, descending into this tiny trattoria in a Bachelor’s Walk basement is like arriving in the middle of an intimate Italian family meal, complete with cheerful host slapping a wine glass and a plate down in front of you. If the essence of great hospitality is making you feel right at home, few places in the city have done it this well for this long.

Where should we sit?

The mismatched assembly of furniture squeezes about eighteen people into this room across eight well-worn tables – no pickiness permitted, just be glad you grabbed one. Bookings are highly, highly advised, though owner Marco’s endearingly unchanged old-school “system” (arcane scribblings on a pad) with deposit-free phone reservations does lend itself to the occasional late cancellation or no-show. Never, ever be those people, but do chance your arm to see if you can’t get lucky off their badly-bred backs.

What should we have?

There’s not much mulling to be done over the characteristically short menu, with a plate of dressed bread delivered alongside the unfussy A4. For old times’ sake we somewhat lamented the laminated page, a relatively recent arrival in here – in an earlier era, tell tale smudges of olive oil stains spoke to satisfied previous patrons. Taste the peppery, fruity notes and wonder how anyone could forgive themselves wasting a drop.

The Terra Madre team have built their reputation on the quality imports that drive their dishes’ integrally Italian flavour, and this is clearly illustrated with the truffle oil. Most times you see those words it’s a synthetic cause to cut and run. Here, a genuine infusion delivers the earthy depths of fresh shavings. Layer it up with the crumbling cubes of aged Parmigiano Regiano and taste the difference.

If anything, these welcome bites are a distraction from the decisions to be made, but we came back to earth long enough to order the involtini di bresaola (€17.50). Antipasti here are the chief cheerleaders for quality Italian ingredients (the burrata plate, on since day one, long preceded its now-ubiquity in Dublin), and these red rolls of salted, air-dried Lombardian beef would make a convert of anyone. Slight sweetness and delicate spicing, amped up by the balsamic drizzle on the side, offset the richness of mayo-bound 36-month parmesan. There is saltiness and then there is this - time itself tasted in every dry-aged bite.

While not rolled on-site, the pastas that make up Terra Madre’s primi come handmade from a long-time partner back home - we’ve yet to have any over the years that weren’t in the top leagues. Deciding which not to get is the real challenge here. Few who’ve had it won’t rave about the ravioli (€21.50), for all the greige puddle of a plate might not scream appeal. This mess of mushroom and truffle sauce spooned over ricotta-stuffed mezzaluna and liberally finished at the table with cheese (“more parmesan” is an instruction, not a question) is as autumnal a plate as you’ll find anywhere in Dublin right now. The pasta’s al dente resistance and the slight chew of chunky mushroom pieces are all there is to prevent you slurping it like soup.

In lieu of the menu’s sausage and saffron ragù, fettucine came served all’Amatriciana (€20.50) – but this was no runner up. The glisten of guanciale’s rendered fat coats the red ribbons, binding the cooked-down tomato and white wine sauce to a just-right richness piqued by the pepper and EVOO notes that poke through in every swirled forkful. Great Italian cooking showcases the standard of food through a simple style that lets its characteristics shine through – every ingredient here is gleaming.

It's cooking that, in other words, gets out of the way and lets the food speak for itself. Where much of it does this in whispers, with the spezzatino di cinghiale (€24.50) it roars. This Tuscan-style stew’s flaky chunks of wild boar wear the slow-cooked sauce’s flavours beautifully, spooned and scooped and then desperately swiped up with no end of EVOO-drizzled bread. This here is the essence of Terra Madre’s cucina povera style, the kind of hearty feasts that fed peasant labourers with the rewards of their toil – in the aromatic soffritto, something to show and savour for those aching limbs. Not having spent the day out in the fields didn’t affect our enjoyment.

After all that, a gelatinous jiggle – no, not our swollen stomachs but a perfect panna cotta (€9.50). The tart tang of a thick raspberry syrup basted over the crown of this thickened cream classic plays off gentle vanilla sweetness for a finale that’s decadent without overdoing it. The similarly traditional tiramisu never fails for those somehow left with more room to manage its greater heft. Desserts here are simple, not simplistic – the theme of the place in a nutshell.

What’s good to drink?

In a word, everything – the same ethos of care that defines the dishes informs the wine menu too. If you’re on the red you’ll have three times the choice as for white, fitting the general thrust of the food. There are top-end three-figure treats if you’ve got something to celebrate, truly great pours at prices that don’t take the piss. They're serious about good Italian wine here, but not too serious to have two €34 Portuguese bottles as entry-level options.

The Cataldi Madonna Malandrino Montepulciano (€54) made it onto the restaurant's list after a dinner at the winery – we’ll always be won over with direct links like that. With its deep plum and blackberry notes and soft tannins, it accented the richer stews without overwhelming the subtler sauces. Deep-rooted relationships in Sicily mean there’s always an interesting Etna Rosso on the go here, if you’re willing to step the spend up a little.

How was the service?

From the first open-armed invite to take up a table to the last look of near-umbrage at the idea of not having a coffee to finish, hospitality here embodies the innately Italian need to keep giving until you can’t take any more. We reckon the staff must scout the room on the regular for bread baskets bearing the last slice, so swift do they swoop in with a fresh one the second you’ve picked it up – to leave even a spoonful of sauce on the plate would be a grave insult. This is a family enterprise, through and through, and like all the best ones, makes you feel part of it. 

And the damage?

We put down just under €150 before tip, and after our late (and light) lunch the next day, our first sight of food since, we couldn’t but think it a bargain. Prices are such that you could plan out a two-course meal with a good glass of wine for well short of €50 a head, though you’re less likely to skip secondi than wistfully wish such a thing as terzi existed.

What’s the verdict on Terra Madre?

It’s the way of quietly great restaurants sometimes to become so well-rooted you almost take them for granted – it feels like Terra Madre has always been there, and always will. Many will stroll past this little staircase without a thought. Plenty will take its paltry presence online (currently no website or social media) and need to phone up as an inconvenience too far. Some might even spy through the wine-flanked window and think a little place like this can’t be up to all that much. But none who make it in here ever tend to forget its simple, perfetto pleasures. Sometimes the shabbiest covers bind the best books.