The Pig's Ear

What should we know about The Pig’s Ear?

James Joyce once claimed an aim of Ulysses was to offer a portrait of Dublin so complete that the city could be reconstructed out of the book, if ever it disappeared. Well here comes a reimagined Pig’s Ear to give it a shot, in culinary terms at least, with a menu of dishes inspired by Joyce’s works and a handful of other literary and local food sources.

Stephen McAllister and Andrea Hussey’s Nassau Street stalwart dished up classical Irish fare for 16 years before reinventing itself last summer as Lotus Eaters. We were all-in on the wagyu beef burgers and Asian-feeling menu, but didn’t get the sense the owners themselves were, with unchanged décor and glasses still etched with the previous brand giving the potential for a swift reverse should things not work out.

Lotus Eaters

And reverse they did, so back we went for The Pig’s Ear 2.0. This time they're looking to the past to imagine their future - head chef McAllister has plumbed his own family recipe repertoire and worked with academics from TU Dublin to recreate Dublin dishes of yore and give the restaurant a high concept kick and fresh relevance in the crowded scene of 2025.

Where should we sit?

Save a few tweaks in the wall art, it’s once again as-you-were in this dining room, which maybe makes more sense in a back-to-the-well revival than the previous concept’s clean break. Warm wood tones and leather upholstery under soft lighting have always made this a welcoming space, and surveying the city from the sash windows is always our preferred option. On our visit, as Joyce might have put it, drizzle was general all over Dublin, and settling into our snug seats out of the rain had us all set for a feast.

What’s on the menu?

Ghastly type to start with - we’re no font snobs, but the choice of lettering to lay out the concept on the menu’s intro page had us wincing. Especially in a place that invokes Dublin’s literary heritage as a core inspiration - the early internet era “fun” style sticks out like a sore thumb. Okay, maybe we’re slight font snobs.

We soon ceased clutching our pearls and picked up our oysters instead – much safer territory. The former Friendly Brothers’ Club on Stephen’s Green (now home to Cellar 22 and Floritz) is the muse for these meaty morsels, with a punchy beef tartare packed under chive-scattered specimens. We can’t fault either element but they play more competitive than complimentary in practice, as though each were trying to outshine the other – at €8 a pop, we’d welcome more harmony.

Boxty is among the reimagined old dishes that punctuate the menu, and it’s an inspired overhaul, with thick Cáis na Tíre custard layered over the potato pancake, liberally sprinkled with grated cheese and black truffle. This could easily make for an over-indulgent starting plate, but the smart pairing of a lighter batter with a sweeter, fruitier cheese cut through the earthy depth of the truffle for a snack you'd easily eat more than one of.

It's the same story for the farl, whose plainer presentation gets dressed up with an accompanying cup of bone marrow gravy ripe for pouring. The softer dough here soaks up the thick sauce with almost as much relish as we did ourselves, while the fat-browned crust delivers a crisp texture. Smearing the soft nuggets of marrow across that golden skin is a sensual experience – do remember you are still in public.

In a menu not short on creative curios, nothing caught our eye more than “Famine soup” – were we to be treated to an empty bowl? Actually the dish takes its cues, and at least partly its recipe, from Alexis Soyer, the OG celebrity chef whose soup kitchen in Croppy’s Acre out Kilmainham way funded its food by charging the rich an entry fee to see the starving masses.

That ugly footnote is something we wish we’d learned on our visit rather than online afterward - neither the menu’s brief note nor the staff’s answers to enquiries dug into the story with anything like the detail that might bring the concept to life. Absent that, it’s a serviceable oxtail-adjacent soup studded with still-firm diced veg and served with (admittedly delicious) bone marrow toast – biting into that it’s hard not to feel more like morbid toffs looking out on soup-slurping peasants.

In Joyce’s “Two Gallants”, the thirty-something Lenehan wonders over a plate of peas whether he’ll ever afford a home of his own – in Dublin, some things never change. Peas are pretty consistent too, and the "peas and vinegar" here might be our pick of the lot. Pickled pearl onions and tart redcurrants pierce through the sweetness of the freshly-shelled peas and the puree beneath, all fresh flavours and well-balanced textures in every forkful. Lenehan pays three halfpence for his peas, which we make about 78c in today’s money, to this plate’s €11.50. In Dublin, some things change a lot – this one's worth every penny regardless.

Ulysses usefully gives us the then-cost of a kidney (the perils of picking from such a detail-rich oeuvre) at threepence, or just north of €1.50, which makes the "tongue and cheek kidney pudding"'s near-€30 price point seem all the more stark. To savour this dish you will want, like Leopold Bloom, to eat “with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls”. As it happens we do, and did. The well-packed pudding oozes chunks of tongue and cheek alongside its kidney contents, a flood of “toothsome pliant meat” as Bloom would have it. We’d have relished it all the more were it not for a pre-poured gravy with a too-salty tang that told us it’d been reduced just a little too long – this is a very good pud that deserved better.

“The earth garlic” is the most baffling inclusion on the menu – cracking our copy of Ulysses we can see where the name comes from, but not why: “after all there’s a lot in that vegetarian fine flavour of things from the earth garlic of course it stinks after Italian organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles”.

Happily it’s a vastly better dish than name, three types of mushroom studded with slivers of truffle, all readily accepting the burst egg yolk in a mess of umami excess. It’s less Joyce’s Dublin that it conjures than San Sebastian, but having a taste of the iconic hongos plancha from Ganbara in Ireland isn’t something we’re opposed to.

Smoked potatoes would have fared far better were we into the pudding’s gravy – these shrivelled baby spuds pay for their superb smoky flavour with a desiccated internal texture that demands to be drenched in something – sadly they come alone. The last sad streaks of egg yolk were all we had to offer, but we'd we’d expect the Mulligatawny chicken pie (a smart effort to repeat the rightly iconic reputation of sister restaurant Spitalfields’ cock-a-leekie) to be a better pairing.

Ulysses features a “rhubarb tart with liberal fillings” and given ‘it's the season you can imagine our faces when we realised the menu doesn’t – next time, perhaps. A violet and rose jelly-topped blancmange made do instead, far though it be from the “blocks” dished out in “The Dead”. This is a lovely light finale, buttermilk-rich but beautifully soft, spiked by the satisfying crunch of honeycomb and spiced kick of candied ginger.

We couldn’t contemplate not trying gur cake ice cream, a nostalgic nod to memories of Manning’s Bakery in the Liberties - its simple, smooth, sweet pleasures scooped atop a base of chocolate mousse and corn flakes would send the hardest of hearts harkening back to simpler childhood days.

What are the drinks like?

The wine list is effectively unchanged from Lotus Eaters. Though the available BTG options have narrowed, the same punchy markups now commonly found all over the city remain (a glass at €16 when you can pick up a bottle for €23 right round the corner) - we weren’t surprised to see several diners sticking to water. The quality is solid if you can take the price point, with a Louis Moreau Bourgogne complimenting the peas perfectly and a Borgogno Nebbiolo great with the offal. The star of the show was the Pedro Ximinez with dessert – ‘tis a long way from that with gur cake we were reared.

How was the service?

Very friendly but less invested in the concept than we were expecting. We had to actively invite more detail on dishes at every stage, and thought between the novel development they’ve undergone here and the dish naming that doesn’t exactly sum up what you’re getting, those kind of explanations would be front and centre.

And the damage?

Just in below the €200 mark before a (pre-added but discretionary) 12.5% service charge, which ably but not excessively fed two. You could easily outdo our bill with fancier starters like the salmon gravlax and lobster omelette, or by veering into the steak and chops section, never mind going in on a full bottle. Keeping the belt tighter (in all senses) with bitterballen and coddle could see you fed for bang-on €30 before service, without anything to sip on.

What’s the verdict on The Pig’s Ear?

You could read the start-stop fate of Lotus Eaters (stated plans are for the concept to reappear in another venue but there's nothing more solid than that as of yet) as either a sign of the difficulty of landing a new idea in an ever-harder market, or as a cautionary tale about how you really need to commit to the bit if you’re to have any hope your public will too. Something like Suertudo shows how a bold reinvention of a restaurant with many successful years behind it can pay off in spades, but big gambles carry big risks.

The Pig’s Ear has always done well in taking Irish food seriously, even through the periods where that was unfashionable. If this new iteration marks a safer bet than what came immediately before, it’s still one that it needs to go all-in.

There is in this marriage of literary and culinary history a novel conceit that could work wonders in a UNESCO city of literature to which tourists flock to retrace the steps of Joyce and his characters, and excepting a few easily-overcome hiccups, everything about the food here has what it takes. The idea and atmosphere need to row-in behind it - not in the diddly-eye mode of Davy Byne’s boaters or Sweny’s Chemists serenading, but in the Bar 1661 sense of a menu that takes pride in telling a story. We’d love to see them lean in hard, and see the new Pig’s Ear go the whole hog.