The Two Minute Review: Morso

Ronan Doyle
1 hour ago
2 min read

What’s the story with Morso?

Schiacciata (skia-TCHA-tah) is about to become the most mispronounced food since bruschetta burst onto the scene in the ‘90s. All summer long you'll hear shak-att-ah, sheek-eet-eh, and chiquitita from the queues snaking daily down Drury Street to get their mitts on this flattened Tuscan sandwich bread. It’s a mystery to Mani maestro Ciaran McGonagle why nobody had done it in Dublin yet, so when his Roman slice shop shifted to a bigger site across the road, he made space for Morso in the original.

What should we get?

Get in line! Dublin is dizzy for more from the makers of Mani, and the picnic benches packed with wide-eyed, sauce-streaked faces suggest demand isn’t going to die down soon. Nor should it with bread like this. While Mani makes schiacciata sometimes, most famously for a Christmas schnitzel sandwich, this scaled-up operation will see it shoot to new heights of infamy. Versus the soft yield of its Ligurian cousin focaccia, there’s strength here to put up a fight, squidgy chew lurking in every salt-flecked, crisp-crusted bite.

And what a bite. That’s not just the literal meaning of Morso, it’s the whole fun. Watch diners size up their cross-sections like military commanders surveying a battlefield, and hope for hints before your buzzer bleeps. Those with ham and pickle (€13.95) look most tactically bereft, inches-thick layers leaving little choice but to go full anaconda. Eyes will flare as wide at the flavour – it’s the provenance as much as the portion that comes across as generous, with free-range Higgins ham and slabs of Hegarty’s cheddar anchoring what is now the best ham sammidge in town.

The vodka sauce seeping out of the chicken parm (€13.95) turns heads on the street as sharply as it did on socials. McGonagle has worked with Tom Murray (aka Bitta Banging) to develop recipes here – sopping free-range cutlets only barely held in check by melted provolone and whipped stracciatella show what a wise move that was. The sharp shock of slicked pesto is all that stopped us slipping off the seat.

Potato cream in the porchetta (€13.95) prompts one of those deep satisfied sighs, like buttery mash in a Christmas leftovers classic. Crisp crackling contrasts admirably with the low-and-slow softness of the pork, but dominant fennel in ours fought with too-tight wads of rocket for an overly vegetal mouthful in need of more acidity. An easy fix.

There’s the makings of a hit in the caponata too (€12.95), whose best bites swaddle the EVOO-unctuous stewed veg in softening stracciatella, but occasionally the sour-sweet joy was lost through overly liberal salting. As the only meat-free offering this is one that needs nailing down. You'll find us back for the Turkey Caesar and the Roast Beef - they were both sold out when we got to the counter.

What’s the verdict?

The pep-talked roar that floated out the door as McGonagle flung it open speaks to the belief of his crack team, and the knowledge that they were in for a day of it. Minor hiccups can happen when hungry hordes descend - slinging out superb sandwiches in spite of that are a sign of an operation well-placed to keep them coming.