Anyone who was a teenager in the 2010s remembers 34 College Green for one thing and one thing only. The flagship Abercrombie store, whose front door was once home to semi-glad male models wearing that quintessential neck brace-esque collared rain jacket. Today, however, the building is home to Hawksmoor, the award-winning and highly touted British steakhouse chain. Yet as I entered the cherry wood doors of Hawksmoor, it wasn’t the overwhelming aroma of Abercrombie’s FIERCE cologne that had greeted me like in the past. It was a calm and cool air of refined grandeur. The building that was once home to the aroma of stale teenage discos and cordial-laced vodka has been put to better use. Now it’s a shrine of sophistication and a pantheon of peppercorn sauce, porterhouses and prime rib. I am glad, however: that this is a fitting homage to the building that once housed the first National Bank. 

You see, Hawksmoor seems to be run with the same precision and principles that the first National Bank was. Efficiency and impeccable customer service with a degree of slight grandiose lauding. There is of course an irony in a British chain taking over the site of the National Bank founded by The Liberator Daniel O’Connell himself. An inevitable contrast is bound to exist in having a carving of Hibernia herself and the inscription of “Éire go Brágh” on the outer balustrade of a restaurant that radiates the exuberance of a London private dining club. I am being slightly cynical, however. Steaks and syncretism- what’s not to love. A cultural amalgamation in the áit áitiúil, and when it’s done as tastefully as in Hawksmoor, I am certainly here for it. Especially when the steaks are as good as they are. 

Hawksmoor’s sourcing of produce does not play around. It includes Angus and Herefords cows who graze the Burren, Cloud Picker coffee in the desserts, Kelly Gigas oysters and Bread 41 sourdough. The team behind Hawksmoor have done their research. This isn’t a case of another British chain transposing themselves into the Irish market in a quick cash-grabbing venture. Yes, Pret A Manger, I am looking at you. This wasn’t to be expected, however. One of Hawksmoor’s restaurants had been listed as the World’s Best Steakhouse in 2022. 

I will say one thing, though. Hawksmoor isn’t a spot to doddle into looking for a casual feed. Its certainty in save up and splurge territory. An express 3 courses €33 early bird menu is available, as is a €23 roast beef on a Sunday. Both offer exceptional value. €5 corkage for BYOB on Mondays is a handy option if you want to keep the prices down as there are few bottles under €50. So with a bottle in hand and a fiver stowed away from cash tips to cover the corkage on a dreary Monday evening, a friend and I ventured in. 

Firstly starters. Beef tartare, as to be expected, is top-notch. The Worcestershire sauce and egg yolk tap dancing on the tongue. Roasted Bone marrow à la St. John served with a slowly stewed onion marmalade could have been bottled up and sold as a panacea to any nameable aliment. In an attempt to not contract gout in one sitting we did decide to stray away from the beef, well to a certain extent. Seasonal Kelly Gigs Oyster Thermador cooked in roasted bone marrow to cap off the starters.

It’s here I’d like to mention the food writer MFK Fisher. In her novella “Consider The Oyster,” she states, “Life is hard, we say. An oyster’s life is worse.” Admittedly, life can be hard, more than hard in fact, but it’s certainly a lot less arduous with three of these Kelly Gigs looking up at me. If the world is your oyster, I sure hope it’s more akin to these than the ones which may leave you fighting for your life against vibrio vulnificus and sending you to whichever doctor’s office you find yourself near. 

There is one clear choice when it comes to mains. Steak. We are in a steakhouse, after all. Served by the weight, a Chateaubriand large enough to trigger its own PETA campaign emerges. The collective silences and groans from me and my mate are a testament to how good it is. Medium rare and sliced perfectly for sharing. The bone marrow gravy we had with it could be served by the pint glass and would give the term liquid lunch a new lease of life. In case you haven’t picked up on it yet bone marrow is a recurring theme throughout this meal and for good reason. Beef dripping chips are a must, also sharable, only if you move fast enough though and haven’t already finished your bottle of wine.

At the behest of my mate and in a frugal attempt to get a free dessert, I put the occasion on the booking down as a birthday, which it was. Sticky toffee pudding on the house with a candle and an Irish coffee Tiramisu rounded off the evening. The tiramisu was as if an Italian nonna missed her Ryanair flight home and ended up in the back kitchen and had developed a slightly problematic taste for whiskey. Great for the customer, maybe not so good for her. The sticky toffee pudding recipe felt like it belonged to the local sacristan, and she had finally divulged it to the dessert chef, making an extra dollop of golden syrup a perquisite. Big thumbs up from me.

Arbitrary scales are by their nature arbitrary, yet Hawksmoor isn’t. It’s definite, constant and orderly. Not in the manner of a drab account, but more comparable to a well-refined actor in the running for the next Bond role. That said, it’s pushing on a 5-star meal and venue. My weighing scales may be on the higher end of the kilogram after that feed and my arteries akin to the clotted cream served with dessert, but it was certainly worth it. Every last penny.

As I looked up at the 40-foot dome and skylight and a fully booked crowd on a Monday night scampered off, well fed and watered, albeit the wallets a little empty, I couldn’t help but let out an endearing expletive or two under my breath. Fecking hell. Respect might be the highest compliment, but after a meal like that, my murmurings could perhaps surpass it.