Here is Monday’s menu:
ful; cicoria, anchovy & lemon; kohlrabi tonnato; nduja rolls with ricotta; red endive, guanciale and ricotta salata; panelle; lamb heart and curry leaf yogurt.
So, where are we? In Relae, Copenhagen? In Aska, New York? In The Dairy, in London’s Clapham? In Bar Tartine, San Francisco?
Nope. We are in Dublin. We are on Kevin Street. We are in a room with two tables, which is squeezed under a block of Corporation flats. We are in Assassination Custard, a thoroughly unlikely name for a thoroughly unlikely restaurant in a thoroughly unlikely place.