Rudyard Kipling . . . Mandalay

IN DEEPEST outer Santry, where the Celtic Tiger has only recently begun to prowl, in the form of swish hotels, penthouse-draped apartment blocks and the promise of a subway station (I saw it on the Transport 21 website so it must be true), we happened upon an Asian fusion restaurant. Just off the Swords Road, close to Santry Stadium . . . where I smoked illicit fags as a teenage delinquent . . . Mandalay sits like a grounded Mississippi steamboat by a still pond where herons stand motionless.

Through an ornate Oriental doorway a stout Asian man gave us a curt "Hello!"

while whisking us with rapier speed to a table in a corner . . . lucky we weren't just looking to use the bathroom. Within seconds we had menus, a wine list and a dish of warm prawn crackers before us, no time wasted on settling in, these Mandalayans meant business. Within another few seconds: "Would you like to order! ?" "Ehm, no thanks, not quite ready."

Nobody came over then for 10 minutes. At least it gave us a chance to survey the room.

At the entrance, a gold-leafed Buddha with a gormless expression sat gawking at the door to the loo. A square dining room surrounded by curtained, floor-to-ceiling windows made us feel that we might have actually stumbled into a desert marquee in Dubai, or a small circus tent in Claremorris.

Our fellow patrons were a gentle mix of name-tagged, conference delegates from, we presumed, the nearby hotel; a group of about 10 exuberant girlies on a girlie night out, and what may have been a young gangster and his moll; she swaddled in bold gold jewellery, he with two mobile phones, texting on one whilst whispering into the other. We felt out of place for a minute or two, but then realised everyone must have felt that at first, and then relaxed.

Breezing through the room, music, that sonic equivalent of Rich Tea biscuits you hear in Chinese restaurants around the world, seemed to have a calming effect on everyone. A pleasant hum of conversation in the room, everyone seemed content. Just slightly Stepford. Each table had a small vase containing flowers, green flowers. I don't really get green flowers.

The menu at Mandalay is like the Argos catalogue in proportion and an Affordable Housing application form in clarity. My companion, a chef, had spent most of the day butchering a goat in his kitchen and was a little exhausted, so he was happy to just sit and take it all in. I ordered.

Chef had Thai lamb strips which tasted of lamb, there may have been some salt in there too but I didn't get it, it was unimaginative. I ordered deep-fried salt and chilli ribs. Sounded exciting, I recieved barbecue ribs instead, I wasn't excited.

The waiter saw my unexcitedness and came over. "Everything okay sir?" "Sorry, are these salt and chilli ribs?" "No sir!" (a long pause) "Well I ordered salt and chilli ribs."

"Yes sir!" I was beginning to feel like a sergeant major. "Would you mind changing them?" "I will change them sir!" He bolted off to the kitchen, pots and pans clanked, voices became raised and minutes later he came back with the requested dish. Result.

It was really quite good: salty, hot, spicy and juicy, a wicked dish in fact and a perfect starter.

Wine was a bit on the plonk side, we had a bottle of De Bortoli Windy Peak, a Riesling, which was fine until it reached room temperature and its true character emerged, pretty poor.

For main course, Chef had Prawn Kerabu, an unusual cold dish of mango and cucumber strips in a chilli sauce with deep-fried prawns in batter. I thought the prawns didn't need the battering, other than that it was a winner, intensely zingy. Chi Chi chicken for me, which wasn't bad, full flavour from the shiitake mushrooms and Chinese celery, the sauce didn't overpower and no whiff of MSG.

The waiter had asked if we'd like rice with our mains and we both did, fried, it was perfect: light, fluffy and no oily residue on the palate.

Surveying the room, the other patrons seemed to be enjoying their vittles too and the waiting staff almost blurred with the