the carrot purée looked like a frenzied crime scene

These people are officially off their heads:

A terrace of houses in an exclusive new enclave in Ranelagh come with home cinemas, walled gardens – and are ready to move into , writes MICHAEL PARSONS

Monsieur Doorley memorably noted that “the carrot purée looked like a frenzied crime scene” and braised pig’s cheek was “incorporated into a kind of mousseline, sandwiched between two slices of just-cooked celeriac”. Oh dear. Not quite “dinner-in-the-middle-of-the-day” fare.

Fast-forward 12 months and, according to the smouldering chef, “big spenders just disappeared overnight”, the liquidator arrived, the shutters came down and the Michelin starlight dimmed.

Today, Mint is “to let” and stands like an Ozymandian reminder of our national folie de grandeur . “Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”

Well, not yet. Dublin 6, the country’s second smartest postcode (for now) isn’t quite on the ropes. There’s still a palpable air of affluence in Ranelagh where the ambience is not dissimilar to London’s Islington – spiritual home of the left-leaning intelligentsia.

The Guardian is alarmingly conspicuous in the newsagent’s and tapas socialists (formerly known as smoked salmon comrades) edgily coexist with a slightly sniffy old money crowd. This quintessential urban village, with excellent public transport (including the Luas), a good mix of shops and restaurants, and some of Ireland’s very best schools, is one of the city’s most desirable locations.

Who the fuck are these people talking about?

Perfect for kicking off those Louboutin slingbacks, pouring a glass of Moët et Chandon and finally watching that boxed-set of Sex and the City (ah, nostalgia!) while Mr Big unwinds with a fat Cohiba after a hard day transferring loans to Nama.

These are houses built for a society with great expectations. They’re fully furnished and decorated – down to paintings on the walls and sequinned scatter-cushions in the bedrooms – and are ready for immediate occupation.

Do they seriously believe that there are people out there who are stuck for a place to stay but have 3 million euros to spend while they try to fuck the population through NAMA. What multi millionaire actually needs a stranger to pick out their paintings before they move in?

It is the same people who wrote this:

Number One Clarendon Row is a rooftop development of four bright, airy, penthouse apartments – and number 3 is up for grabs at €895,000. While this could hardly be considered a steal, it could have gone for upwards of €1.5 million at the height of the boom. The rental opportunities are good; approximately €3,000 a month wouldn’t be impossible, says Reilly.

With the apartment comes a parking space accessed by the niftiest of parking lifts (not for the claustrophobic, but at least your apartment will compensate for that), wooden floors, solid wood doors and a fully fitted kitchen with a range of slick silver Neff appliances.

That said, it doesn’t feel like an apartment in which a whole lot of cooking will be done. Entertaining? Yes. Cocktail mixing? Definitely. Cooking casseroles while the baby dozes in the stroller? Perhaps not.

riiighte

Somehow, I think not. While the Sex and the City comparisons may well be enough to convince even the most sceptical young career woman (with €895,000 to spare) to take the plunge, this apartment screams young bachelor at the top of its bright, airy, lungs.

Sex and the city my hole. Do they think someone with 900k to spare smokes crack?

Modestly-sized bedroom? Well, that’d be a man, then, without the need for extra wardrobe space or a sit-down area for make-up application. A man who’d be perfectly happy to set up a widescreen television, Xbox and cocktail cabinet and invite the guys over for a few games of Texas Hold ’em in the new pad. Then out on the town to chat up some soon-to-be-impressed young ladies.

In reality if a ‘guy’ made a cocktail at a game of poker he would deserve to have the shit kicked out of him. They should stick to the beer and whiskey or else they are guaranteed to be puking on the streets outside coppers.

irishtimes.com