Third Floor Espresso
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Location:
54 Middle Abbey St
Visited:
about 1 year ago
Reviewed by:
Martin McKenna
Rating:
Have you heard of Deke’s? It’s a converted shipping container, used as a secure unit by the British Army in Portadown, that is now a greasy spoon for truckers in Ringsend, run by an erstwhile Elvis impersonator. It is “arguably the city’s oddest restaurant”, says the Dubliner’s 100 Best Restaurants guide. Every time I drive past it and its day-glo signs, I’m struck by a desire to go and eat there, but I’m a bit scared of truckers, so I never do.
The city’s oddest café, arguably, opened last winter, when a counter and a few benches appeared in the doorway to Twisted Pepper, a nightclub on Middle Abbey Street. It took me weeks to spatially reconcile sober daytime visits to this coffee shop with slightly less than sober nighttime visits to the same place – the whole café folded away at the end of the day. They served only three things: espresso, cappucino or filter coffee (four if you count the glass of water you got too). But if this is the recipe for the city’s oddest café, it all made perfect sense. The man behind the counter was Colin Harmon, finalist in the World Barista Championship for the last two years running, and the coffee he was serving was very special indeed.
Harmon and his fold-away café have since come in from the cold, literally rather than figuratively, and are now in the bar inside Twisted Pepper, so there’s more space and it’s easier to have a conversation in one of the booths. They even serve brownies now – so yieldingly soft that a spoon is the best tool for them. Most fun, though, is still to sit at the bar and chat with Harmon about the coffee.
My espresso set (€3) consisted of an espresso and a cappucino made with the same beans, in order to compare the coffee both with and without milk. The espresso’s unexpected kick of acidity freshened up the dark richness of the liquid considerably, all in delicious harmony with its silky texture. With milk, the coffee’s acidity imparted a yoghurty note. The first sip of the cappucino demanded an examination of the milk froth. The bubbles were so small as to barely be visible, which lent the froth an extraordinarily rich and creamy quality. Here, the air had been coaxed into supporting the milk without diluting it. “Milk is really difficult,” Harmon told me. Judging by his competitors’ efforts, clearly he must be right.
I won’t describe the filter coffee, as there’s always different blends of beans on the go, but suffice it to say the impromptu tasting I and two companions experienced took a good hour and led us from light and refreshing to musty and rich. Impromptu tastings like that one were both the original Third Floor Espresso’s strength and its weakness. If you just wanted to chat to your companion over your coffee, you were largely out of luck given the cramped quarters. With their move inside, they’ve solved that problem, while still allowing worship at the high altar – sorry, bar – of Third Floor Espresso.
Whether it’s because of, or in spite of, their bizarre genesis, Third Floor Espresso is one of the most pleasant places in Dublin to go for a coffee. Harmon’s warm welcome and complete lack of pretension belies the quality of his product.
