At The Yellow Bittern, time is forever suspended in that blissful week of full-throttle consumption between Christmas and New Year’s. The mood at the lunchtime-only, British-Irish restaurant on a corner of Caledonian Road is set to home-county cottage with a blackboard menu that reads like a who’s who of comfort foods. Sausage is the warm-up act for a glorious wood pigeon and guinea fowl pie, and pie becomes liberal bites of more pie, only it’s sweet and laced with apples this time. You have another glass of crisp white wine because the heating’s on and isn’t it just so nice to have someone wearing a knitted waistcoat and a cortisol-melting smile wordlessly hand you an open tub of moutarde de dijon like the Maradona of simple pleasures. That’s The Yellow Bittern. An air of an Austenian restaurant attached to an all-day basement bookshop. No website, no credit cards, just analogue comfort and the beauty of a flushed pie glow. The pie in question is an esteemed graduate of The Henry VIII School Of Banquet Indulgence, with a medley of velvety guinea fowl, tender pieces of wood pigeon, all bathed in champagne for three days like newlyweds on a puff pastry honeymoon. It’s as charmingly confident as the presence of an accordion by the squeeze of an open kitchen where Le Creuset pots simmer and homemade puddings await their cream and rum drizzle counterparts. To ensure you get enough face time with that wedge of apple pie, book for the latter of the two sittings (there’s one at 12pm and one at 2pm), because you’ll likely be able to linger for longer. These cosy Dublin coddle quarters cause the kind of sentimental feelings usually reserved for tender romantic arcs so it’s worth booking the day off for a reunion with your favourite friend. Leaving your new Countryfile reality will be hard so once lunch is over, descend the plum staircase to pick up a James Joyce novel as a memento of your trip to Yellow Bitternsville—a place where time politely stops so champagne toasts can start.