Checking In; Ómós, Abbeyleix, Ireland

In Irish, the word ómós translates directly to homage, duty, respect, or tribute — + quite frankly, the name fits like a custom-made glove when it comes to Ireland's hottest new opening. Beyond just a word, + in the flesh, the new guesthouse + restaurant set in Millbrook House, just outside Abbeyleix in Co. Laois, is something of a deeply personal expression, it’s Cúán Greene's love letter to home that's now been shared with us all. Built in 1885, the property sits on the old De Vesci family estate + was, by 2024, essentially a ruin, nature reclaiming it as its own. Upon its takeover by the team behind Ómós, led by Greene, the property underwent a six-year restoration to bring it back to life in a way only true creative foresight could manage. What came to be was so much more than a simple renovation. Thanks to the creative depth of Cúán Greene, at the helm, something truly exceptional was brought to life, exceptional enough that the moment I stepped inside, it stirred an immensely personal sense of pride in me to be Irish.

For me, there's something deeply grounded in being Irish. I love home. I love the land, the humour, the depth, I love the history that's made us who we are. We're strong + powerfully built, yet graceful, in possession of a certain type of poise that isn't just in our sometimes overly self-deprecating sense of self but in a unique composure + perspective that welcomes as deeply as it endures + remembers. There's a creativity here in Ireland that's inherent,one that's travelled the world over + put us on world stages across so many industries; a creativity that's deeper perhaps than anything else about us. There's a gravity here too that always draws me back to the land of home, as home, an appreciation of this country's beauty + complexity that have always reminded me of where home is, no matter where I've travelled or lived. But standing in Ómós, I understood this love of home with new capacity: that our groundedness isn't solely in the ground we stand on, it's in the hands that shape it, + the hearts that appreciate its beauty + intricacies. Ómós is a perfect marriage of all those things: the grounded nature of the quiet Irish spirit, mixed with a sleekness that feels increasingly global + elevated.

Having opened just three weeks before our visit in late June, Ómós already held a beautiful sense of calm + confidence in every corner of the property. Despite the pressures that, I'm sure, absolutely niggle their way into such a hugely anticipated opening, there was nothing close to strain in the air. In fact it felt like everyone + everything there was born to be there. It's unquestionable that absolutely everything has been deeply deeply considered. Every detail, every bite, each corner, smile + conversation bringing meaning to something incredibly collaborative. You can sense the energy the vision is built upon + in speaking with Cúán Greene (head chef + co-owner), who kindly invited us into the kitchen mid dinner, his vision really comes from a deeply unassuming + humble place; that of something that profoundly celebrates his vision of home + the talented, warm + brilliant people he surrounds himself with.

With just 16 rooms + 40 covers in the restaurant, Ómós is luxury yes but without the pretentiousness of other places at a similar level of splendor. The narrative is strong. Rooted in quality, craftsmanship, excellence. They know who they are + aren't for a second screaming for the attention so rightly being directed their way. And yes, while helicopters might be landing close by, flying in VIPs + those in the know, there's a self-deprecating thread running underneath it all, again something very much Irish, something somehow both assertive yet modest, that keeps the whole thing refreshingly down to earth.

I'd been loosely following the journey for a while on Greene’s personal Substack (which you can subscribe to here) + had some sort of a knowing that something major was unfolding + I will admit I jumped online immediately upon the bookings opening up. In person though it moves you. More than I imagined. And perhaps it's no surprise as Cúán Greene's career has seen him working in some of the world's most renowned Michelin star restaurants, most notably 3 Michelin star Noma + Geranium in Copenhagen. Upon returning home to Ireland + crossing paths with John Collison, one of the Irish brother duo who set up Irish payments company Stripe + a small group of investors, he set upon realizing his dream to open his own restaurant. With a strong focus on home Cúán travelled all over Ireland for a number of years collecting an extraordinary array of artisans he'd later work with on every corner of Ómós. His vision is simple, there's no fluff or ridiculous extravagances, the opulence is in the simplicity, the comfort, the enjoyment of the uncomplicated.

Without sounding extravagant, our stay felt magical. The summer heatwave was in full swing so it actually felt like we were away away. Upon arriving we were greeted by beautiful staff members who, I'd come to learn throughout our time here, were each as beautiful as the next. We were guided around the house for a full tour, much to my delight, given how much I wanted to understand the meaning behind it all + it was every bit as interesting as I'd hoped. Thankfully we'd arrived just in time for cake hour too which, quite literally, is when the kitchen staff share the daily afternoon cake, which in acting as an indication of the spectacular food we'd experience later in the evening was exquisite. Sitting in the lounge spaces with a homemade Kombucha in hand we settled into the space as though it really were home for those few precious 24 hours.

The room was incredible. Pared back yet elegantly elevated, each room holds history in the making. The interiors throughout the property were designed by two Copenhagen-based studios, Asca Studio (Cassandra Bradfield + Sofia Olsson) + Rebecca Norberg of Relief Gallery, who traveled back + forth from Denmark to study Irish vernacular design before touching a single room. Textures + materials in each room are inherently unique + important to the design process, including Kilkenny limestone, ash, + lime plaster — think stone for anything exposed, wood for anything protected. Every one of the 16 suites has its own color story pulled directly from the quality of light it receives at different times of day, so genuinely no two rooms are alike. Room 6 was where it was at + we were lucky enough to call it home for the night. The craftsmanship is ingrained everywhere, a hugely important part of Greene's inspiration. He's worked with many, including ceramicist David Holden, who harvests his own clay on the Dingle Peninsula; basket maker Hanna van Aelst, who grows + weaves her own willow in Tipperary; local Laois ceramicist Clare Dooley; spoon maker Éamonn O'Sullivan of Hewn Spoons in Clare; + ceramic artist Siobhán Joyce, whose plates are shaped directly on rocks by the sea. Beds are built by Wicklow's Bear Creations with headboards upholstered in Mourne Textiles fabric — a different shade per room. The glazed ceramic bathtubs are handmade by Studio Loho in Belgium (I'd highly recommend using it, if your room has one). And in a lovely personal touch, Greene's own mother, Irish glass artist Róisín de Buitléar, made the water glasses, blown in Kilkenny + etched with the most beautifully delicate hedgerow motifs. Art on the walls includes work by Louis le Brocquy, Charles Lamb, + Maria Simonds-Gooding, some loaned from a private collector who has followed the project since its earlier newsletter days.

As for the food itself, well whether you stay the night or come just to be the lucky recipient of whatever's on Cúán Greene's menu that evening, it is, excuse the pun, chef's KISS in the extreme. Dinner at Ómós doesn't just begin, it unfolds in front of you, over a long + leisurely evening of surprise + intrigue. The kitchen has no pass; dishes move directly from counter to table, so you watch everything happen — the open fire working double duty as cooking tool + focal point, the brushed steel wine bar anchoring the room like something built to be gathered around rather than served from. Greene has spoken about how the tableware came before the menu, that the ceramics guided the food rather than the other way around, + you feel that logic on the plate. Nothing arrives without a reason for the vessel it arrives in. The menu is seasonal + unshowy, dictated less by trend than by what was pulled from the ground that morning. The level of expertise is precise, yes — Greene's years at Noma + Geranium are there in the technique but it's in no way clouded by the often cold nature of chefs at that level. Instead it's memorably generous + mesmerising: each dish stops the conversation, rearranging whatever you might have been focused on back to what's right in front of you: delicious, thoughtful, local food, deeply understood by the person making it. Being fed by someone who genuinely wants you happy rather than impressed brings a new meaning to what Ireland's food scene can be.

In understanding how moved I was to experience our night away at Ómós + how to put it into words without just a play-by-play run down of the usual things we tend to refer to upon reviewing something, it brings me to think that perhaps it's in the difference between observing + absorbing + some people digest the beauty they witness solely through the visuals of the literal. Of what is right in front of them. Others, like myself, understand it differently. It's a feeling. An impression or sensation that embeds itself within you, deeper than just the surface of the skin, beauty to those who feel is a feeling that's often not classifiable by the spoken word. Ómós is this to me. A beauty that impresses itself upon me in a way that I feel alive in its company, not just for the optics as something vacuous or lifeless but for the fact that a simple idea, once intangible came to life as something very real, something concrete + visible not just to the naked eye but, deeper than that, in touch with the entire being of those who see beauty as a submersion, an experience.

I think a lot lately about the loss of wonder in the world. Definitely about the general loss of wonder as a whole but also of that in the way of beauty. There is so much forced beauty, very little that's left to the imagination. Very little that's actually genuinely interesting anymore. Very little that's out of the ordinary, nothing that really leads a new way. And maybe it's my own algorithm but I sense in general that the algorithm at large has trained us to create, not from a personal desire for what we ourselves genuinely like, enjoy or are inspired by but for the reward system that has been built to overpower the true influence of personal taste.

But Ómós is something entirely different. You get the genuine sense it hasn't been made to be plastered all over Instagram. Nor to satiate the insatiability of the machine of more, more, more or same, same, same. It sits in a space entirely its own. It's been created to settle you rather than impress. To stop you in your tracks + swaddle you in the sincere warmth of its own unique + delightful world. To leave its mark upon your experiences as something memorable beyond the moment.

And perhaps my own little love letter here isn't the normal "review" of somewhere of such hot topic but it got me thinking a lot. It wasn't designed to be viral. It isn't here just for a minute, not even for the potential 15 minute fame its opening just might have warranted regarding the big names involved, nor for the 15 second attention span that's got the world in a chokehold. Ómós is here to stay, it's here to grow + mature; embedding itself into the landscape of a truly thriving food + hospitality scene in Ireland + in fact, perhaps more aptly, it's leading us all to a whole new standard, while deeply rooted in what it is, it's elevating us to entirely new Irish heights.

See more — ÓMÓS.CO

A Special Date Night at Ballyfin

There’s something about the Irish countryside at dusk — that moment just before night folds in upon you, when everything feels suspended between stillness + the mystery of yet-to-be-discovered stories; especially when it’s date night at Ballyfin. We left Kildare as the sky began to soften, the 50-minute drive just long enough to let the day dissolve into something slower. By the time we turned into Ballyfin’s gates, the world had hushed entirely.

An inaugural visit for us both, the estate reveals itself gradually — the lake glimmering beyond the trees, the grand façade of the house emerging like a secret you’re being let in on. There’s a sense of exclusivity to Ballyfin that doesn’t feel pretentious, just quietly assured. And while we weren’t checking in for an overnight, perhaps that’s what makes even simply dining there feel so special: you’re not merely going out for dinner, you’re stepping into a chapter of Irish history.

Inside, time seems to stretch you back to a grander era. Gilded mirrors, sweeping staircases, the kind of art + architecture that even in their unshakable presence, whisper rather than declare. We were shown around at first + enjoyed a beautiful cocktail by the fire before being taken to our table in the State Dining Room, where candlelight reflected off the polished mahogany + golden frames — a setting that could easily have overwhelmed, yet somehow didn’t. Everything at Ballyfin feels curated to a calm hum.

Dinner unfolded at an unhurried pace — each course beautifully balanced, elegant without over-rehearsal or complication. Irish produce given its due respect: earthy, refined, deeply satisfying.

It’s worth pausing for a moment on what was on the table + who’s pulling the strings behind it. The kitchen at Ballyfin is led by Richard Picard-Edwards, who joined the estate in April 2023, bringing with him a background in Michelin-starred kitchens in the UK. Under his hand, the menu leans into seasonal Irish ingredients — some of which come straight from Ballyfin’s own walled kitchen gardens — while retaining a classical, refined technique. What made the evening even more special was how the setting + service echoed the cuisine. We weren’t rushed; the pace allowed us to savour the food, the table, the conversation. That sense of “guest” rather than “diner” was everywhere — even in the simplest of touches, like the way the staff described the provenance of the butter on our table (from a Cork farm). In short, the meal felt like a carefully crafted narrative of this place — the house, the gardens, the land, the kitchen. It felt like more than “just dinner.”

After our dining experience, we found ourselves chatting with John, the night porter, who has been part of Ballyfin’s chronicles since the very beginning of its current rendition (if I remember correctly, 28 years). He told us how the house, once a private residence built in the 1820s for Sir Charles Coote, later became a Patrician Brothers’ school before being lovingly restored to its former grandeur by American owners Fred + Kay Krehbiel, who poured their hearts + souls into ensuring every detail was executed with perfect precision. John spoke with a beautiful sort of quiet pride — not the kind of overly rehearsed hospitality you often meet in equally exclusive hotels, but that gentle, genuine Irish storytelling that invites you in for a chat. He told us of the restoration that took nearly a decade, of the treasures discovered behind plaster walls, + of the Krehbiels’ deep love for preserving not just the house, but its spirit. His words made the walls feel alive — history layered with care, not performance or polish.

Later, as we stepped outside into the night, the façade of Ballyfin glowed in the soft amber of the lanterns. The lake shimmered in the distance, + for a moment, I felt suspended in time — between the glow of having had such an exquisite evening + the desire for it to last through the night. It was the kind of evening that reminds you why connection — to place, to history, to each other — really matters.

There was a sweetness to the simplicity of it all: just 50 minutes from home (just over an hour if travelling from Dublin), yet it felt as though we’d travelled far beyond the ordinary. Driving back through the quiet countryside, I couldn’t help but feel that Ballyfin doesn’t just host you — it holds you, for a moment, inside its story. + with that, you hold it forever a little too.

Discover more at — BALLYFIN.COM

Checking In; Cashel Palace

There’s a profound stillness to Tipperary that gets under your skin — in the most beautiful, soul-soothing way. Nestled within its energy, where ancient Irish history lives + breathes, sits Cashel Palace. A place that feels less like checking into a hotel + more like slipping quietly into another rhythm, another way of living. If even just for a few days.

Driving into Cashel town, the first glimpse of the infamous Rock — dramatic + unwavering — captures the attention. It’s humbling. Sacred. And just a stone’s throw away, the red-bricked façade of Cashel Palace rises like a quiet promise of settling in. You feel it before you even step through the doors: this is where you’re invited to pause, exhale, reconnect.

Originally built in 1732 for the Archbishops of Cashel, the house has been beautifully reimagined to a former glory. But somehow better; it’s restored with reverence, not literal reinvention. The recent renovation, overseen by the Magnier family of Coolmore Stud fame, was a meticulous labour of love. Susan Magnier led the interiors, collaborating with London-based designer Emma Pearson + Smallwood Architects to blend historic charm + modern luxury.

Inside, the narrative informs of elegance without pretension. Grand but grounded. Our room — airy, golden-lit, with windows that opened out back towards the Rock — felt cocoon-like. Every detail considered. Rich textures, natural tones, softening like a cosy blanket. Sleep hits differently here. It seem dreamless, entirely encapsulating. Maybe thanks to the good country air or perhaps the grandeur of one’s surrounds.

Days unfolded gently. Mornings begin with slow breakfasts — poached eggs, the kind of warm Irish brown bread of dreamy childhoods, butter that tastes like actual summer fields. There’s something about eating here that’s both deeply comforting + quietly celebratory. Truly Irish yet entirely elevated. The Bishop’s Buttery, all candlelight + vaulted ceilings, is a symphony of local produce. Each plate a nod to Irish heritage — refined, yet full of heart. And just across the courtyard, Mikey Ryan’s offered a different pace: cosy, convivial, full of character. The kind of place you settle into without checking the time.

The spa became our sanctuary. A long, glassy pool that stretches from inside to the outdoors, it’s dreaminess lit up by the sky. Outdoor seaweed baths. Treatments that felt like rituals. I floated, I steamed, I let go. We both did. Lost in time + a good book, it’s a space designed not just to pamper, but to heal. To realign.

But it was in the in-between moments —wandering the gardens in the golden hour, watching the shadows change on the ancient stones of the Rock, which you can walk right up to — that something shifts. There’s magic here. Not the loud kind. The quiet, ancient, rooted, Irish kind that stays with you long after you leave.

Cashel Palace doesn’t demand anything of you. It simply offers itself—gracefully, generously — as a place to come home to to. And in a world that so often pulls us in every direction, that feels like the rarest luxury of all.