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.