Tucked into Glenelg Place in Connolly, FYRE feels like a secret you’re delighted to share. The night air cools as you step off the street, and then - warmth. Not just from the glow of the fireplace, but from the whole room’s low-lit hum: timber and brick, a sleek bar that looks ready for a good story and tables arranged like little islands of possibility.
It’s polished without being precious, the kind of place that lets you exhale the day before you even sit down.
The menu moves with the seasons and the Chef’s mood, but the heartbeat is constant: fire, flavour and a serious love for honest ingredients. Smoke drifts through the air in the best way, a quiet promise that something charcoal-kissed is on its way.
Start small and you’re still eating boldly - garlic fillet strips glossy with confit garlic and scallion butter, the aroma arriving a heartbeat before the plate. There’s a generosity to the cooking that feels like confidence rather than showmanship; each dish reads like a straightforward idea executed with a little swagger.
Then the steaks take centre stage. A Scotch fillet arrives burnished and proud, edges seared dark and crackling, the centre blushing and yielding to the knife. Pepper sauce clings to it like velvet and the first bite is all deep savour, heat and that faint sweetness only a hot grill can coax out.
Ribeye follows like a headline act - big, unapologetic and tender enough to make you pause. Crispy potatoes shatter under the fork, mash melts into buttery comfort and the vegetables taste like they were chosen with care, not obligation. It’s the kind of meal that makes conversation go soft for a moment, everyone quietly busy being happy.
FYRE isn’t only about the plate; it’s about the rhythm of the room. Glasses clink, a cocktail shaker rattles like percussion, laughter rises and falls like a tide. Couples lean in under the glow, friends sprawl into long stories and the bar feels like the warm heart of the place.
The staff move with easy confidence - friendly, a little cheeky and tuned in to when you want guidance and when you want to be left to your own good time. You’re looked after without ever feeling managed.
Come Sunday and the mood shifts into something snugger and more local. The roast is pure comfort theatre: slices of beef, a golden Yorkshire pudding puffed like a proud little crown, veg piled high, gravy poured with gusto. It’s the sort of meal that makes you sit back halfway through and grin at your dining companion because yes, this is exactly what you needed. Dessert seals it - sticky toffee pudding warm enough to fog your spoon, salted butterscotch leaning into indulgence, sour cream cutting through with a quiet, clever tang.
What lingers after you leave is that rare combination of edge and embrace. FYRE has personality; it knows what it is. Yet it welcomes you in like a regular whether it’s your first visit or your fiftieth. You step back into the Connolly night carrying a small ember of the evening - smoky, satisfied, slightly giddy - and already plotting your return.
