Category: Pubs

Shanahan’s The Coombe

It’s fair to say that we’re fond of drinking in The Liberties; we find that having a pint there tends to make us suburban dwellers feel more authentically Dublin. That said, we’re no experts, and a while back, when we had finished up a few pints in Fallon’s and were considering our next course of action, one of the lads suggested that we tip down to Shanahan’s for a look. The only response I could muster to this suggestion was to wonder aloud as to where in the name of Jaysis that could be.

This is a case in point about why Ireland and Dublin are a wandering pub lover’s paradise. The haphazard, ad-hoc street layout afforded to our home soil gives rise to little hidden nooks and crannies that could only be dreamt of in the symmetrical, gridded streets of the USA. Following the trail of The Coombe, we tipped on down toward Shanahan’s.

The pub is unassumingly situated amidst residential properties of varying types. A plain red facade fronts the pub, which is of a small to medium size. We headed towards the raised section at the back and were greeted by a very welcoming barman who quickly furnished us with three top-notch pints, even delivering them to our table.

The fit-out of the pub was traditional, yet the furniture looked relatively modern, being in a fairly clean shape. The locals were in good form and left us to it when our conversation became a bit heated with the drink, after we disregarded one of the golden rules of drinking and steered the conversation toward a political nature.

Once we had all settled down and had managed to find common ground again, we agreed that we’d happily return to the pub. As we left and were bade a farewell by the friendly barman, we vowed to do so before the year expired.

December 21, 2017
Tommy O Gara’s: Stoneybatter

One of the best things about Dublin City from the perspective of three trainee pintmen is the layout of pubs across the city. The convenient proliferation of drinking establishments along single avenues is an aspect of the city that facilitates fantastic sessions.

We’re often confused when people pay outside entities to organise pub crawls for them. I mean, it’s not exactly open-heart surgery. Here’s the secret to a good pub crawl – pick a street with 5 or more boozers and drink your way from one end to another. Right!? You all owe me a tenner.

We undertook one such crawl during the summer, and it has swiftly become the crawl we find ourselves recommending the most: The Stoneybatter Mile – Hanlon’s to the Cobblestone. This is a crawl that caters for all demographics, it has the traditional, the quirky and the crafty, then comes Tommy O Gara’s.

We almost immediately agreed that this boozer was alike a country pub that had been scooped from its foundations beyond the pale and planted square in the centre of Stoneybatter. The aesthetic is a common one seen throughout the country – mild wooden tones meld with carpet upon entrance as the space opens up to embrace tiled flooring toward the back of the bar. We recognised straight away that this was a solid GAA pub, not only from the ephemera across the walls but also due to the prominence given to the Leinster Semi-Final between Kilkenny and Wexford, which left soccer fans to seek the clashing international fixtures elsewhere.

Sitting toward the back at one of the types of tables you might recall from The Snapper (those with an additional tier, in order to facilitate the storage of more pints), we devoured three well-crafted pints and took in the hurling. As the match drew to a close, the lads, being better versed in the topic of popular competitive sports than I, deemed the pub to be the best spot for a match in Stoneybatter. Me, I’d happily return to watch flies race if needs must.

O Gara’s is a good no-nonsense pub and a fine antithesis to the notions of a Stoneybatter that seems to be ever-gentrifying.

December 21, 2017
Briody’s: Marlborough St.

It’s funny how places can become romanticised in your head sometimes. Take Marlborough Street, for example – the street which is freshly paved with new tram tracks and ready to welcome the Luas, and all the rejuvenation that it brings, is one which relatively few Dubliners will have many romantic ideas about. The stretch of the street upon which Briody’s lies (as it’s recalled in my head) wasn’t much to look at, and if it weren’t for Dublin Bus carrying hordes of commuters into the area, it surely would have been a no-go area.

Nonetheless, Marlborough St. is one of the city’s avenues I recall with fondness; this is due in no small part to my upbringing in a carless family in the northeast of the city. As the street served as a terminus for many northside bus routes, it became the starting point for all of my journeys into the city centre – good, bad and indifferent. Essentially, this street was my proverbial wardrobe into Narnia… sorry, I did say romanticised.

Amidst all the buses, the commuters, the addicts and the roadworks alike sits Briody’s – a small and unassuming pub with a green façade. Setting foot in the pub, you immediately feel like you are in familiar territory. Just like wandering into your granny’s, you know you’re in good hands. The interior is typical of a good local boozer; tiled flooring greets feet upon entrance before a pristine carpet overtakes the rest of the floor space. Lighter wooden tones are well complemented by beige embossed wallpaper. The seating proved to be tremendously cosy in its simplicity, while classic drink brands and sport are the themes exhibited in frames upon the wall. We took a particular shine to a bittersweet portrait of Paul McGrath seen in his heyday, sitting at an unidentified bar holding a creamy pint aloft. Speaking of creamy pints, we found no fault whatsoever in the pints pouring at Briody’s; they tick all the right boxes insofar as they were delicious, served in a tulip glass and well under a fiver.

Overall, we enjoyed the casualness of this pub; we noted that there seemed to be plenty of characters in amongst the bar, and we vowed to return and try our hand at integrating into the fold. It was also nice to take in some of the history of the building, which was proudly displayed on the wall. This informed patrons that the building was dishing out pints under the name of the Olympic Tavern during the Rising in 1916 – a full hundred and one years ago. Here’s to the next hundred and one.

December 21, 2017
L. Mulligan Grocer: Stoneybatter.

We’ve been thinking for a while now about what we’d say when we penned our thoughts on L Mulligan Grocer. After some discussion, we loosely came to agree that the pub, which is a mainstay of a gentrified Stoneybatter, is one which must first be commended. The reason we commend this pub is down to the fact that its owners have managed to transform an old-school Dublin boozer into a modern gastropub while retaining all the glorious features of said old-school boozer. And judging by the crowd when we arrived on a summer’s afternoon, they’ve managed to make a success of it.

Alas, though it’s not all plain sailing as far as this piece goes. I knew there was trouble ahead when we arrived at the pub and found our way to the bar to order. Now there are a few statements that the lads don’t want to hear in the middle of a session, I mean statements that would be deemed less favourable than news of impending nuclear war. Unfortunately, the barman was to utter one of these statements – ‘No Guinness here, lads’.

Now, anyone familiar with DBP will know the diversity of opinions on crafty options amongst us, with me being in favour. But denying the lads a pint of Guinness mid-crawl is akin to substituting a toddler’s lollipop for a plate of sprouts. We propped up the bar and tucked into a few very good, yet controversial pints of Porterhouse stout.

The interior of the pub is A1. Tiled and wood flooring lie underfoot, and an antique scale sits proudly at the end of the bar. The bar, running the considerable length of the pub, is flanked with dinner tables and boasts a wide assortment of options on tap and on cask. The space behind is decorated traditionally, hosting antique mirrors and a vast selection of whiskey. Where the bar ends, the space opens up in volume and in light.

As it would turn out, we didn’t agree on the experience here. L. Mulligan’s, as we did agree, is a fantastic restaurant – the food looked pretty good. But we, seeking the type of rowdy ale house atmosphere we so dearly love, weren’t to find it a good suss this time around. And that’s fine. We may head back at a later hour and see if we can find more pub than restaurant next time around.

December 21, 2017
The Cobblestone: King St.

Brendan Behan famously once described himself as a drinker with writing problems – this is something that one would assume the person who set out to describe The Cobblestone was well aware of. Labelling itself as a drinking pub with a music problem, it’s a pub that’s described more succinctly and accurately than most others in the city.

The Cobblestone is located in the historic district of Smithfield on the outskirts of the northside of the city centre. It endeared itself to us when it threw a party to celebrate the death of Maggie Thatcher when she finally decided to take her throne in hell. It’s not an ornate, museum-worthy Victorian time capsule like many of the pubs we’ve posted previously. It’s rough and it’s ready. It has a grand lick of paint and pictures of musicians aplenty across the walls. The Jaxx is without any charm and one of the poorer across the city.

But considerations of the aesthetic kind are irrelevant when it comes to The Cobblestone because this is a pub that does what no other (or very few others) do in Dublin. The cobblestone purveys unadulterated, unamplified, and un-templebar-ified trad every night of the week. You can saunter in there on a random Tuesday night and hear what we here at DBP consider to be the sound of Ireland.

Now there are plenty of nominees for what constitutes itself as the quintessential sound of the island of Ireland. Some will argue it to be the roar of Croke Park on All-Ireland day. Some might deem it to be the tolling of an angelus bell. But we believe the sound of Ireland to be one that resonates within the walls of The Cobblestone. What could sound more characteristically Irish than the tortured moan of the uillean pipes drowning in a cacophony of boisterous conversation as a Guinness tap hisses throughout?

The pint was always a good one when we visited in the past, and we’re shamefully well overdue for a visit currently, so we can’t comment on price. It’s the go-to trad pub in Dublin and we can only hasten that you nip in to hear the sound of Ireland someday soon.

December 21, 2017
The Confession Box: Marlborough St

To this day, I still remember the trepidation- the knot growing more intense in the pit of my stomach as the queue of would-be confessors grew worryingly shorter. The mostly empty church was quiet – a gentle murmur emanating from the confines of the confession box was the only audible noise to reach above the din. The relative silence would then abruptly break with the creak of the door signalling the absolution of another soul whose host moved swiftly to complete their penance. You’d slide up a space in the pew, and your worry would intensify further.

1st Confession was a daunting experience as a child and not one which left me with much of an appreciation for confession boxes. Thankfully, this lifelong fear (along with many others) would be cancelled out in later life by a Pub.

The Confession Box is another of the city’s more petite drinking spaces; you’d be forgiven for thinking that the pub is named so due to its size and proximity to the Pro-Cathedral. But there’s more to it than that. It’s said that Michael Collins would visit this particular pub from time to time during The War of Independence, where he and his subordinates would be furnished with the sacraments of the Catholic Church from sympathetic members of the clergy, hence turning the pub into an ad-hoc confessional.

The ties with Collins are evident in the ephemera dispersed across this small pub. The seating is minimal and crowded, giving the pub a vibe which would be known in live music terms as intimate. The bar is the epicentre of the entire pub; a pint could conceivably be ordered from anywhere above ground level in the building.

When we last visited, the pint easily lived up to the hype promised by the Best Pint in Dublin award in the window. Propping up the bar, we noticed a large cohort of men in butcher’s uniforms scattered throughout the pub. As he had arrived before me, I asked Pintman №2 as to what the craic with all the butchers was. “Some butcher’s convention, I think”, says he. Ordering our 2nd scoop, the more informed barman identified the butchers for us: A Stag Party. Pintman №2 was suitably admonished for his answer.

The Confession Box is exemplary evidence that good things do come in small packages. Be sure to test out that theory for yourself!

November 3, 2017
O Reilly’s: Tara St. Station.

O Reilly’s is a controversial one here at DBP. I dare say that there are few or no other pubs in the city that polarise the opinions of myself and Pintman № 2 quite like O Reilly’s does.

Now in the red corner, you have me, someone who considers themselves as something of a rocker. Admittedly, I’m not in so deep that you’ll find me wearing leather in the summer, or at all, really. And to be entirely truthful, Fibber Magee’s is on the heavier side of the subculture I subscribe to. A pub such as O Reilly’s was to ingratiate itself with me by filling a void left in the wake of the dearly departed Eamon Doran’s in a timely manner. The offer of decent tunes that didn’t stay too heavy, too long, coupled with one of the cheapest pints in town, was a combination that warranted no critique on my part.

In the blue corner, though, you have Pintman № 2, more of a Mod than a rocker, and a man who reckons that the shot spinning wheel in O Reilly’s allows him to liken it to the type of pub you’d expect to find an electrical rodeo bull in. His assessment of the pub is then garnished with his opinion that the seating is too “dinner-tabley”.

(Pintman № 3, being his usual diplomatic self, plays the referee in this bout, in case you were wondering).

The pub itself lies under Tara St railway station and is divided into three main atriums. The fit-out is gothic-cum-ecclesiastical, defining features include metal chandeliers, church pews and a large fireplace. The lighting is mostly dim in keeping with the rock bar aesthetic. The pint has tended to be good, but in the interest of full disclosure, it is worth mentioning that our last number of visits here have been at an ungodly hour, following an ungodly feed of pints.

O Reilly’s is a fine lesson in hypocrisy and subjectivity- in some parallel universe, I’d probably detest it. But it happened to hit all the right notes at the right time for me, so I don’t. Just don’t tell Pintman № 2.

October 23, 2017
T.P. Smith’s: Jervis St.

In the case of pubs, placement can be everything. A pub can be well placed for a number of reasons, its centrality in a city, its proximity to a residence or its proximity to a focal point like a stadium or shopping centre. T.P. Smith’s, which is both relatively central and very close to the Jervis centre, could be said to be quite well placed.

This pub is one which has generally fallen under our radar in years gone by, so we recently decided that it was our duty to suss it out once and for all. We wandered in of a weekend afternoon and found the place to be busy with the type of crowd one expects in a pub close to a shopping centre and citywide transit links.

We found a few seats at the bar and took up position, calling for two pints. Taking in the aesthetic, we agreed that the fit-out was relatively unique and rather untraditional. Copper fixtures and fittings set the tone of the pub with a monstrous copper-clad spiral staircase demanding the attention of all patrons, a large tile mosaic spans the far wall of the pub, while the immaculate granite bar top spans the considerable length of the bar. Surrendered souvenir dollar bills and other mixed currency fill the wall space behind the bar.

As our two pints came to be delivered, we had just about settled on the idea that we liked the bar. The vibe was nice, the lighting was good, and the pint looked ok. But then disaster struck, and we were gone within twenty minutes. Was it the pint? I hear you ask. Well, no, not the quality of the pint, which was above average if we’re honest. It was the price. Five euro and forty cents. For a pint of Guinness. We won’t bother to repeat our manifesto on the price of a pint here because you, as our readers, will no doubt be familiar with our views there, but suffice it to say that we won’t be returning to T.P. Smiths unless we win a decent sum of cash.

October 10, 2017
Ruin Bar: Tara St

Does anybody out there happen to remember MacTurcail’s? It was a large pub on the corner of Townsend and Tara St, and in the interest of full disclosure, we should declare our prior bias and state for the record that we loved the MacTurcail’s. It was perfect – a nice traditional-style bar, an expansive lounge and dirt-cheap pints. The stuff of dreams.

But morning dawns on all dreams, and this one was no different; the pub was fated to disappear in a haze of mystery and tax avoidance rumours a few years back.

Following a lengthy spell of dereliction, a glimmer of hope shone when renovation work finally commenced on the pub; we started to get excited – we shouldn’t have. The pub we were so very fond of was to be gutted. All distinguishing features (except the ceiling) were to be removed, and a cooler, hipper refit was to be put in place.

We made our maiden voyage to the reopened pub of a Saturday evening over the summer. The vast open-plan expanse was peppered with small groups, making the pub a very quiet affair. We found the interior to overload the sense of sight somewhat.

We agreed that this was the most hipster establishment any of us had ever set foot in. This is due in no small part to the repurposed bicycle lamp fittings, the large mural of a gorilla donning a zebra-coloured pelt (?), alongside all of the gratuitous indoor street art and tags sprayed upon all available walls. As we called for a few pints, we fondly remembered the days when street art was reserved exclusively for the streets.

The barman was a friendly and agreeable sort, and the pint he poured was ok, certainly drinkable, but there are far superior pints at cheaper prices within the immediate locality. The section of craft brews was quite notable, though we weren’t of that persuasion at the time. Having cursed the individual who ruined our beloved MacTurcail’s and sadistically and aptly titled the new premises ‘Ruin Bar’, we opted not to have a second pint and headed for pastures anew.

Ruin Bar is a hipster’s paradise, which is not exactly our scene. If you’re into that craic, you’ll love it. We’re just glad it’s still a pub and not another poxy Starbucks.

October 6, 2017
Grogan’s: South William St.

In Dublin, certain pubs are renowned for certain things – you may find that one pub is the go-to place for those seeking a fireplace, another may be the first called upon to watch an important game, whereas others are renowned for catching a few tunes. What is unusual, however, is for one pub to hold the title of go-to pub for more than one thing. As it turns out, unusual is a fairly good description of Grogan’s.

If you were to ask a certain subsection of the Dublin drinking population to recommend the go-to television-less pub or the go-to toasty pub, this author would wager that Grogan’s would make up the majority of responses that you would receive.

We’re not usually in the habit of commenting on food, but we could hardly mention Grogan’s and not mention the toasty. A toasty, for those unfamiliar, is simply a toasted ham and cheese sandwich; these sandwiches have become something of a delicacy amongst pub-goers, being the only hot food on offer in many establishments and thus the only offer of sustenance on a lengthy session.

While there may be better toasties available in the city, the toasty experience in Grogan’s is certainly the best. The simple act of providing the customer with a jar of Old English mustard to do with as they please is symbolic. It’s a symbol of trust; there’s no bigger slap in the face, no bigger insult than being furnished with a solitary sachet of cheap condiment. The act simply screams distrust. In Grogan’s, they tell you that they trust you, they know you might be tempted to use too much mustard or to take the jar home, but it’s a risk they’re willing to take.

Aesthetically, this is an ordinary pub made extraordinary. The ordinary being patterned carpet, chestnut panelling, and mundane white tiled ceiling, and the extraordinary being provided by the ever-changing multitude of artworks scattered across the walls and the odd bit of stained glass contrasting the dull light attempted by the wooden panelling.

The pint warranted no complaints. Well-poured and high quality – the price differed by 20 cent between two barmen for some reason, but nonetheless the D2 tax was certainly in effect.

Overall, Grogan’s is a beacon for the future of Dublin Pubs; the reverence afforded to it by a younger crowd demonstrates that the popularity of the traditional Dublin Pub experience still stands strong within the city.

October 4, 2017