|
See our listing of the best pubs in Dublin
Where Is The Absolute Best Pub In Ireland?
Six Irish writers pick the spots where pints of Guinness and life
stories meet with the sweetest results
A Song With Writers,
Failed Writers, Poets
& Failed Poets
The Hibernian Bar
Oliver Plunkett Street, Cork City
Climb up the stairs, turn right and push open the door. It’s
like stepping into someone’s private sitting room. The nine
high chairs that hug the wooden bar will invariably be taken, mostly by
men – some of the city’s best known characters
– writers and failed writers, poets and failed poets. This is
Cork’s Hibernian Bar, affectionately known as the
“Hi-B.” It’s one of the city’s
most eclectic and eccentric pubs. Brian, the proprietor, ivory skinned
with thinning white hair, will greet you with a witty quip. Of course,
that’s only if he takes to you. If you seem suspect, you will
at best be given the once-over with a frosty eye. At worst,
you’ll be barred on the spot. The last time I saw Brian, he
quoted me a nugget of good advice for life: “Have something
to love, something to do and something to hope for.” The Hibernian’s floor is covered in red lino. Along the burgundy
walls are leatherette sofas to sink into and, often, the deflated
balloons remaining from some past event.. Brian’s latest
dictates are posted on the mirror behind the bar: “Absolutely
positively no mobile phones,” and a favorite,
“Those who drink to forget, please pay in advance.”
Secluded Spot
Years ago, I did a lot of my courting in the
“Hi-B.” We’d sit in the window with rum
and blacks, and if not taken by events in the pub, we would turn our
backs and look out the window onto a Cork Saturday night. The Hi-B sits
on the corner of Oliver Plunkett Street and the narrow Winthrop Street,
above a pharmacy and below the Cork Academy of Hairdressing. Being
upstairs creates a sense of seclusion and intimacy.
One recent
weeknight, I stop in, not to get my usual advice from Brian, but to
hear Dick O’Sullivan play piano. Wednesday is piano night.
Dick won’t start playing until around 10pm, so we pass the
time drinking glasses of Murphy’s (Cork’s answer to
Guinness). When Dick finally brings out the
“piano,” some kind of light-frame keyboard
actually, the place is energized. Dick, white-haired and wearing heavy
tweed trousers, starts with “Ain’t
Misbehavin,” following with “Down by the Sally
Gardens.” When Dick sings, the whole pub sings. After each
song, the audience roars out with cheers and applause. People come to
the piano to sing solo, while others croon from the safety of the bar.
The Hi-B has taken on a dynamic and charm that relates only to this
moment. It has none of the contrived atmosphere of the “super
pub.” Dick finishes up with some fast finger work. We all
clap again and he directs us to a sign over the bar: “No Dick
for two weeks.” He’s going on holiday, but we all
savor the innuendo, and laugh the night’s last laugh.
- By
Regina Sexton
Where the Guinness is Properly Topped-Off
Beedy's Bar
Dungloe,
County Donegal
 Beedy’s is a family affair, where your drink will have
“a collar solid enough to trot a mouse across.” Set a handsome three-story building on Main
street, Dungloe (a picturesque seaside town in northwest Donegal) it is
hearth and home to local artists, poets, actors, musicians and anglers
who all have one thing in common – a love of the
traditional-style bar, where the atmosphere is always welcoming. Three generations of the same family have run Beedy’s for over 70
years. It was opened by a local, Patrick Doherty, who had spent 20
years as one of the “Tunnel Tigers” in New York,
working on the Brooklyn Bridge and the subway system. In 1932, he
shipped his family back home to Ireland and opened the pub. His
daughter Beedy (short for Brigid) took over its management some fifty
years ago and gave the place its charming stamp with her handsome,
soft-spoken presence. From the time my family first came
to Dungloe, back in the 1960’s, Beedy was always the oracle
you consulted when your life went amiss. If you needed to find an
experienced turf-cutter to bring in the turf from your bog, Beedy knew
the right man. If your car broke down on the way into town, Beedy
sorted out a lift home and a tow to the garage the next day. There was
nothing she couldn’t handle, including five-star catering.
Her spare-rib suppers were legendary – wonderful pork, ribs
piled high in big dishes, along with side orders of boiled cabbage and
buttery potatoes. You ate until your own ribs strained at the seams.
Then you drank pints of creamy buttermilk or Guinness and drowsed by
the fire. New Regime
In due course, Beedy retired, leaving her business
in the capable hands of son David and daughter-in-law Moya. They
brought more live music into the lounge and added a beer-garden out
back, but kept the original atmosphere. In the front bar,
it’s more like a night in a neighbor’s cozy parlor
than a public premises. The pint of Guinness in Beedy’s is
still pulled in several stages, and allowed to rest before
it’s topped off with a creamy collar solid enough to trot a
mouse across. On Sunday evenings in winter, there are baskets of
steaming mussels, razor-fish, cockles and winkles to eat, collected
earlier by hardy regulars trawling the beach at low-tide. At times like
this you feel that if things got any better at Beedy’s, we
wouldn’t be able to bear it.
- By Ces Cassidy
No Fake “Orish” Pub This!
McManus'
Seatown,
Dundalk, County Louth
 My formative drinking years were spent in McManus', in Seatown,
Dundalk, a small coastal town 60 miles north of Dublin. Like most "ye
olde world" pubs, McManus’ has an old-fashioned signpost on
the wall and an ancient aul fella propping up the bar. But unlike the
cookie-cutter "Oirish" pubs , which trade on shamrock and leprechaun
themes rather than substance, McManus' has real personality.
cManus’ is colorful and a bit funky. Ten years ago, you
could find an international popstar at the pumps. The Corr sisters used
to barmaid here to make some pocket money. A bright pink piano serves
as the perfect spot to rest your pint while you socialize. The beer
garden out the back has a real fire going - summer or winter. It was a
smoker's paradise way before the government decided we should all kick
the habit. A former family house, McManus’ still retains a
warren of rooms and cubbyholes, and the atmosphere of a home. Add into
the equation the perfect separation of age groups - old fogeys in the
front lounge, college kids in the back bar and the under-aged outside
in the nearby graveyard chugging cider- and it manages to be all things
to all people! McManus’ may be dark (even dingy), but its
grimy walls are testament to the generations of locals who’ve
drunk there. Who cares how often the old school house benches and brass
door knobs have been polished, so long as the pints are flowing! - By Breda Heffernan
A Relaxing Pint in a Rural Western Village
Joe
Keane’s
Maam, Connemara
In the mid-1990s Pete McCarthy wrote a cracking travelogue titled
McCarthy’s Bar. The basic gist of it is that somewhere,
there’s a rule that says you should always go into a pub that
bears your name on the door. From this premise came a book full of
colorful tales of wandering in and out of McCarthy bars, mostly in
County Cork, over a period of several years. Since reading it,
I’ve kept an eye open for pubs bearing my own name and
visited many. But I have a particular fondness for Joe
Keane’s in the small village of Maam, in Connemara.
I
don’t remember when I first set foot in the place –
probably six or seven years ago – but it’s a pub I
happily return to whenever I’m in the area. The truth is, you
can get a Guinness anywhere. What’s more difficult to find is
a comfortable pub where you can choose to be social or quiet, and feel
at home either way. Joe Keane’s in Maam is just the place. A Tiny Outpost
From the outside, it’s a two-story grey building
(accommodation also
available) covered in ivy and neatly tucked in under the trees, with
the mountains rising behind it. Save for a small shop next door, a
bridge and a small stream across the road, there’s little
else in Maam. (Not to be confused with Maam Cross, home of Quiet Man
cottage and tourist kitsch.) At a time when more and more pubs feature
loud background music or a TV blaring in the corner, Keane’s
pub is a welcome reprieve. The bar area to the front is a no-nonsense
space. With a pint of black and the right mix of locals, you never know
whom you’ll get chatting to. A small notice board mounted on
the wall by the bathrooms holds various newspaper cut-outs (some of
them yellowed with age) and fishing news from the local area.
It’s a small detail, but I make a point of stopping for a
quick read each time, delighting in the fact that there are no overt
tourism displays in sight. The lounge at the rear is my favorite part,
with its soft low lighting and its mish-mash décor. It feels
halfway between being a pub and someone’s living room with
the round bar, the well-worn armchairs and the piano in the corner. A
blazing fire seems to be going most of the year, and once you get
settled in beside it, it’s hard to move. I’ve seen
literally hundreds of people over the years come in wet and cold after
a day on the hills, and settle down to warm their toes while enjoying a
toasted sandwich and a hot brandy. Besides being a comfortable place
for food and drink, Keane’s greatest quality is that there is
no rush on you. I’ve stopped off for breaks from summer heat
and winter rain countless times and no matter how long I stay, I always
feel welcome to hang on a while longer if I want. With all things
combined, it’s a gem as pubs go, and one of my favorite
places in Ireland. If you’re in the area, be sure to stop off
for one or two. To reach Maam: take the N59 from Galway toward Clifden.
About 25 miles from Galway City, turn right at Maam Cross; drive about
5 miles more and you’ll be in Maam.
- By Geraldine Keane
The Cream of Classic Dublin Pubs
Mulligan’s of Poolbeg Street
& Flannery’s
Dublin
If you're at all like me, you'd rather be hanged from the nearest tree
than be seen in a contrived tourist trap pub. To gain a glimpse of the
true Dublin pub, you must cancel your tour bus arrangement and discard
all travel guide literature. They may be useful for reaching various
landmarks, but will most assuredly prove useless if the intended
destination is a true native's haunt. Two public houses to seek out if
you want a taste of true Dublin are: Mulligan's of Poolbeg Street
This is one of the oldest Dublin pubs, and also happens to serve the
best pint of Guinness to put past your lips in the capital. If you
fancy pre-Georgian decor with lots of pine and oak everywhere with
space enough for a trapeze artist to perform above your head, then
you're sorted. The bar staff is more than courteous, unless of course
you're insistent on allowing your most anti-social cell phone to
destroy the conversation and craic with cacaphonous rings. Mobile
phones, by the way, are prohibited. (011 353 1 677 5582). Flannery's, on Camden Street
This pub is a social institution. Fortunately, only a small
few of its patrons have ever been institutionalized. At Flannery's, it
is not uncommon to meet people from anywhere and everywhere in Ireland.
On a Saturday evening or after a Sunday game, lads and ladies from
Kilkenny to Donegal can be found having the banter in this upbeat music
bar. An American in Flannery's is definately the odd man out. For once,
the foreign visitor is something of a novelty (quite rare nowadays in
Ireland) for the natives to view and ponder and even poke at. God
forbid, one or two may even chat you up (011 353 11 478 2238). - By Jeremiah Breen
A Window Seat for Those Trying to Recover
Hargadon’s
Sligo City, County Sligo
Hargadons’ sits on O’Connell St., the main
thoroughfare of Sligo City. How do you find it? Easy - it stands out in
the colorful streetscape
for its very understated 19th century dullness. With such an
introduction why would you want to find it? With Sligo growing quickly
from a big rural town into a small city, Hargadon’s retains
its “ould” character. It’s been serving
patrons on the same spot for well over 100 years. The old wood panels
subdue the street glare coming in the window and reflect onto a
once-white ceiling. “Cream” is the colour you might
call it on a good day. Tobacco smoke colored it for years, until the
vice was outlawed. A Tincture in the Snug
There are two bars within. Your pint can be taken at the short counter
on your right as you enter. If, however, you have reason to seek
privacy, you can move to the haven of maiden aunts: “the
snug.” In this small side room, a deorum (a bit of whiskey,
from “deor,” the irish word for drop) can be passed
to you surreptitiously through the porthole at the end of the bar, out
of the gaze of other bar patrons. This is a relic of the old days,
which once gave comfort to ladies who “separated from their
husbands of a fair day” and imbibed a
“medicinal” tincture. Hargadons’ has a
special spot for those recovering from a rough night. It’s a
window seat, large enough for three poor souls (the glass, of course,
is opaque). This is the life boat, where there’s no need to
call the barman. He’ll show up to ask what you need. Just
don’t expect too much conversation from anyone who joins you
here.
If you’d simply like a sandwich, a pint, a newspaper
and a bit of quiet, the benched cubicles are ideal. The pub is long and
narrow. At the back is a small eatery which caters all. You need not
even have a pint to enjoy a quick snack here. Hargadon’s has
survived as a haven of peace, and you will not find a radio, television
or other 21st century interferences inside. No live music, good or bad,
will assail your senses. Did I mention that the pint here is
excellently pulled, allowed to settle and it arrives with a proper
head? Sorry! I took that for granted. - By Dick Cahill
| 
