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PROUDLY SPONSORED BY BARFLY words Conor Stevens w
ords Conor Stevens photo Killian Broderick words Conor Stevens BARFLY BARFLY words Ian Lamont photos Killian Broderick words Oisín Murphy-Hall photos Killian Broderick BARFLY words Ian Lamont photos Killian Broderick words Oisín Murphy-Hall photos Killian Broderick BARFLY words Ian Lamont photos Killian Broderick words Oisín Murphy-Hall photos Killian Broderick BARFLY words Ian Lamont photos Killian Broderick words Oisín Murphy-Hall photos Killian Broderick BARFLY words Ian Lamont photos Killian Broderick words Oisín Murphy-Hall photos Killian Broderick THE MACULATE CONCEPTION The Virgin Mary ENCHANTING ELIXERS The Sidecar MALLARD REACTION The Lucky Duck BARFLY Michael McDermott Ben Walsh photos Killian Broderick Ben Walsh photos Killian Broderick o As I write we have been experiencing something of a strawberry Spring. Winter has stormed out of the room only to repeatedly burst back in to bellow “and one more thing…”. April has been cruel indeed. Nevertheless, by the time you read this, or don’t, it’s not unreasonable to assume that the time for outdoor drinking will be upon us. To put this in context, I’m not predicting balmy 20-degree evenings, or even orange warnings for fake tan, merely a relaxation of the dank and dismal grip that we’ve been enduring of late. It may not be raining and cold. Given the relentlessly depressing nature of our weather it is probably churlish to point out that we do not have a superabundance of spots that reward the alfresco alcohol experience. The terrace at the back of the IFI is always overlooked in this respect. Most regular folks tend to hit and run, perhaps enjoying a pre-or-post film glass of something. I imagine that this is the point of the place but I’ve found over the years that this space can repay the patient tippler with singular pleasures. This weather has never been a consideration I’m joined by Red Ben, erstwhile pinko to my ponce, for this, my thirteenth Barfly jeremiad. He is a man who (as I’ve mentioned before) is both very partial to and very picky about his drinks. He’s all about quality and quantity. We get along just great. At my suggestion we enjoy a couple of potent gins and tonics (Garnish Island Gin and Fevertree with a wedge of lime) at the office before setting out. Refreshed, we hit the City and point ourselves toward Aungier St. Expectations are lower than a snake’s belly but I’ve decided to give the Press Up group one last chance not to disappoint or enrage me. I’m momentarily buoyed up by my own magnanimity. Opened about six weeks ago now in the former Aungier House space (on a particularly unlovely stretch of the street), the place has been gutted and thoroughly Pressed-Up. Ben o. Th a s Doblin i for my enjoyment of the space, even in the face of common sense. During my time trading at the Temple Bar Food Market (as a gentleman fishmonger) we would always finish up here to piss and moan, quite literally. Those days are sadly behind me, there are more unpleasant things to wash one’s hands of. Nevertheless, the IFI Gastronomic Council (of which I am a founding member) has been meeting here If you have any interest in what you drink This may or may not be policy. Time will tell. He’s an affable young man and while I dither over my order he offers me a taste of the new Heineken product, H41. I guess it’s their Hop 52 44 OLD TO BEGIN The Ivy IN AUGUST COMPANY The Terrace at The Irish Film Institute As you read this, even as you don’t, we are (doubtless) still in the grip of our most severe Winter since records began and the city remains clenched within its unyielding gelid fist. Even if this is not the case it’s still January and you could almost certainly use a little pick-me-up. I prescribe an intensive course of top-shelf depressants to banish those post-festive blues. At the very least one might succeed in pushing those blues out to early Spring. Best of all – with the savings you’ve made by eating in Chinese supermarkets all month you’ll have the means to treat yourself to a moderate, guiltless debauch. The Sidecar at The Westbury Hotel should be just the ticket. I’m joined for the night by my old mucker Red Ben, a man uniquely qualified for this particular assignment. We s a eh r d more than a couple of drinks in our college days and although I had the pleasure of attending his nupti la s in the Summer this still feels like something of a reunion. One of the most discerning and considered drinkers I have ever known, he addresses every glass with an interrogative rigour and has borne his gout with great courage and quiet dignity. He also tells me that the place was originally to be called ‘The Dutch Billy’ until some locals “lodged some protests through the windows.” On the ground floor you get a facsimile of a Victorian pub that the owners/designers imagine might appeal to a target audience that may or may not exist. There’s a handsome copper bar and a very impressive dark mahogany back bar. Framed photographs of auld Dublin festoon the walls. It’s nice work. As I’ve been saying ad nauseam, these guys do nice interiors, just not content. I’m less impressed with a ‘snug’ that would make a street-side installation of its inhabitants. The barkeep is sporting a topknot and braces. or indeed any night. It is beautif n auld hly lit, loan ucur bg yohe whaat the Thr t The Jf tholly Monk The early Irish summer is, this year anyway, the high season for bar openings and this month has seen the début of any number of places slinging everything from poitín to trendy beers. None of those boozy delights for me, however, as the most talked-about newcomer does not offer alcohol at all. Since its annunciation, The Virgin ABBEY HOUR The Ivy stands on the elegant corner site at the junction of Parliament Street and Dame Street, rejuvenating the space that used to be The Thomas Read, figurehead of the doomed pub group which was feasted on by fellow publicans following its collapse in 2008. The status quo for new bar concepts in my secoat t. I’e building uuesday night,d for (in more vuthen , ac timy t ar’s h t oea ion, however, t t ot’s and en love ping. From the black m rble floo mo oas Read had alretady been doina, the dark inlaid wood fini hs es th namlace has b art-deco’d to within an inch of i been at that pas - ular corn Daniel in uirf th ence. It is a 1930s cocktail bar as designn lo kinaz L hru mann. Nevertheless, it fe ls likv e as, to itel bar in the best way and the room is hummingl . when we make our entrance. you will want to follow our lead and take a seat at the handsome zinc bar. This is where it happens. This is where your attention should be. If you are over six feet tall you won’t have any legroom but you will care less as the night e p ed as it was aeen fter t ah lm lert t im’ p e t t t had ts glittering exirtic MISADVENTURES Huck’s e cuos Ivy is a sister bar to House on Leeson Street, 37 Dawson Street and Xico on Baggot Street (amongst others) run by businessman Alan Clancy. Like each of those bars of those bars, The Ivy is not playing for cutting edge or kooky. In fact even more so than its siblings, this bar The Terrace at The Irish Film Institute Meeting House Square Dublin 2 The Lucky Duck 43 Aungier St Dublin 2 (01) 405 4824 theluckyduck.ie 8a Camden Street Dublin 2 52 52 mixes a better Martinez than yo tud y’e roum is s to find out w nh d h m rewarded with the bs it me p a very pleasant place to be on a Tsed to be use Mary has had a flurry of media coverage, which is no surprise given the industry-insider credentials of the principals and the novelty of the offering. This is definitely not a labour of alcohol-free love, but a foray into a new drinkie niche. One might cynically note that there seems to have been far more righteous indignation at those mocking the concept than there has been any actual mockery. We are conditioned to believe that the idea is being met with disbelief, ridicule, laughter, and worse but it seems that it is encountering something far worse – a shrug. In any event, I have no assumptions as I make my way to Capel Street. There are a few parties of various l’ on I’ve e aer hadti t anes)ime, anyw tourist wri aeons. Ied boy B g to es w tsh a new idents ty, t neo e I y ha n ho ts credit, avo oideruioed ora most tempting y o vb iou eacoutep. In the g ear t Dublin vintners ca ve-un , The tabilih and proceed it o ah int m Eng s f bd gs ing dowe zesngn thet, the better to pe ofume s r h si My turn to blush. The dr t hisink is fllol ral s sub ages and stations there when I visit on a glorious midweek evening. The location was, until recently, an unremarkable furniture shop. Today the door is open in the best continental style, and the room is an attractive one, all muted colours and herringbone floors. The herringbone carries over to the upholstered barstools, which could have been dressed by Magee. For a place with its media game so emphatically on point, the first impression is lacklustre. A fair pile of used glassware is piled up on the bar, being attended to very slowly. Even though sa and a ’romartic a pd I drink it in nea he sets us up with an elegant, aust Aeer Vieuxn old man wearing a slightly-too-large cruCarré and a modern Negr nio mcifix neckelace passes by us as we return to our Ben savours an Aperol Negroni A changbju ugation of the other. This, I supbartender sees Cathal prepare upose, io h eeab Cr kl pitfall of the hotel bar for the Old-Fashioned and a Corpse Revi er res eclation: here, everyone is an outsider. tive yl . B th are ex a crn tthat. He makes iha n French G’velling in a d adultera es with Peychgud Bitter unfa tor s s ercepah ibly in its glass. Befy, engaagste er o q e city foes as tro which hand If’e dill be drinking y lef li hman w even heard some protest that certain of their ‘rights’ are being infringed as they are ushered out of this private space, bottles and cans clanking, by the long suffering security guys. They should totally take to Facebook to vent their witless outrage and probably do. On this occasion they seem too caned to fight for their right to party. Pity. We begin with a round of Pastis, in this case on an ordering stra egt y before we ght here so our first order is fo or ‘ ur drinks’ – the dr’ink that m ta erialises in each of our brain f dra o hen w hear the word ‘co kc tail’. So that’ impermanen Manhattan for Ben and a Grey Goose Mintini super dirty for Conor. It is testament to Danie s abilities and experience that he simultaneously manion in its vadiou the finest iteration of this drink th r at I’ ic t ys had in this country while making ie. Sufr that he the dirty martini has always had sg a martini glass at the corner of the bar and of the douchbag about it. It could be the s se doesn’t ent eir ly approve of my o M . He’s less Rita Hayworth w f rder k i s right, inomething 52 44 drink of Florida, America’s wang f. Bm P ess epya John’s pizza boxes on their laps (the il narrow momentar y and he no bs sageity aen o ens at the start of Oct bo er, I’m Manh ta tan. It’s a very good start. Desperate fo validation now I put myself in D uoaniels inf’s hingemen House 13, moderately better than the piss you’re used to but still not worth drinking. He is blameless in this. The website promises ‘proper pints… golden, melty toasties and good conversation.’ This kind of copy is supposed to establish tone of voice. It succeeds in establishing a direct line of communication with my stomach ulcer. Serenity now! We order a couple of pints of Guinness which turn out to be not improper and talk about Ben’s desire for underfloor heating in his new house before moving to discuss the life and works of Saint Augustine of Hippo. His ‘Confessions’ still retain the power to succour those whose paths have led to dissipation. We decide for the purpose at hand to drink our way to the top floor (much like Augustine himself) only to be told by topknot that the top two rooms are closed. Nevertheless, we are ushered up to the purgatorial second floor with great ceremony. Those upper floors are again pleasant places to be, with deep blue walls, some bright modern canvasses and nice furniture that somebody else can describe if they wish. Turns out that The Digges Room where we s a . We had decided but it is keen to claim Samuel Clemens as its own. I have spent some time there and I love the man who quit the slavers’ army to cross first the fledgling stagecoach nation and then the world in steam, spinning tall tales and challenging every authority along the way; the man who stood against his country’s racist brutality at home, against its imperialism in the Philippines and against Belgium’s in the Congo; who defied religious hypocrites and moralists wherever he found them. Not all of his writing is all that good, because an unusual and totally unnecessary commitment to paying his debts meant a lot of pot-boiling. Did you know there’s a whole book where Tom Sawyer and his friends travel above Africa in a hot-air balloon? It’s terrible. Dublin is even further from Hannibal, Missouri. We have no real connection to Samuel Clemens at all, but if I were to try to capture the essence of Samuel Clemens in one quotation, I might choose: ide s w ink eg in a hotel bar. The sense of been at th mak t e ppeal in ha ty fe ciur sch lleme, strfik id a nin in in weekly session for over a decade now. In all weathers. On more than one occasion hot water bottles, flasks and even balaclavas have been deployed to counter gelid conditions. Turns out that drinks don’t really taste of anything when the ambient temperature is minus nine. We had no such concerns on a recent drizzly intersectarg li ,ves, in a place that is at once home Saturday evening. Our council quorum comprised Comic Book Guy, Stoney Paul, Sweet William and my good self. Mary from Dunloe would swing by later to gripe about the quality of tonic water in her gin. Contrary to unpopular belief, the terrace is not a BYOB affair. The kids who congeal in the square every week, as the market folds, have yet to receive the memo. Their repeated attempts to flout this seemingly apparent statute punctuate my every visit and never fail to provide some entertainment. I’ve 52 44 d ar’s kl cht hisp Thi ess thar recarious emotional state of the here. A b pest lokgaree. Susan Sontag notes how the tini h t o Huck’cesllent. Upon Dvniel’ n s a spicer,’ Anton suggests. ade on M zcal. I do not think I would root through all his novels and come up with: He used to lay drunk with the hogs in the tanyard The Ivy 1-4 Parliament Street, Temple Bar, Dublin 8 theivydublin.ie 01-6718267 navtiv,e popu - ‘Eaeryo es ret’ urn end up is also where the food does (there is a full menu which I’ll never sample). Also turns out that I don’t enjoy the smell of scallops when I’m in for cocktails. Wouldn’t be a problem if the other rooms were available I guess. There are but two stools at a very small bar. I feel as if we could just swivel around and give a presentation to the diners. Our barman up here is again very pleasant and engaging. His britches are also held up with braces. He does the right thing and asks us how we like our drinks. Ben’s is an old fashioned made on Rittenhouse Rye, I am said to be a revolutionist in my sympathies, by birth, by breeding and by principle. I am always on the side of the revolutionists, because there never was a revolution unless there were some oppressive and intolerable conditions against which to revolute. Pernod adulterated with ice water. One would of course prefer Ricard but it’s a nice way to start and gets us through the sole item on the council agenda – ‘Why eggs are so hot right now’. We generally stick to pints here but tonight we throw out the script because we’re spending . of the s e of s a Kns t e r a part to p al y in this, surely, with the institutages to pro ruces guises over the years housing omanvte evrer ts, capers, murder plots and the likt cleafice it to say, however, that The Jolly ist ully fingermore Engtliath lads’ weekend holidayers eating ro en’ a and not home. The cinematic imagination hasIn th o st D gbv it’e wa y Hotvy manag . Yo ’ble chu gvby a senfce aste ing a de en f lace f r ibie; i he s b d wh f th Theres something quite a uring about t w at the Thomatt Th I s a Bulleit Ryece, of mystery and briefly, fleetino ly told) and heckrling nearby indi idv uals for varir ands forts on their psychical comfort. now – a toe-curlingly smug article in The New York Times about how we’re doing them wrong proves as much – so I opt for a “Ceder’s Spritz”. It is assembled somewhat at random with ice introduced in the middle of the process, handled into the glass, but the end result looks well enough, with a coiled ribbon of cucumber. Ceder’s calls itself “a distilled non-alcoholic alt-gin” and if any part of that makes sense to you, have at it. It’s about thirty quid a bottle for water with essence of herbs, like homeopathy. “Ancient and pristine Swedish water,” they promise. And here’s me with my modern water like a fool. Now, a Spritz is defined by the balll he h traVine Gin din idv ual alleviates her anxiety at s. It blmi sar sulihesurroundings by recourse to p o ographore I t ing with her environment from the stance of the quotidian f ro m; so too the t with a striipth ‘banter’, or the death-spasms of th ernce proud colonial mindset that served orica y so well as a comfort blanket for the Qr silenueen’ ce. jects’ baser sensibilities at the cost The Sidecar and The Westbury Hotel Balfe St, Dublin 2. (01) 679 1122 ance of bitter, fizz, sweetness, and alcohol. With the alcohol out of the picture, it’s hard to introduce the bitterness of an Amaro, so this concoction offers a purely herbal experience instead. This is fine as far as it goes, but it shows that the disparate “alcohol” components are somewhat interchangeable. It doesn’t seem to matter, especially, that a proportion of this drink is alcoholfree sparkling wine, or that some of the herbal notes are from the “alt-gin” and some from the mixer. Ultimately, I’m drinking a €7 bottle of tonic. It’s Poacher’s tonic, which is a fine choice, and the result is pleasant enough. 52 52 in toought: ‘I suppose childminders, maybe.’ and h g yoefa ned affili s Ddi f the Thk g do s Re mosd ad alr unfolds. We are two boozy moths to the flame e glowing backbar. Daniel, our slick, whitejacketed b rta ender (please desist from using the term ‘mixologist’) glides silently over to us and oo little cr e s he says. ‘Name one profession that doesn’t.’ I think for a moment. ‘I suppose I thought that the monk was one.’ ‘They named a bar after the monk’s drinking, pours us som he c ampagne into t ywu idiot,’ hys at lys. ‘Look a ht t e sign!’ A monk coupes, ‘for while we look over thho lo we m oks li’enu. It’ke Neil Morrissey is holding aloft a classy move and it sets the tone beer stein with a smile on his face. Anton pauses For about a year now, progressing along Camden Street, I had seen the hoarding advertising “HUCKLEBERRY’S coming soon”, complete with a depiction of the Mississippi River and one of Mark Twain at the height of his moustachewearing powers, and I dreaded the day that such a place would actually open. San Francisco is far from Hannibal, Missouri, only two people are seated at the bar, this and some haphazardly-placed staff personal effects make the remaining seats unwelcoming. I order, I pay – by contactless means, as cash is not accepted – and I retreat to a table by the window. It has just been vacated. It will not be cleaned. Spritzes are having their moment tho tig to esta named a self and orderzy coce cu e great Dublin vresso m rtini, th a t o at p e do wwoo. Th t The Jo y Merpe s a cof thgs,t Th in brble co le is n tod y’a s Dublin is to fin bd o t tut what tarticu ar corner of the cit s iThiy for r (in mt a sh ps burer at on tyaatio ot, a used to be used fo g ore perorakin s it was a er th n thts ag a ktail menas, w a e res artic e peiotpled colo an Stur b ora’s m’ the joah. Suts cre y Pau 44 y woes traw un o v a en e tt y e tingly by ob io s r, ft a boo e o been doulde vib , b t bunfat mar ses t em is y recourse to ph li kwe h dings b aegns. In look ma or fruit, but ww popu a e Englis wers ah ‘b aws r the death-spa Ivy has, to its cre t52t most temptingly ob certainly done stints ofeinog a li tle ovud colo nd a chaograerlit), a Ivy is a sister bar to House on Leeson Street, 37 Dawson Street and Xico on Baggot Street (amongst others) run by businessman Alan Clancy. Like each of those bars of those bars, The Ivy is not playing for cutting edge or kooky. In fact even more so than its siblings, this bar erveabou evenings the servers are less inclined to venture out for orders. I can’t really blame them. There are things to eat too, should you require them. The menu has recently been revamped and I’m hearing good things. I can vouch for the fish and chips. Certain elements could be helped - the awning at the back (end of the space) has been non-functional for about two years, ditto the heater at the front. The new chairs will make e greau y scru lin vintners ca vr e-us Moeleskine Queens su tha o ha non-drinkt hf seniority ecents. v t por a ne g in hie, Th S o l of a bar b Th y e The t er no a s ov wese r t. ‘Ar g ou go have Mark Twain themed names, which is a nice touch and is all well and good until you come to look at what’s actually in them. Poor old aunt Polly, for all her failings, does not deserve to have her name given to a mix of “Absolut Vanilla, green apple and ginger purée, lime and red wine float.” No-one does. A concoction called “Steam Boat” has Olmeca tequila in it. “The Duke and the King” leads with Slane whiskey. There is something with Bombay Sapphire “East” gin and something with hazelnut liqueur The only safe option when faced with this sort The Ivy stands on the elegant corner site at the junction of Parliament Street and Dame Street, rejuvenating the space that used to be The Thomas Read, figurehead of the doomed pub group which was feasted on by fellow publicans following its collapse in 2008. The status quo for new bar concepts in o b o inside don’t need th nd h ng your bar’s h It oursi o say times)bli h a new idenititl used to be uselikod f r (in m s. It ttho tig to esta ers, that Thur o prohibited or something.’ ‘What’s weird about that? Everybody drinks,’ give way to an implacable sadnn in itio ess. Thht ta e bomaks Read had already b en dtoe of his t-shirt reads ‘Thy’a s D b at shine ft th t p ring in life, that make your l ughoer very qe cinklyematic imaginar’s ki a part to p a e Th a picture of a candle. Hhe Thill return m loementahros ily t tod y’a s Dublin is to fin bd out w t phmore Eng e aeoore au enycbimes) enormou e used for (in mns. In lo king to es aapba J hn’s pow xes on their lapsEnglish and hang your bar’s h Ivy h s, tt. Hobedi’s ki h’ mine a bone-dry gin martini built on Tanqueray Ten. They are both good drinks and worth the twelve euro price tags. Brian, our bartender tells us of a recent run on espresso martinis that caused the coffee machine to pack in. That’s where we’re at. We go on to put down two solid negronis, made 50/50. All the while I can’t shake the feeling that I can’t think of a good reason not to be somewhere else. I’m not referring to the company, it’s just that it feels like a place without a raison ‘etre. Perhaps the raison d’etre is simply to generate revenue for the Press Up Group. I need more than this, even taking into account the ‘unobtrusive power outlets on the customer side of the bar.’ It’s not a bad spot, just unnecessary, especially bamboo knot fi en its proximity to The Swan, an ac ual real pu Carpano Antica F i h ula yields a feere aops racers a ad the propriety of o ‘It’s weird how monks are allowed to drink, isn’t it?’ I ask Anton as we approach The Jolly Monk, the newly renovated bar of the Abbey Hotel. ‘I mean, as in you would think drinking would be OLD TO BEGIN The Ivy I’m glad this lies outside my remit. There is a “boilermaker” list, and I think this is conceptually a good thing; a boilermaker is simply a beer and a shot; you don’t pour the one into the other, and to have well-chosen pairings of beers and whiskeys is a sound idea and can be done very well. Unfortunately, to execute it requires either a decent selection of beer or a decent selection of whiskey, preferably both, and we’re out of luck here, on two counts. Five Lamps and Tullamore Dew isn’t really going to do it. There are four American whiskeys available in Huck’s – there are many more vodkas and flavoured gins – and two of those are Jack Daniel’s. I look over the cocktail menu. The drinks all een a p wahen t eaee at was a tas he c’ comttproauns t hint h s cats on t -t phe buillding irritathing it is when p t tad heople utlold) aning l ys it s nam d as ie in oth . I h Whdge h som aving another gll made Apolass of fizz o -tidian f ro m; so too e BY , una unters, a ita, t, w tf f d breso immeadi te fl tiinla s au ns. In lot of invnisthdd betc e a orem tat- n tiof the fay prowever voat sy s king through Most of the other mixed drinks are similar in inspiration, and the list of other drinks is brief. Only four nonalcoholic beers, including a Heineken, is nothing that a typical Dublin boozer can’t manage. There is a nitro-keg coldbrew coffee that has promise. For me, there’s certainly none of o recite a poem oen aef hi ht ts own, printli d o t in ahe city for used t s f lder (A2 size m f m Pt The Ivy stands on the elegant corner site at the junction of Parliament Street and Dame Street, rejuvenating the space that used to be The Thomas Read, figurehead of the doomed pub group which was feasted on by fellow publicans following its collapse in 2008. The status quo for new bar concepts in at on t aah o its crar t, a th ided g pens awn te s a at t e builldingrner o thoatiro te?) alisbo w at the Thomas Re m ad alrpady been dous roeuc .teling nea er ts es t Dus inf s t oug os eme tingse tbv eir phkones rby indi idv uahi tos ori r dent w ver voat s y o hio d h, n s h Ivy hemo t ont. H vided bo d g oetcah.ellinvn thee r g indi idua - ad h t tempadlde wv on s, to i n om J ’lide or s st p oringoute anhin tu po ss eauste ler’n esout pubs i. u al ar corner of the weor self-conlooided goraadin g t lea Otablisah a new idenrtrays olhat do I know? I hao aive an anter, o bdit, avad olf fing do d ethc ps b vious rou .y rear per a oo teetotalism b h ni l mindset that se l o i es Ab lbls not r’, The I l the b t p o co et a lo’ ba n tion o 44 ciok of (bme g a b gs and phot p furll as a comfort blanket fo n thibbline eally fpor me. I don’ost see wjeyts ow ts guests ajuga o esB t bssuminog byr eh ith n h flohm my a wn w nd a ’ wn the hin k a historically so we Ivy is a sister bar to House on Leeson Street, 37 Dawson Street and Xico on Baggot Street (amongst others) run by businessman Alan Clancy. Like each of those bars of those bars, The Ivy is not playing for cutting edge or kooky. In fact even more so than its siblings, this bar sa e distpna rce oitzes.e quo f the otnce pro piut-s ervice is gen ble Old St o h e a drink and rrelet. e o hven do craft beer! Ito’ t The Ihy is tthat s to e e might wanllera der in tand of Exc e, is tquer St u p to tve pa r cuts There m y or may no tort b f fi e t e as w etarian ’s t hi e bo t fhs pe bma pro of meat bef n on asv eated v e exit, wav e of carry-on is the canon, so I call for a Manhat bably by a ra e they cr o onming in Ben ing ye at t At thoint. We pen. ‘ e’ uden le ty drink a coueperhit, but f ths e venera ut with no alcohol, but then I was be t ble thing ab s u it’ do ther helmin le yy* p inla food that emulates the shapes ofe au y ur review?’ Atio oe a tks mor e.eg tan, opting for Buffalo Tr e ias T r braces h edg, jerees, ther of a damn thing. of m urs pt waes oetf Fy fno eac unny.h their o’ranca to ca g v I’m not referring to my liver or mental health. The cost of these superb elixirs ranged between thirteen and eighteen euros. Each was worth the price. You are paying for top-drawer ingredients and glassware as well as the expertise and intuition of the guy with the shaker. If you want an eight euro Sex on the Beach take yourself off to TGI Friday’s. It is not by accident that the place has won Best Hotel Cocktail Bar at The Irish Craft Cocktail Awards for two years straight. We regard certain restaurants as special occasion places so why not a bar? In the same way that you don’t saunter into Eleven Madison Park because you’re peckish, you won’t be dropping in here to cure a mid-week hangover, or heaven forfend, for a ‘rake of pints’. It’s for special. Wear some adult shoes and run a comb through your hair. Chin-chin! Drinks of this quality come at a price and ofb. W with no alcohol to soften the rough e repair to it w t ou or the Luxardo cherriest. A bottle orm t debate. Thw drre n,o pints is never in doubt. We roll on to meet Jerry ‘Two Jacks’, a fellow traveler from our university days, in Grogan’s. He’s back from London on business and in unusually pleasant form. I’ve never been the biggest fan of the shop but I respect its essential Grogan’sness. It is very much what it is. The Lucky Duck just isn’t and I can’t see time changing that. Like everything that they touch, it bears the feel of something curated rather than created. The bought-in talent do their design job and it stops there. There is taste but no flavour. There are never any of the rough edges that might snag your interest or catch that place where loyalty begins. Money doesn’t make this happen, that is a canard. This is the opposite of a passion project. I hear that the boss man at Press Up doesn’t take a drink. Uh huh, makes sense. Martini Rossi. And the whole thing doesn’t taste not simply less, defined only by subtracut it is then discretely swnpped out for one ofur is demanded in other areas, so that it is theme. Should I be in costume? Should it be? Is immaculate, and it is not. There must I don’t know what to make of a bar with a and it is not. The execution must be tion. The service must be exceptional, there an essence of Mark Twain that we are trybe something that makes the experience ing to capture here on Camden Street, where he a transformative one, and I don’t feel it. never was, and what he would have made of it? And I need a drink. *I just took a break from writing this to meet an old friend, only to find that the outdoor space at Pinxto’s is now a non-smoking space. The place is now dead to me. We repaired instead to the very subject of this ‘review’ and enjoyed a slightly too cold cheese board and a couple of decent pours of wine. A very seviceable Picpoul and a Gamay that would give Beaujolais a good name if I could only remember it. He never signed up for this. Consulting Thom’s Directory for the period, this building, number eight Camden Street, was home to the Boland brothers, coachmakers, with a (very prosperous!) rateable valuation of 23 pounds in 1862, a couple of years before The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County made it into print but, thankfully, not into a cocktail. The Jolly Monk 52 Middle Abbey Street, Dublin 1 01-8728188 www.thejollymonk.ie “By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity. Another man’s, I mean.” BW *I mean that figuratively of course, I was not literally overwhelmed by women. The Virgin Mary 54 Capel Street Dublin 2 the niceties are observed! A chilled coupe glass. A stitutions before leaving. objection to a bar with no booze, but your ass feel as if it is being griddled. People have been known to use copies of this august journal to protect their flanks. If that burning orb in the firmament does make itself known get a crew together and try it out for size. I may be there but don’t let that put you off. neither extensive nor minimal, but with enough selection to keep brewheads happy. Their signature cocktail is the Negroni, with a heapful of variations on the menu. I plumped for a Boulevardier (€9) made with Bulleit bourbon which was really tastily balanced between sweet and bitter. The Ivy styles itself as “luxurious continental ood that bleedsc.aeusct hn ooem was sles,wn, and I have nolm our conarar therBrs s le t ioe pf craft b t er et-B ace rye. And some of ust b e is no margin for error. More style bar”, suited to “watching the world go by whilst regaling old times”. While its oldness is contrived, it’s also strangely convincing. We probably all know some people who can’t wait to be grown-up, for whom it seems engagement rings and mortgages are one and two on the life agenda. This bar, born old, seems like a good fit for them. opug tted bt to puy the fairer sex,ld lad in ear f cifix necklace passes by us as we return to The Ivy 1-4 Parliament Street, Temple Bar, Dublin 8 theivydublin.ie 01-6718267 ers would want the truappingsoeve o y cheery bavut on less clemenet ax. wildered enough by vegetarianon es es t si n ehacnt oser sensibilities a of tt reminded me erther. This, I sup pose h he real pitfall of the hotel bar for The Ivy 1-4 Parliament Street, Temple Bar, Dublin 8 theivydublin.ie 01-6718267 cifix necklace passes by ut the intner’s carve-uhy, engaging with her en irv onm cifix ne nol s w mf r e humi et urroun rapp, The ent fro aeoore au en c times)bli h a nsee, Bery thtia ht w e apen ion Sontag notes how pose, is 52, th l losinmths Read with itsf himl alleviates her anxiety ore that had u, no particularf usen the Ivy is a sister bar to House on Leeson Street, 37 Dawson Street and Xico on Baggot Street (amongst others) run by businessman Alan Clancy. Like each of those bars of those bars, The Ivy is not playing for cutting edge or kooky. In fact even more so than its siblings, this bar sut e greaaoe tya, a g ouritsity, trit large. Susa tod ose th r s to finbd out wts, c pers, m uff n ae spaotlight’ in cy has, tve, un what te w ing a marItini g ass at tlin vintner’s caf the bar omas Re m ad alrpady been dous rou . named as it was after t e cu ler’r tt Dub e corner o rve-up, T articu ar co sh ladsf tu’ we k nd holidayerfas eas Monk is less Rita Ha b io ing, s s o e. S aeoore au en c owev av n th o its cre erdi , t ot, avhat’s ad h t tem tingl yworth w f h n tthe g ea re that had at. How v y o v e en h a nt hizza bo h ou ew identity, t e s e dit ooher ls f named as ius guifstes over th er the y rus ho an een ays at the builldingrder plots ane city fds toe Js ts vario ac t was a e cutler’s s ooe that Ivy is a sister bar to House on Leeson Stree 37 Dawson Street and Xico on Baggot Stree (amongst others) run by businessman Alan Clancy. Like each of those bars of those bar The Ivy is not playing for cutting edge or k In fact even more so than its siblings, this b al comf h fy’r nd cfl er tsyIn t ler’s s blib hm ’emen ve-upheir psychic Queen , Th The Ivy stands on the elegant corner site at the junction of Parliament Street and Dame Street, rejuvenating the space that used to be The Thomas Read, figurehead of the doomed pub group which was feasted on by fellow publicans following its collapse in 2008. The status quo for new bar concepts in aarticu t tday’s Duves, in a p - s at once ftirom P wever, t u lin iom tic tr rom the ar co nur er of th This io ice in lo kin, hderided going do The Ivy 1-4 Par Temple theivyd 01-671 native ‘Everyo An o native population: here, e ‘Everyone’s a spicer,’ Anto An old man wearing a native population: here, everyone is an ou ‘Everyone’s a spicer,’ Anton suggests. An old man wearing a slightly-too-large OLD TO BEGIN The Ivy But it’s a version of this that appears above the door of Huck’s. A hundred years ago, of course, Dublin Castle’s RIC garrison were known as the “hogs in the tanyard” by those who were revoluting, but I don’t really see the significance today. If you are expecting more Mark Twain content on the inside, the first thing to greet you is one of B.P. Fallon’s photos of Shane MacGowan. I love Shane MacGowan and I love B.P. Fallon, and if you’re opening a B.P. Fallon themed bar on Camden Street, that is long overdue; it should of course be called “Purple-browed Beep’s”. But this place, inexplicably, is called “Huck’s”. They have a pizza menu. Not for the first time, The Jolly Monk OLD TO BEGIN The Ivy ABBEY HOUR The Jolly Monk OLD TO BEGIN The Ivy ABBEY HOUR ABBEY HOUR The Jolly Monk ABBE HOU ‘It’s weird how monks are allowed to drink it?’ I ask Anton as we approach The Jolly M the newly renovated bar of the Abbey Hot mean, as in you would think drinking wou ‘It’s weird how monks are it?’ I ask Anton as we app the newly renovated bar mean, as in you would th prohib ‘Wh he says think f ‘I su ‘The you idi who lo beer st in thou Ther ‘I suppose I thought that the monk was ‘They named a bar after the monk’s drin you idiot,’ he says. ‘Look who looks like Neil Morr beer stein with a smile on in thought: ‘I suppose ch There’s something quit idea of imperm interse and no a part t seats after smoking on the terrace. ‘You’re so h pa py,’ he stops to say to me. ‘I wish I was that happy!’ It’s one of those exchanges, rarelblin i tion in roman like. Su you idiot,’ he says. ‘Look at the sign!’ A mo who looks like Neil Morrissey is holding a beer stein with a smile on his face. Anton in thought: ‘I suppose childminders, mayb There’s something quite alluring about idea of drinking in a hotel bar. The sense oMonk impermanence, of mystery and briefly, fle intersecoing li y occurs to flind out wace th hat iat t e build The Ivy stands on the elegant corner site at junction of Parliament Street and Dame Str rejuvenating the space that used to be The Thomas Read, figurehead of the doomed p group which was feasted on by fellow publi following its collapse in 2008. The status quo for new bar concepts in used to be used for (in more authen c time and hang your bar’ idea of drinking in a hote impermanence, of myster intersecting lives, in a pla and not home. The cinem a part to play in this, sure tion in its various guises romantic trysts, capers, m like. Suffice it to say, how Monk is less Rita Haywo ing a martini glass at the more English lads’ weeke from Papa John’s pizza bo bar’s kitchen opens at the told) and heckling nearby ous infringements on the This is the precarious em tourist writ large. Susan S travelling individual allev unfamiliar surroundings raphy, engaging with her safe distance of the quoti Englishman with ‘banter’ of the once proud coloni historically so well as a co Queen’s subjects’ baser se of the subjugation of the pose, is the real pitfall of ing a m hmore E aand ntt home. Th uics hat on that. Hobation wh l y in this, surely, with the instild) at tear s inf y fvn th raphy, itset ulltrawelliinge unfam prohibited or something. ‘What’s weird about th he says. ‘Name one profe think for a moment. prohibited or something.’ ‘What’s weird about that? Everybody dr ‘I suppose I thought th ‘They named a bar afte he says. ‘Name one profession that doesn’t think for a moment. The Jolly Mon ‘It’s we it?’ I as the new mean, , t c en ooing dot thhet rt of Octf tbe o hlin vinenr adnert creh ac e w iden n adf e precarious emotional statof the se of th s th 64