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Dublin By Pub
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Pubs
Pubs
166 photos
Cumiskey's
East Side Tavern
Doyle's Corner
Oval
King's Inn
Black Sheep
Arthur's
Agnes Brownes
Swan
Oil Can Harry's
Cobblestone
The Malt
Hogan's
Brogan's
Cassidy's - Camden Street
Gravedigger's 2
Mulligan & Haine's
Banker's
Palace 1
O Donoghue's - Merrion Row
Hapenny Bridge Inn
Lord Edward
Harkin's
Baker's
Dice Bar
Frank Ryan's
Grogan's
International 1
Tom Kennedy's
Nancy Hand's
L Mulligan Grocer
Blue Light
Gill's 2
Gill's 1
Palace 1
DBP 20190309
Bowe's
Sweetman's
Duke
Bohemian McGeough's
Clarke's
ONeill's
Fibber Magee's
Oak
Long Hall
McGettigan's
Piper's Corner
Sheehan's
Davy Byrne's
Kennedys Westland Row
The Lower Deck
Peter's Pub
Neary's
Bernard Shaw (Portobello)
Toner's
Delaney's
O Donoghue's (Suffolk)
Doheny & Nesbitt's
Bruxelle's
Dominick Inn
Lannigan's
Gravedigger's
Nealons
Liberty Belle
T O Brennan
Madigan's
Peadar Browne's
Lott's
Jimmy Rabbittes
Boar's Head
Gingerman
Old Royal Oak
Ferryman
Wetherspoons (Silver Penny)
Gingerman
Mulligan's
Hut
Back Page
Patriot's Inn
Hughe's
Hut
J O'Connell
Turk's Head
Anseo
Chaplin's
Slatery's Capel Street
Gravedigger's 3
JM Cleary's
Flowing Tide
Doyle's
Lincoln's Inn
Jimmy Rabittes LS
Fallon's
Long Stone
Maye's
Clarke's City Arms
Hyne's
O'Reilly's (Tara St.)
Fitzgerald's - Aston Quay
TP Smith's
The Beer Market
Ryan's - Camden Street
J O'Connell's (LS)
Devitts
The Bleeding Horse
Bernard Shaw - Portobello - 2021
The Barge
McGrattan's
Toners 2021
The Lombard
The Windjammer
Molloy's
The Globe
The Snug
The Lucky Duck
Brewdog
PantiBar
Leonard's Corner
Walsh's (Stoneybatter)
Delaney's LS
Kenny's (James' St.)
Old Royal Oak (LS)
The Harold House
The International
J O'Connell - Skryne
Kavanagh's New St.
The Glimmerman
The Oval
The Auld Triangle
The Malt
The Clock
Becky Morgan's
Fallon's
Kavanagh's (Stoneybatter)
Brewdog (Day)
The Belfry
The Liberty Belle
The Lark Inn
The Magnet
The Shakespeare
Keavan's Port
Briodys
The Confession Box
The Beer Temple
The Deer's Head
The Bison Bar
The Foggy Dew
J.M. Cleary's
The Chancery Inn
Taco Libre
O'Connell's (Bachelor's Walk)
Mayes
The Hill 16
The Lotts
Llyod's
Porterhouse Temple Bar
Bachelor Inn
The Hairy Lemon
Against The Grain
The Sackville
The Bottle Boy
Noctor's
Grogan's (Bowe's Ghost Sign}
The Big Tree
MwMas

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The Foggy Dew: Fownes St. Packed into the pub cor The Foggy Dew: Fownes St.

Packed into the pub corner, the sweaty milieu are assembled with little regard for personal space. In various mixes of pork pie hats, belts, braces, polo, checkered and gingham shirts - they shake the foundations with their Doc Marten stomps. They move in deference to the refrain of the brass and in rhythm to the short sharp strokes of the tinny telecaster. Momentarily, when the timing is right, they swill at sloppy pints whose dark body and white creamy heads fit their two-tone devotion. They have work in the morning. We all have work in the morning. It’s a Sunday evening in The Foggy Dew.

Though it ain’t what it used to be, according to ageing ska heads I overheard in a nearby pub one day, and though you’ll hear other genres on the makeshift stage, therein, The Foggy Dew is one of Dublin’s best-known venues for the regular consumption of the live performances of Ska. Ska, a music genre and subculture I’ll admit to knowing relatively little about, has its roots in the Caribbean nation of Jamaica, and for the life of me, in my more naïve youth, I could never quite get my brain to comprehend the actuality of this exotic foreign music having established its home in a pub that takes its name, verbatim, from a traditional song about 1916 The Easter Rising that was written by a priest.... [𝟭/𝟯 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗯𝘆𝗽𝘂𝗯.𝗶𝗲 - 𝗟𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗯𝗶𝗼]

#Dublin

#ireland

#pubs

#beer
The Palace Bar is celebrating its 200th Birthday t The Palace Bar is celebrating its 200th Birthday this month.

It remains one of Dublin's great, great pubs. Here's a snap of it I took on #kodak film a while back.

#dublin #ireland #pints #filmphotography
#Dublin is home to plenty of pubs with links to co #Dublin is home to plenty of pubs with links to counties beyond the pale - Tipperary and Cavan publicans are well known in the city, but Bowe's of Fleet Street is the only pub we know of with links to County #Carlow.

In the second image, you can see where the county colours of Red, Green and Yellow are incorporated into the facade of the building.

And in the third, you can also see some Carlow-inspired stained glass inside the #pub in this image that Pintman №12 sent to me a while back. He was telling me that the barman said it's not uncommon for punters to wonder what African country it depicts.

Bowe's is a great pub that's become known for the quality of its pint in recent years. It's also one of Dublin's greatest bars for whiskey, too.
The King's Inn: Bolton Street Upon the cobbleston The King's Inn: Bolton Street

Upon the cobblestone streets built over basement dwellings which once made up the quarters of the lowest of the pauper class, Dubliners can still hear the clipping and the clopping of expensive leather as it makes its way up Henrietta Street.

In the past, it might have been an MP, fresh from his engagements in Grattan’s Parliament or a captain of industry arriving at his city townhouse. Nowadays it’s often a lawyer or a barrister, or one to be, at least. And usually, they’d be making their way towards the building which gives the pub we intend to write about here its name – that building (or set of buildings, even) is known as The Honourable Society of The Kings Inns – to give it its full title.

A prestigious institute that sits in a James Gandon (he of custom house fame) designed building; this place is the foremost centre for learning the law in all of Ireland. And aside from giving the pub at the end of the street its name, it also affords it a few customers from time to time, as we’d found out one Christmas time. But let us come back to that. [𝟭/𝟯 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗯𝘆𝗽𝘂𝗯.𝗶𝗲 - 𝗟𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗯𝗶𝗼]
Kenny's: James'Street Standing and sitting all ar Kenny's: James'Street

Standing and sitting all around him, they gaze ahead, unemotionally, and in glib expectation of a continuance of the mediocrity that has so far graced the stage on this cold winter’s night. He has no light show, no backing band, and no bejewelled jumpsuit for to dazzle them with – he’s garbed in a nondescript t-shirt and the pair of brown cords that we always slag him about wearing. He’s singing into a budget microphone, over a synthesizer-heavy, cheap-sounding backing track. Though it’s all eyes rolling and lips pursing as they recognise his song choice, his timely deployment of a few hip swivels and arm rotations has them softened before the first chorus comes in.

By the time he’s dropped to his knees for the middle-eighth and pleaded with the nearest pensioner to “wipe the tears from your eyes” and “not let a good thing die”, he has them fully onside for the home stretch. Finishing the song, he takes his applause and joins us where we’d been laughing at him in the crowd, throughout. After enquiring with us as to where he’d left his pint, we all returned to our seats in the bar and rejoined the remainder of our friends and the prostitute who had since joined us at the table...

*** 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐲𝐩𝐮𝐛.𝐢𝐞.  𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐢𝐨 ***

Also, just as Kenny's tends to have cars outside it on the seldom occasions that I pass, I decided put it through Photoshop's new AI Fill to see how it would handle removing the cars. Results, in the second image, were very convincing. AI is gonna destroy us all. God bless. Have a nice evening.
Tommy O'Gara's of Stoneybatter - a pub that feels Tommy O'Gara's of Stoneybatter - a pub that feels like it hasn't changed too much in the wake of the neighbourhood's relatively-new found trendiness.
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#architecture
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The Barn House: Dolphins Barn When the war finall The Barn House: Dolphins Barn

When the war finally came and the sands around the city were raised by hellfire from above, Amani could hardly believe the calm that had washed over her. All through the previous weeks, nervous energy had clung to every street in the city like a foul smell from which there was no escape – she felt it intensely, thinking of little else as the men in suits on the other side of the world pondered her and her country’s fate. So, when the first troops arrived and the noise of the city’s traffic and its hurried inhabitants had given way to interludes of intense quiet which padded the thunderous cacophony of war, she couldn’t help but feel a conflicting sense of relief. Relief that, even though all had changed utterly, at least, for now, the waiting and the tension were over. 
 
As the invasion advanced and Amani’s calm subsided, and she expected that it would soon become enveloped by fear. But as she watched and heard of events that unfolded, she instead had become stricken with anger. And not the prevailing shade of anger familiar to all, across the city, who heard it shrieked from the political leaders and the radical Imams, but an anger for those who had no regard for the sanctity of the artefacts of the past. She found herself incandescent with fury upon hearing of the looters. The selfish and the greedy - who took it upon themselves to pillage priceless relics from the nearby National Museum, while the city was on its knees. Equal, too, was her ire for those who just stood by and allowed them to do it. 
 
At that time and after it was apparent that forces belonging to her, and to her country’s invaders, did not share her views on the sanctity of the relics. Protection for millennia-old Mesopotamian remains or for pre-Islamic art was not evident. What was evident, however, was the interest that the invading forces had in protecting infrastructure and resources pertaining to the country’s oil industry. 
 
The above is a fictionalised account of an eyewitness report I read [𝟭/𝟯 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗯𝘆𝗽𝘂𝗯.𝗶𝗲 - 𝗟𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗯𝗶𝗼]
The Malt House: James' Street Each and every June The Malt House: James' Street

Each and every June, they don their straw boaters and bedeck themselves in their finest Edwardian splendour. By foot, bicycle, and horse-drawn cart, they can be seen as they to and fro around that familiar circuit. They’ll be spotted alongside the fortifications of Sandycove, and they’ll be seen at the mouth of Westland Row. They’ll be seen on Stephen’s Green and in Merrion Square. You’ll undoubtedly see them out on the pavement of Duke Street as they quaff overpriced burgundy for to dull the sharp sting of the similarly overpriced gorgonzola that has just passed their lips. But one place you will almost certainly not see them is at Number 27 James’ Street. And for the life of me, I cannot begin to fathom why.

I’m not sure if it’s just me. Still, every time that Bloomsday – a day I’ve heard referred to as Paddy’s Day for arseholes on more than one occasion – rolls around, I find myself a bit annoyed that all of the reportage from that day invariably centres around those familiar and picturesque vistas mentioned above.

I’m not trying to sound bitter, but having, as Joyce did too, a bit of a persecution complex, I’m always a bit annoyed that we rarely see images from the more working-class areas featured in Joyce’s writing. Areas like James’ Street and pubs like The Malt... [𝟭/𝟯 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗯𝘆𝗽𝘂𝗯.𝗶𝗲 - 𝗟𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗯𝗶𝗼]
The Bottle Boy: North Wall Quay When boyhood's f The Bottle Boy: North Wall Quay

When boyhood's fire was in my blood, you'd often find me - huddled with the rest outside the hall. Them all with their extra bags and tracksuit bottoms; and me, with no such additional accoutrements other than a note which had been begged from one of my reluctant parents the night prior. A note that would exclude me from the next double class of physical education.

For back then, I was part of that misunderstood troupe of schoolchildren who resisted our school's insistence that we go run and jump for 60 minutes at a time. Our reasons for such resistance were many and varied - but one of mine related to a particular disdain I had toward a particular type of exercise – arguably the most archetypal exercise of all: the press-up. Be it red-faced educators shouting for five more, or factions of classmates performatively executing them in a furore of hormone-fuelled competitiveness, press-ups always seemed to activate some sort of deep-set, multi-generational terror in me. And I was want to avoid them at all costs.

Thankfully, nothing in this world lasts forever. And eventually, The Leaving Cert was sat and Ewan McColl's words about schooldays were ringing true - and with no plans for a career in the defence forces or the fitness industry, I could be reasonably satisfied that the days in which I could be threatened by press-ups were well and truly over. Right? Well... no! Decades have passed since your humble narrator was dodging PE classes and all these years later, he has found himself battling, once again, against press-ups. But not as we had known them.

It was in the fallout period from the global recession at the outset of the 21st century, that Dubliners began to notice things and to ask questions about places they were drinking, eating, or staying in. Questions like - Have I been to this pub before? Is this not very similar to that other hotel I was in? And then eventually, the dots would have been joined and someone would say those two words. Those two doom-laden words… Press. Up. [𝟭/𝟯 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗯𝘆𝗽𝘂𝗯.𝗶𝗲 - 𝗟𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗯𝗶𝗼]
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    For an hour and a half, I drank liquor so rare You’d swear it was made by the gods in the air Out of nectars and honey, and lotuses fair. And it freshly came over the border. When I came to write this little blog post, it was entirely appropriate that I had the above-quoted […]

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