Mc Daid’s – As reviewed in The Dubliner magazine

Mc Daid’s

By Jonathan deBurca Butler

The large tiled decoration behind the bar proudly declares that McDaid’s of Harry Street has been on the go since 1873. The portraits of Dublin’s literary greats are particularly poignant as most of them frequented this old Victorian haunt. It’s not hard to imagine Behan or Joyce sitting at the ‘h’ shaped bar or tucked under the stairs at the back.

We love the sublime details; the high ceilings painted a deep red wine, the four small arched windows above the door are wonderfully colourful and would be fit for a Parisian Cathedral, the large and grandiose mirror opposite the bar, and the bookcase high up on the wall must be as old as the dusty books it holds. And all of this under the electric light of two modified gas lamps which dangle lazily looking over the patrons whose Italian leather shoes and high heels clack on the wooden floor.

A Dublin gem.

Mc Daid’s, Harry Street, Dublin 2 6794395

Sometimes it’s good to say no

When the Irish people voted no to the Lisbon treaty earlier this year, we were given a good ticking off by all the yes advocates both at home and abroad. We were looked upon as fools and paranoid freaks. People were tearing their hair out and looking to heaven as if the sky was about to fall on Ireland. We were told ‘this is it, there is no better deal’. We were told that we would be left behind. Nothing could be done.

Less than a year later there is, it seems, a better deal on the table, I’m delighted I said no. There is always a better deal. 

And what today’s result shows more than anything is that those people, in Ireland particularly (and particularly certain parts of Dublin where the most ‘educated’ people alledgedly come from), who feel that we shouldn’t be bothered to question, debate and vote on our future in Europe because we can’t influence anything are and were wrong. The rejection of this treaty will now result in all E.U. countries keeping a commissioner. And even if this is the only ‘concession’ granted, at least the Irish have made the E.U. think again. The rest of Europe’s citizens, if not the politicians, will wonder why they weren’t given the same opportunity.

Kehoe’s – An Unseasonable treat – As published in Totally Dublin – August 2008

By Jonathan deBurca Butler

 

Migration is a funny and wonderful fact of nature.  In winter for example, some breeds of whale move to warmer waters to breed and give birth, moving back in the summer to the colder climes of the north to feed. Perhaps, the steak and chips are better in the northern hemisphere. But whatever their motives this is what some whales do.

 

 In the same way there are certain pubs that I don’t go to at certain times of the year and I wondered if this bent was instinctive. I had this on my mind as I went, with my girlfriend, to have a few unseasonable jars in Kehoe’s of South Anne Street.

 

I hadn’t been here for months. So I say unseasonable, because this famous pub, which sits just off Grafton Street, is a place that I associate with the winter months. It is a warm, welcoming and cosy pub, synonymous with Christmas and annual reunions. So I found it a bit odd coming here on a warm summer’s evening; a bit like a fish in the wrong waters. However, as we approached the flower-laden exterior, it dawned on me that I shouldn’t have felt that way.

 

  Around about the time RTE newscasters were getting ready to give us more doom and gloom recession news, we ambled through the rather relaxed crowd that was lapping up the sunshine underneath the pub’s well-known neon-sign and strolled into the bar, where punters anxiously watched the gee gees on the box. A convivial atmosphere is never far from this spot and this evening, albeit a Monday, was no different.

 

 We ordered our drinks, a pint of Guinness for myself at €4.60 and a Heineken for herself at €4.95(a bit hefty?), and headed straight for the snug- a small and comfortable room just off the main bar (mind your head).

 

As we sank into the small leather couch and chatted about the day’s events, we took in the atmosphere of the place that has given both of us quite a few memories, and blackouts, over the years. We both agreed that there has always been a good mix of people in here. Both country-folk and rugby jocks in their suits mix quite freely with the musos and arty types. All groups hang about on a Friday or Saturday night looking at themselves, and others, in the many mirrors that adorn the walls and the warm mahogany interiors.

 

For our second pint we went up the broad, creaky stairs to the living room area, which wasn’t too busy at all. Save for the very courteous barman and what seemed to be an admirer of his twirling her hair, we had only ourselves and framed calendars recalling Ireland’s sweet and sour history for company.

 

Half way through the pints we decided to go up to the smoking terrace -and it is just a terrace- where we spoke about the good weather and how it can transform this city. We spoke a little bit about whale migration too, until we figured it was time to eat.

 

“Fish and chips?” I suggested.

 

“Sounds good to me,” said my missus and we headed for the chipper, safe in the knowledge that Kehoe’s is a good spot all year round.