We load the car and leave the inn. We get caught in a bit of construction just as we pull out and, while waiting for a steamroller, we’re jolted by a knock on the window. It’s Fred, our innkeeper. Seems my credit card on file from when we booked a year ago had expired. Mandy and I can’t help but laugh… the man has had over 100,000 guests in his 22 years here, and this is probably the first time he had to run a car down to get paid.
We’ve completed the southern loop of Ireland and are bisecting the country on the M6, the road from Galway to Dublin and the most modern highway we have seen here. It’s an easy drive, 130 miles in about two-and-a-half hours. Traffic when we hit the city is a bit of culture shock, the last few miles taking almost 30 minutes. We check into the ALoft in the Liberties section of town right across from the Teeling distillery.
Enough with the saints, time for the sinners so we catch the
2:30 tour and tasting at Teeling. I’ve
never been a Jamison fan (blasphemy in these parts) but I’ve been digging the Teeling. As the tour starts, they explain why. While traditionally whiskey is aged in a
single barrel, Teeling is aged in any combination of ex-bourbon barrels, rum
barrels, and wine casks including sherry, port, Maderia, white Burgundy and
Cabernet Sauvignon. A couple years in
one barrel, some in another, maybe use a third and you get some really complex
and interesting flavors and some damned smooth hooch. We end the tour with a pretty exclusive tasting
of some of the very limited production bottles.
Coming full circle, we’re meeting Allison and Steve for dinner. They pick us up and on the way let us know that Allison’s sister and brother-in-law, Siobhan and Thom, are meeting us at the restaurant. In fact John Kavanagh “The Gravediggers”, our dinner destination was Siobhan’s idea, a favorite haunt of hers. Gravediggers is next door to Glasnevin Cemetery, established in 1872 as the first cemetery for Irish Catholics in Ireland, and we take a few minutes to marvel at the massive headstones and monuments before we head in.
The pub predates the cemetery by 40 years, but reportedly acquired the Gravediggers nickname thanks to the “secret” door in the back where the cemetery workers would be served pints and shots while they dug. The 190-year-old institution has always been a drinking establishment and to this day has never allowed singing or dancing, much less a TV or Wi-Fi. There are partitions and even a set of swinging doors (think Western movie saloon) that break the place into several intimate spaces. The floors are so caked over with Guinness and tobacco stains that the wood has literally bubbled in places. The counters and tabletops are equally as experienced and our pints wobble as set them down in our corner perch. We do as we’re supposed to here, talking with friends and making new ones. It’s amazing how much more social everyone is when the distractions are removed. A few pints, a lot of laughs and I’m pretty sure we invited ourselves to stay with Siobhan and Thom at their place in Sweeden before we say our goodbyes.
We continue next door with Steve and Allison to the restaurant side for some dinner. While the space is equally as historic, the food is a very modern concept – Irish Tapas. What the hell, you may be asking, is Irish Tapas, ‘cause that's what we were asking, too. As it turns out it’s tapas dishes reinvented with an Irish brogue. Some examples best illustrate. Arancini, the traditional Italian rice ball filled with mozzarella and meat, has been scrumptiously redesigned with black pudding, spinach and mixed Irish cheese fillings. Irish spring rolls are filled with ham and cabbage and were surprisingly delish. It’s also our first chance to try coddle, a dish associated with Dublin like Philly does cheesesteaks, which consists of layers of bangers (roughly sliced pork sausages), rashers (wide slices of pan fried ham or bacon), potatoes, sliced onion, spices and herbs. It’s Irish comfort food at it’s most comforting. Did we over order? Yes, yes we did.
Our hosts have one last stop in mind, and we buzz 10 minutes to the edge of Phoenix Park, Dublin’s version of Central Park. Right there, built into the wall of the park since 1610, is The Hole In The Wall, so named for the literal hole in the wall used for about 100 years to serve beer to British soldiers who were not allowed to leave the park while on patrol. The Holer, as the locals call it, also known for being the longest pub in Europe, 100 meters from end-to-end, and from the outside appears as a stretch of row houses. We walk in the main entrance on the far end into an intimate little pub, bar on the left, a few tables on the right. Straight through, we walk into the next intimate little pub space, a bit different from the first but just as charming. As we take our places at the bar, Steve explains that the place just keeps going on like that, room after room, for an entire city block. I go exploring and start chatting with Steve when I get back. Unbeknownst to us, Allison is explaining to Mandy that you haven’t officially been pubbing in Ireland until you steal a pint glass to take home. They settle on a matched pair we just emptied and conspire in hushed tones on their plan to get them into Allison’s couture handbag. Out of nowhere, Conner, the manager of the joint and a charming Irish devil, walks over to the women and says “Well ladies, the place may be ancient, but the security system is modern with very sensitive microphones. At your age, if you’re going to put glasses in that nice bag, they should probably be clean ones”. We are mortified, stunned into silence, but Conner puts down 4 glasses, two Guinness and two Holer, with a big grin on his face. A fitting end to our Irish adventure.
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