74) M. Hughes of Chancery Street, D7
Permanently Closed. R.I.P.
Formerly W.J. O’Hare’s. An ‘early-house’ and favourite of lawyers, off-duty judges and pissed-up barristers, unsurprising given its location at the back of the Four Courts. Some amusing legal caricatures decorate the walls. Food is served for lunch but not to a degree so ostentatious that the solitary liquid luncher need feel outcast or ashamed. Family run, it seemingly also shuts for a civil siesta around the hours of circa 2-3pm – they are also sufficiently pious and god-fearing to keep their doors shut of a Sunday morning or even evening – bad news for the thirsting heathen.
The front room, an oversized snug with hatch to the bar, attracts the sun during the day, and sometimes plays host to organised pub crawls or trad sessions during the night. For a view, one may wonder at little Chancery Park over the road with its hedge of herons inside its fountain and its rooftop garden atop the janitor’s shed. There’s an immoral air about the place with walls that must have heard many a dirty secret down the years from big wigs out of the Four Courts.
Sam was once served an undrinkable pint of Beamish here – almost unheard of and probably/hopefully an anomaly. The decrepit barman can occasionally muster a witticism – upon serving up a pint of porter with an overlarge head of froth, he promptly took it back for re-pouring, quipping: 'I'm making an archbishop of ye.'
Update as of 2019: unfortunately the bad Beamish is an anomaly no more. Pints were yet again undrinkable – having waited ten minutes, Sam Coll was served another real stinker, complete with non-existent head and general flatness and tepidity, gag-inducing and puke-worthy. To spare the doddery barman's blushes, he poured it down the toilet, though in retrospect would have done well to call attention to it and send it back, in the hope that they might up their game in future. But one senses somehow that their heart is not in it. Indeed, this is a pub in peril. M. Hughes! How long are you for this world? Your hours are erratic, your booze is rank and your shutters are too frequently down. Jump your pulse, clean your pipes and for the love of the lord don’t give up!
Update as of 2020: it has only now come to our attention that the owner of the said pub was one Michael Hughes [1], no longer with us, having gone to his reward in June of 2019. His son Martin Hughes now has the responsibility of managing the pub. This changing of the guard must explain the recent decline. Come on Martin, you can do it if you really want!
Update as February 2024: While M. Hughes’ remains sadly gone, the pub shall still be celebrated by the likes of our very own Brendan Gleeson and Sean McGinley. The trailer for their excellent filmic celebration may be accessed right here, hit the link and hit the cinemas (especially the IFI) thereafter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jv4ucHw9Hvs
A forlorn toast to the future fortunes of M. Hughes
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