363) BrewDog of 4 Three Locks Square, Hanover Quay, D2
One will note that we have been frequently harsh on crafty beery crappy pappy pseudo-pubs in these pages, and deservedly so. But for every rule there usually comes an exception, and this particular Brewdog proves to be one. This unusual Scottish chain had 99 firms worldwide, when in December of 2019, Dublin became its 100th installation. It boasts a ‘Beer School’ in the midst of its own microbrewery and is proud to be firmly on the side of dog-friendly, not surprising given the name. It immediately came in for harsh reviews and criticism with many bemoaning the price of food, its slowness to serve and its insistence on making patrons order drinks by downloading and using an insufferable App which often failed and delayed. It wasn’t until 2021 when it came into its own, standing out from the bulk of the crowd by dint of its kindness, soundness and indelibly beautiful location. While most pubs that deigned to serve a takeaway pint during the pandemic would mostly leave you in the lurch as regards toilets (resulting in, as the papers put it, a lot of ‘unsightly and unsanitary public urinating’), Brewdog magnanimously opened wide its doors and permitted all pissers to scurry upstairs for a slash. Kudos and hats off!
You can’t bark for a Beamish, nor growl for a Guinness, but you will want to lap this stuff up!
While no Guinness nor Beamish is served (craft is crafty, after all), they do serve an excellent oatmeal stout that they call ‘Jet Black Heart’, available both tinned and draughtily - and only for some four euros and seven cents or so! In canned form, its alcohol content is 6%, so watch out! Like a creamy Murphy’s, it slides down the gullet rather too easily, hence one is too easily entrapped in this would-be-Vortex-wannabe. One such Vortex prisoner would appear to be this institution’s very own owner, a lost soul some fifty years young going on fifteen, who lounges about the premises and surroundings in attire more befitting a junior. Indeed this lonely legend is deeply indicative of the establishment itself. He sits a manboy among menboys, and one can rely on his sporting a pair of shorts, a faded t-shirt, a ponytail and a dark and dirty hoodie. He’s a real-life Jeff Albertson (AKA ‘Comic Book Guy’ of Simpson fame), or a failed grunge singer (much akin to Eddie Vedder) forever stuck in the 1990s Seattle scene. Nobody speaks to him and he speaks to nobody, sitting in silence and feeding on freebies from his own larder.
You’ll have more pluck with Mikey, a seasoned barkeep despite his shortage of years, he’ll remember your order and repeat your dose whenever he gets the nod. Well done Mikey! Fundamental Fact: Because of its scenic location, economy of fine stout, and availability of a pot into which one can piss, Sam, Andy, and Dani (girlfriend/now wife of Andy’s and TDP’s web designer) came here during lockdown in April 2021 for The Dublin Publopedia’s Public Publication Party! Despite having to find shelter from a long running pelt of fat rain, they had a fine view of the Poolbeg Pipes on the horizon and an endless supply of Jet Black Heart. Thus they did drink, heartily. But did we mention location, location, location? At the right time of day and month and year, Grand Canal Dock can sparkle as radiant as a tiger in a jewel. Bark on, Brewdog, long may you brew!
Update as of February 2023: Everything has its time in the sun and period of grace, and so it would seem that Brewdog’s mega-moment, from a Publopedian’s point of view, was strictly during the pandemic, so lovingly described above. We finally revisited during the chill of 2023’s damp February, just to see if any of the charm that we have already described remained. Dream on. We found the front door plastered with politically correct piffle about safe spaces and witless warnings about toxic behavior - setting the tone for the visit.
As opposed to drinking cheerily by the canal, we entered the roomy and chilly and voluminous interior, and made for the counter to order, like you usually do in pubs. Sadly, the dreadful service we received strongly recalled that of Wetherspoons (they are clearly too used to getting orders on the crappy app, and have no wish to engage with human customers in customary humane fashion). One barman glanced at us, shrugged, and moved on. Another barman (to whom we gestured in vain, all but pointing at the taps) sniggered at us, and tapped the shoulder of a third. This third barman took the biscuit - he turned around and acted shocked to see us, like a deer or rabbit in the headlights, to non-coin a phrase. Shocked at his seeming shock, Andy was moved to quip, ‘Are you frightened to see us?’ No comment from these dullards.
We placed our order and went to a table - a quick glance at the other customers, besuited and moneyed and laden with dogs on leashes, proved that we were trebly unpopular for not having ordered food. We were served, and we supped with profound displeasure a SEVEN EURO NINETY Black Heart Stout - different from the above mentioned ‘Jet Black Heart’ - Andy’s verdict was, it started promisingly, but only got worse the more and more he sipped, with a strong and foul hint of detergent in subsequent sups. The round for just two pints thus came to FIFTEEN FUCKING EUROS AND EIGHTY FUCKING CENTS - were we in Temple Bar? Two for the price of three! Really, really not worth the whistle.
THESE WERE TOXIC - SO WE LEFT IMMEDIATELY
A quick scan of the menu proves that no burger vends for cheaper than FIFTEEN EUROS AND NINETY FIVE CENTS. The place offers a Vegan Monday and a Wings Wednesday. As we drank, some machine kept emitting a persistent ‘beep’ noise - we toyed with the idea of drinking every time it beeped, but we didn’t want to get sick too soon and such a stunt really wasn’t worth it. It’s good to know that the place is Carbon Negative, it has nothing else to recommend it. We left in a ripped-off huff, profoundly glad to see the back of it. Moral of the story? You can’t go home again, so leave well alone.
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