380) E. McGrath of Faussagh Avenue, Cabra, D7

Yet another pleasant surprise. Despite a bold exterior this pub was warm and welcoming. An old relic of a Beamish (& Crawford) sign hangs on high outside and we were delighted to find Beamish bonding at only €4.30. The barwoman said she hoped the Beamish tasted nice - and indeed it did. She wiped the overflow of froth off the side of the glass with the tip of her pinkie and licked it off the said pinkie, reminiscent of a certain barman in the faraway McCloskey’s. Inside one will find a dark but a huge roomy lounge filled with nooks and crannies to take a date. ‘I wanna eat yer squirrel’ was scrawled beneath the counter’s flap. The toilets yielded yet more scrawls such as ‘cook me sock fudder mucker.’ Very evocative.

There’s a large TV that likes to pause mid game much to the annoyance of the sporty types. What glory, there’s a roaring open fire which was well lit at the time of our visit. Tippler’s Tip: mind the step en route to the jacks. Many a drunk, we dare say, have fallen victim to its height. High overhead one will find a sign forbidding the act of SINGING - and yet we all sang anyway, in spite of, perhaps in defiance of the warning, Publopedians included! We joined in with the crowd when we could and even sang amongst ourselves - everything from Love’s Old Sweet Song to Honolulu Baby. What jolly! We gladly recommend this pub if you find yourself dry in this neck of the woods.

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