Cosy and distinguished old-style place with a very fine authentic snug and some laughably low counters, marred by prohibitive costliness in recent years. Buyer Beware: cash only (not anymore). Saunders and Stephens were once caught out here after their stouts had already been poured. They searched every pocket trying to make up the cash - and when they came up €1.60 short the barman said ‘I’ll let yea away with it provided yea be honest lads and drop it in the next time.’ They were happily dishonest in this case and never gave the pub another penny.

Has seemingly formed a chain of pubs, for another (inferior) Slattery's, with identical typeface and painted lettering on the sign, can be found on the way to Sandymount. One barman (in the Rathmines original) resembles John Lennon (if he'd lived) and has an off-puttingly supercilious manner. In 2008 the upstairs room played a key role in the short-lived and fairly atrocious (and rapidly cancelled) RTE offering called The Roaring Twenties.

The pub is also of interest for hosting the last surviving example of a Dublin 'shawlie' – a dark little extra side room, usually furnished by no more than a bare bench, entered via another door distinct to the main entrance, where in days of yore the womenfolk (forbidden access to the central body of the bar by the laws of the time) could sidle in surreptitiously and be served a lesser porter through a small hole, the delights of a superior Guinness being similarly denied them.

UPDATE AS OF AUGUST 2024: Much of the above must be repudiated or at least richly embellished. To start with, both Stephens and Saunders have very much since given the pub another penny among dozens and many, since cards are now very much accepted as valid payment. Cash remains king, but a king in the throes of dividing his kingdom.

No, it must be said and said frankly, Slatterys is a gem among gems, a classic Dublin pub if ever there was one, especially beautiful in a middling to late summer afternoon when the slanting sunlight draws an eye towards the many exquisite details of the decor - the mustard walls, the columns, the glittering glassy wall of bottled spirits and the strategically placed mirrors. Regulars are regular and recognisable and much respected by staff.

Of particular interest is the corner shelf of secondhand or borrowed books - the selection of volumes on offer is not bad (plenty of Jeffrey Archer and Barbara Taylor Bradford and Judith Krantz and Frederick Forsyth and Liz Nugent - OMG, I’m a big Liz Nugent fan), but note further - said shelf also doubles as a swivel door or secret passage leading to only Gawd or the barman knows where, lending the quiet alcove all the intrigue of Wayne Manor (strictly under Michael Keaton’s guardianship in the ‘92 rendition, best version by far).

But most importantly of all, these days the pub serves a sterling creamy BEAMISH for €5.90 euros. The Rathmines road stretch is indeed rich in sundry worthy institutions serving said beverage, what with Murphys and Graces and Corrigans and etcetera. After a thirsty shift, Slatterys will give you a lift. Enough said, solid gold, I am sold, so be bold.

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