Formerly Cumiskey’s, then Kavanaghs’, currently owned by the Devitt family who have broken the chain and made the establishment distinct by name. The abode was once a drapery shop owned by two sisters in the 1950’s. The Devitts have not only honoured the sisters by title, but also by incorporating a small section of the pub named ‘The Sewing Room’ for private events. Is the name of the pub its best feature? Almost certainly! The lounge is a glorified restaurant and to be avoided unless one wants feeding. The bar is much better, a small and respectable mahogany & brass sort of affair which leads to a modest beer garden out the back. Glory be to St. Brendan for the delicious Beamish which pours at €4.50 a pint!

A former owner and family member (who still works the odd shift) was once branded the ‘the thickest man in Ireland.’ Parsimonious to the point of puking, he once ran out of the pub chasing after a regular because he thought he owed €2.50 for a cup of coffee. The upstanding regular had in fact paid the paltry monies and subsequently sued him to the tune of €8,000 for defamation of character. This person, also known in some quarters as ‘The Donkey’ wears a glass eye, the original having been lost to a hurley accident for the cause of the county Dublin.

We noticed an unusual trend among the barmen: each was shamelessly moustachioed which was distinctive. Ultimately, the penny had a parachute, for it was the middle of ‘movember’ and they were collecting hair on the upper lip for the golly of a charity. Their ‘Tapas Tuesdays’ with ‘live flamenco guitar’ is heavily advertised, as is the fact that they have 20 local employees working to keep the pub in business. 

This is the current local of former pintman and part-time pubhunter extraordinaire who reigns from the county Sligo: Mr. Martin Haughey. The pub is not worthy of him, but seeing as he’s in his later years it’s a case of as well here as another! His knowledge of Dublin Pubs surpasses most as he will not only tell you what street a given pub is located, he’ll tell you the name of the proprietor - and all from memory (although that’s slowly fading). Martin is teeming with stories of publican life such as the ones about the above.

Another such story was of poor Jack Kirwan ‘who used-drink in a shop of early-house hours up on the quay.’ Kirwan would shuffle in at precisely 7.30am with hands trembling for the need of it. He would sit up at the counter quivering and cry for ‘a large Jameson no water no ice.’ As soon as his poison arrived he would loosen his tie, fashion a sort of sling, slide his wrist through a loop, grab a hold of the glass, and proceed to pull the other end of his tie thus mechanically raising the drink to his pouting mouth. Only after the first of many was in him would the shaking dissipate. Poor Jack Kirwan, gone to his reward - he trembles no more. We remember him thanks to Martin Haughey who enters The Two Sisters by day, takes a gallon of Guinness, and leaves it The Four Sisters by night.

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