Formerly The Green Dolphin. Restaurant upstairs ensures it’s on the gastro side. The bar is sound enough - polished and had a recent new lick of paint but solidly traditional. Serves Beamish, praise be, and at €4.90 at that - same as the seemingly more downmarket The Inn up the road. Located right beside the Santry River and Watermill Road, hence the evocative and aqueous-minded name. Deathly silence reigned during our visit - the TV was on, but the volume was reduced to a mostly inaudible murmur, much like the converse of the respectable and respectful clientele. Andrew Stephens found the Beamish a bit rough, suggestive of dirty taps and lack of flow, comparing unfavourably to the previous silken cream we had enjoyed in The Inn. Still, at least it’s being poured. A vintage ad on the wall declared: BEAMISH HAS A REAL FULL-BODIED FLAVOUR. (Give that adman a raise! Another ad reads: WANTED: BRAIN CELLS - encore, encore!).

There are pockmarked gunshot leather couches, a visible dumb waiter, abundant bronze as well as a mini-library of Stephen Kings and Danielle Steeles. Some sloppy customer was delivering sob stories to the barman, oft repeating that he’ll be gone soon (off the earth, not from the bar). One can use one’s wrist or forearm to open the doors leading to the toilets - an ingenious system, no doubt introduced during the height of Covid-era paranoia about touching dirty surfaces. Andy paid for our round with a €10 note, and coyly asked the barman: ‘Will that do?’ Quipped back the publican: ‘It’ll do FOR NOW…’

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