28 Jan • Written by Sam Coll and Andy Stephens

7) Grogan, J., The Castle Lounge of South William Street, D2

Hugely overrated central Dublin pub, a favourite of tourists, students, piss artists, minor poets, bitchy authors, dedicated drunks and the editorial staff of The Stinging Fly. The bar people are hugely unfriendly, their ill temper exacerbated by the constant pressure of booming business to which they turn away on a whim. Buyer Beware: cash only (Update as of June 2021, at last, finally, they are now using a card machine). Also, strictly no radio and no television can be heard or seen which is usually a bonus, however in this instance it only paves the way for a quiet pint to be ruined by the insufferable guff of egos vying for chatting rights. Seats are almost invariably impossible to get, but when gotten release a strong fragrance of scrotum with a heavy hint of anus. The toilets are tiny, dark and absolutely filthy.

One barman, bald and corpulent, is among the most unwelcoming and unfriendly in the city. Their mediocre pre-made toasted sandwiches were hailed by Totally Dublin as one of 200 reasons to stay in Dublin [1], just one instance of the exalted sentimental regard in which this bar is held. (Karl McDonald, writer of said article, has nonetheless subsequently left Dublin notwithstanding Grogan’s celestial toasties). We could go on about the sycophantic sort of bootlicking Grogan’s is gifted with, in fact, we will...

• ‘Grogan’s serves the best toasted sandwiches in the city, no nonsense, wrapped in plastic. Old-school perfection.’ – The Dubliner.

• ‘Grogan’s is everything a good pub should be and more.’– The Goodness Guide.

• ‘Tommy, the most gallant bar owner in Dublin.’ – The Observer.

• ‘Don't leave without asking for a toasty.’ – Lovin Dublin.

• ‘Grogan’s might well be the perfect pub.’ – Golf Digest.

One can see how there’s never a mention of the reigning atmosphere of backbiting bitterness and a particularly Dublin form of malevolence that prevails here. Well we’ve mentioned it, blasphemous and sacrilegious as it may seem to be. Novelist Roddy Doyle has played a positive part in this regard and can be seen online talking about a time he and his friend were walking past ‘a pub called Grogan’s [2].’ His friend wanted to stop in for a pint, to which Roddy replied: ‘no, no, it’s full of bitter unpublished poets, we’re not going in there!’ After eventually being persuaded, they both entered, and just as Doyle was approaching the bar, some guy turned around, looked him square in the face and said: ‘what the fuck are you doing in here?’ 

Sam Coll is technically 'barred' from here on account of shouting down his phone one night in 2014 which provoked the wrath of a barman, who charmingly told him to ‘SHUT THE FUCK UP’. As of 2019, an ATM was installed on the premises, rendering it even more of a death trap for the vulnerable drinker keen to fast replenish and faster squander their liquefying funds. Initially set up in the centre of the bar where it hogged proceedings and got in the way of human traffic, after much protest it was subsequently moved to a more discreet spot by the counter where it was less liable to inhibit the flow. Also known for the questionable works of art strung about the walls available for purchase at absurdly high prices – many a drunkard has woken from a night's debauch only to find these garish monstrosities coating his walls with no idea how they got there, his wallet having emptied in the process. 

The smoking area runs the length of a laneway called ‘Castle Market.’ An old sign painted vertically which reads ‘Castle Lounge’ can still be seen on the building overhead. A mildly interesting stained-glass section on the interior wall depicts the pub inhabited by various ‘Groganites’ including deceased Dubliner and bohemian Liam Brady, along with the said proprietor Tommy Smith [3] (who’s on record stating: ‘people is the currency I like to have around me, ya’know?’ If that’s true, Tommy, then lower your prices! [4] He is said to have once said: 'Sure what would I be doing with a fiver?'). The piece also shows a circular table containing a swirl of names belonging to regulars both living and the dead. One such patron is the late Paddy Finnegan (see: O’Neill’s).

Current regulars that can be spotted imbibing include elaborately moustached and scarfed cartoonist Tom Mathews (flamboyant and famed for the doggerel: 'Henry James Had Two King's Names/But So I Fear Did Edward Lear'), loudmouth Protestant and real-life 'Ginger Man' Michael George Hartley, as well as Hugo Bell, a grouchy carpenter who lives with his mother. Less regular visitors have included the 'comedians' Amy Schumer and Judd Apatow, who in 2015 stopped in for a session with none but Glen Hansard (this unlikely trio can be seen on YouTube, serenading some newlyweds with a passable rendition of The Auld Triangle)[5]. Scenes from the films Out of Here and Dublin Old School have also been filmed here. 

Tipplers Tip: It is incumbent on us to issue a warning about the heavy wooden trapdoor behind the bar which leads down to an underground stockroom. Every single staff member refuses to close this door with any care or consideration - opting instead to let it fall - causing an almighty thud that makes the air itself tremble. Patrons’ sips regularly miss the mark as a result and such a fluctuation may one day produce a massive heart attack even in a fledgling drinker. Therefore, a wall-mounted Defibrillator is required and is reflective of what this old orifice needs: a heart-restarter. 

Update as of March 2022: We’re nothing if not tenacious. It had been some time since inside Grogan’s we sat. After such a roasting of a review we thought don’t let’s be forever set in stone and since the sad passing of Tommy Smith one wondered what transformations had occurred inside, if any. In an effort to remain incognito – just one of the Publopedians tentatively entered to make the following report: It was a cold Monday afternoon in early March, and Grogan’s looked like Merchant’s Arch – teeming and thronged. One would guess that no such other pub does a roaring trade as here.

The first thing worthy of note was that 3 or 4 of the staff behind the bar were young and of the trendy sort, hipster types, top-knotted, etc. Okay, no fat fuck to belch his ‘welcome’– a good sign. An unsmiling more senior barman (who later revealed himself as ‘Karl’) gave a stoic greeting with a barkeep’s-under-pressure ‘what’ll I get you?’ And what wonder! Beamish still bonds and was even brought down to the table. After electronically tapping a whopping €5.50 from my account to theirs – the Beamo was mine. Perfectly poured, the pint was of an excellent standard. Such toothsome liquid was clearly in the habit of flowing for it was a Beamish without blemish. Busy barman Karl was evidently in command for he was ushering people to newfound seats, pulling pints while taking orders from piles of patrons and returning change as he went from tap to table. He was so efficient that the clueless hipsters just looked on in the knowledge that Karl was the real top knot in town.

Some staples remained ever present like Groganite Tom Mathews and his cronies, ubiquitous art-attacks, and the bizarre mix of all social classes feeding from the one trough. The scent of burnt toast (one thinks of Dick Hallorann) hangs heavily, and one particular gargoyle who was heard to declare his arrival for ‘the dinner’ ordered ‘the special’ – a pint and a toastie for €9.70. Considering a pint of Guinness goes for an exorbitant €5.95 – the special isn’t bad. The said gargoyle, who looked in need of a feed, chomped every last bite and washed it down with slurps of stout, his desert was to suck his fingers.

Grogan’s got a jack-job! At long last they spent some of their many millions on new toilet facilities – now clean albeit with a leak in the lad’s. Must have been a bad plumber. Speaking of plumbing, there’s a small issue with the Common Fruit Fly (also known as drain flies) who are in the habit of fluttering around one’s face and flittering into one’s pint. Publican’s Proposition: a simple solution of bleach and water down all drains, especially sinks, twice a day will exterminate a fruit fly infestation). Also, we can gladly report that staff are no longer letting the massive trapdoor slam shut (see above). It was opened thrice and thrice it was closed with care. Bravo! (Have they been reading the Publopedia?) Karl took some time to speak with his customers including a tiny yet fat mousey lady complaining about the price of the cup of coffee. Karl’s reply was thus: ‘well how much do Starbucks charge you?’ Ha! Take that – auntie Pat! When two students were nearing the end of their drink Karl says: ‘same again boys?’ But when he dropped the drink down it was with a bold: ‘here we are gents’ what an initiation rite - they had just come of age!

After a brief and final conversation with Karl he revealed that the excellence of the Beamish is due to high sales – 4 kegs a week turns it over with consistency. But make no mistake, this is a Guinness pub with a turnover of up to 60 kegs per week. And there’s a stale liquid which never sells: Island’s Edge – all head and no body. Not a single soul sipping that stuff. All things considered this unexpected revisit proved to be a marked improvement although certainly not nullifying all of our previous carps and former remarks.

FOOTNOTES

[1] https://www.totallydublin.ie/more/200-reasons-not-to-leave-dublin/

[2] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cizy98d4tbY

[3] As of Monday 10th February 2020, Tommy Smith has now departed this world. R.I.P. His obituary may be read if one pleases to follow this link: https://www.thejournal.ie/readme/grogans-bar-5001118-Feb2020/

[4] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DS7DjgVz0Qs

[5] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4OxrIiUDwE

DISCLAIMER: The contents of this blog represent personal opinions and perspectives only. Read more.