411) The Liffey Saint of Usher's Quay, D8
The Publopedians do their best to be comprehensive. But we are sometimes defeated by life's demands and our own cowardice. So, being cowardly ginger gobshites at heart (as well as bald), we were slow to visit The Liffey Saint, put off by the nasty off-license that used to exist on the corner, and the general air of gurrierdom that the exterior exuded, surrounded by menacing smoking men who clearly hated yer guts and wanted ye to fuck right off.
But nowadays the place is happily under chatty new management, and makes for a happily affordable Beamish bond. Where else will you get such a Liffeyside view in the sunlight, pissing distance from The House of the Dead with Phoenix Park just down the road?
We sauntered in, glad to take shelter from the summer rain, and found a hushed and restful pub - it being early on a midweek afternoon (weekends may find the pub transformed into disorderliness and riot but we aren’t willing to test such theories). The ‘Saint’ is in reference to Saint Patrick’s Athletic football club, and the walls are adorned with plenty of St. Pat’s stuff. Or perhaps the Saint is in reference to the neighbouring Franciscan Church Adam and Eve’s, who’s to know? Unfortunately the walls of this pub are splattered also with countless amounts of Liverpool F.C. crap. What a shame! But sure, howandever…
The Beamish was brought to us with care and not a drop was spilt. What landed on the table was like two biblical Eves - bellies without blemish, no navel, no bubbles, just bulging creamy, dreamy, Beamy waiting to be scoffed. And the liquid didn’t disappoint. We took more… much more!
While the smack head centre still looms large nearby down the quays, the place has lately seen a greater influx of wholesome and healthy and earnest sweet-hearted tourists for whom fulsome hot food is provided. But it has not yet descended into Disneyland-Dublin territory, for the soul is preserved by means of a loquacious local barman who takes an interest and has not yet sold his soul. Emphasis on YET. The Beamish bonds for €5.50, so Sam is certainly sold, being a slut for such stout. They'll make an Abominable Snowman of him yet.
Old habits die hard. And clearly linger on. Hence the healthy presence of CCTV cameras in the toilets and the loudly bawling signs that scream against any sight or sound of drug-doing or wrongdoing in general.
Reader dear, allow us a little digression. The unusual design of the pub’s signage has rendered a wonderfully bizarre section immediately over the main door which has the printed word: ‘The.’ Andy had to doubletake when he first looked for the name of the pub when walking by. Wouldn’t ‘the’ be a bold name for a pub? - ‘Meet you for a pint in The.’
One advantage of drinking Liffeyside is the view of affairs afforded whilst guzzling a goblet of frothy semisolid, semiliquid, circumfluous stout. Just take a squint at the print we saw trucking by…
The Liffey Saint is certainly a welcome addition. The previous pub had a bit of a reputation when it was the Pilsner Pub, a Czech and Slovak bar-cum-restaurant with the aforementioned dodgy off-licence named Pifko, but those days are bygone days in an ever changing pub landscape.
Tippler’s Tip: While you’re near Usher’s Island, why don’t you visit Bridgefoot Street Park? Or build up another thirst by crossing Mellows Bridge to Frank Ryan’s of Queen Street. We’ll be back to the anointed Liffey Saint. Watch, as the fellow says, this space.
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