A hearty Irish breakfast is served by an accomplished chef, among other choice dainties for the solid food-minded. Earns a mention in Ulysses, being passed by Mr. Tom Kernan, pleased with the order of tea that he had booked (he is also chummy with the then owner, a Mr. Crimmins, whose gin is damn good). We were initially too cowed to go in, put off by its faintly sinister exterior – in the end, it was low-grade and innocuous, perhaps not worth lingering overlong in – the discouraging grimaces of the regulars were very much of the 'what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-here' variety.

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