Dublin’s pub culture has gone to the dogs. Give me Belfast, please
THE row over the proposed development of the Cobblestone pub in Dublin’s Smithfield has rattled a fair few cages. There’s no doubt the plans are obnoxious – you can see the drawings online. Yet another cheap and nasty looking redbrick hotel, with little if any thought given to the surroundings, with the poor old Cobblestone squished into the bottom left-hand corner, yet another beloved Dublin institution fallen victim to tasteless and tacky big-development.
Except that Smithfield, in its present state, is a kip.
There have been occasions when you thought it had finally turned that corner and morphed into what was always promised, a beautiful and buzzy cultural quarter, that would draw tourists northside and provide locals with that continental café-style living we hear so much about.
The Lighthouse Cinema, of course, was a godsend. And then there is the Cobblestone, chic in its shabbiness, a Mecca for traditional music aficionados, a place for musicians to meet, learn and play. Hollywood star Steve Martin turned up there to play his banjo once and it’s been featured in the pages of The New York Times.
But as I was parking up my Dublin bike there one recent Thursday afternoon, I wondered if Smithfield was a place I’d ever recommend to tourists to go and visit. It’s dirty, but what’s most off-putting is that I watched as a teenage boy was summoned over to a small group of very ill-looking men who were pooling some money together. Phone calls were made and the young boy cycled off, shouting that he’d be back in a short while.
It doesn’t take a genius to work out what was going on, in the square, in full view of anyone who walked by.
Maybe it’s no big deal; that sort of thing is happening all over Dublin, in all of our other cities and towns as well. Addiction is a serious issue that needs to be tackled, driving it onto the back streets out of view isn’t going to change that.
But it got me thinking about this romantic version of Dublin that seems to be floating around the place, the one that we’re apparently in danger of losing forever, ripping the very soul out of our city.
I’m pretty sure that’s happened already; in fact it happened a long time ago when it was decided that tourists are where the real cash is. All those people who come to Ireland for the authentic pub experience, who might note while they’re here that a pint of beer isn’t cheap, but sure look at what it costs in Sweden or Denmark. And generally they leave absolutely delighted, pubs are packed, any locals they meet are usually friendly if vaguely incoherent, depending on what time of night it is.
But what about this ‘authentic pub experience’ for people who actually live here?
During lockdown, one of my WhatsApp groups had a chat about what pubs we really missed and where we’d head back into as soon as we could.
We all had our neighbourhood favourites; they could count on our return, no problem. But in the city centre?
We went through our long list of old haunts, places we drank during our student days, when we got our first jobs, and where we’d gone to in recent years – though not as regularly as we’d like. Those places we always gravitate back to when meeting up with old friends. At almost every one, we hit a stumbling block. ‘No, not there, last time I was the bar staff were beyond ignorant’, or: ‘Do you know how much a pint of Guinness is there now?’, or: ‘No, that place is just for tourists.’
There were a range of reasons we couldn’t find one to agree on; instead it ended up as a bit of a bitching session about what Dublin had become in recent years, long before Covid hit.
The overriding complaint, beating out even scandalously high prices for a baby bottle of tonic water, was the welcome you didn’t get. All these places we’re supposed to treasure, that didn’t seem to want or care about our business in recent years. We didn’t go in looking for conversation or subservience, but a half-nod in acknowledgement as you handed over a large wodge of cash for a small round of drinks might have been nice.
Ispent last weekend in Belfast with three friends. By the second day we were slightly freaked out at how friendly everyone was in every single bar and restaurant that we entered. From the doormen, to the waiting staff to the bar workers, who on a couple of occasions pleasantly reminded us it was table service only.
We wondered at one point if they were putting it on; that’s how unused we are to a friendly welcome. Of course it might be just Dublin (although I spent a few days in Cork city recently and didn’t notice a huge difference there – mind you, I am from Dublin...) Certainly I’ve remarked on how warm people in Galway city are before, and a recent weekend in Kilkenny was very nice.
Because that’s what you remember most, when you go anywhere for any length of time: how you were received.
The service you get might not be super-fast, experienced staff are hard to come by at the moment – we all know that. But an acknowledgement that you’re standing there, waiting, makes all the difference in the world.
Apparently there’s been a huge exodus from the Irish bar trade since the lockdowns, with people realising they didn’t want to work anti-social hours anymore, for close to minimum wage.
Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe this is the chance to train new staff (while paying them a living wage) about how the most important thing is to make people, locals and tourists alike, feel welcome.
Belfast is no prettier or cleaner than Dublin, but it’s certainly a whole lot warmer.