Greatness is so often built on omission. The notes that aren’t being played can make the finished piece all the sweeter. In the case of McCloskey’s, it’s tat on the walls, wishy-washy hairdresser house soundtracks, or any bending to the transient cultural whims of the LovinDublin that have been left by the wayside. In a bar scene where the quality of an establishment is judged by the array of €6-plus pints on offer, McCloskey’s is an outlier. It’s a haven of suburban traditionalism. Genuine, sometimes surly, profoundly unglamorous traditionalism. A standard-bearer for those kicking against the pricks who exalt gimmickry and tourist pandering, blarney bonhomie as the true the hallmarks of a ‘real’ Irish pub.
McCloskey’s is a public house, not a public house party. The sort of place where one leafs through a mangled, stout blotched paperback, or solemnly absorb every nuance of some televised snooker, transmitting ‘same again’ to the gentleman manning the taps simply through a glacially paced nod of the head. You could *probably* bring a dog in with you but it’s not like they encourage it or anything.
On my last visit, a pair of middle aged women attentively watched Fair City slap-bang in the middle of the action, gasping and muttering to each other in response to Sisyphean struggles of the Carrigstown populace. Chalkboards dotted around the bar advertise toasties, chips and coleslaw for six quid. Coleslaw, not ruby slaw, not an emulsified egg and shredded cabbage medley, just coleslaw. It almost goes without saying that the Guinness is, of course, exemplary.
The real ace up McCloskey’s frayed sleeve, and the only reason I can quell my selfish misgiving about affording others a glimpse into this two-part poured oasis, is its genuinely colossal size. Seating is never, and I can’t stress this enough, never an issue. There’s enough space here to house untold masses, more stools than grains of sand on Dollymount strand. The gargantuan body of the pub is matched by it’s ample hind quarters; boasting both a covered and heated smoking area and an airy, fern-lined beer garden. If some sort of abstract notion of a buzz is what you’re after, or you’re in pursuit of the next hot spot, then you should look elsewhere. What we have here is a sweet release from the stifling ‘are we having fun yet?’ mentality that has subverted all too many a local’s position as a vital third space. McCloskey’s, baby, I love you. Don’t ever change.
McCloskey’s
83 Morehampton Rd, Donnybrook, Dublin 4
t: 01 6684345
Words: Danny Wilson
Photos: Killian Broderick
