(Crider) Mother Reilly's

   An extended walk to Dartry Park in Dublin’s suburb of Milltown had caused me to postpone dinner well into the night, and at 9 p.m. my stomach began to violently protest the decision.  A meal was long overdue.   On my way back to campus I crossed a restaurant that had earlier intrigued me with its full menu and red neon “FOOD” sign beckoning clientele from the front window.  At first glance, Mother Reilly's Bar & Restaurant looked like a red shack protruding from a line of brick buildings, a blood blister jutting out of the elegant Uppercross Hotel on Upper Rathmines Road.  Looking inside I examined the interior for a setting conducive to my growing appetite, having spotted the specials menu in front of the door and being intrigued by the beefsteak and kidney pie, a meal that would have Leopold Bloom salivating in moments.  Several middle-aged men sat drinking at the bar in silence, and behind them only a couple feet stood between the bar stools and the hind wall.  Because of a glare on the window obstructing my view further into the bar, I was certain that this small room would account for a majority of the establishment.  I am partial to smaller pubs, anyway, so I walked around the side and entered past a patron smoking on the walkway.  We exchanged some muttered “heys” and I was through the door. 

   The men at the bar nodded their heads in greeting as I ventured down a narrow hall that exposed me to a much larger establishment than was expected.  A chain of small, candle-lit rooms extended before me in a manner characteristic of a mineshaft with oak beams supporting the ceiling.  Aside from the six or so men near the entrance, the rest of the bar was empty, and this vacancy greatly accentuated the anachronistic feel that emanated from the yellow walls with varnished wood wainscoting.  Furniture consisted of ancient wooden stools placed around wooden tables standing but two feet from the flagstone floors.  Before sitting down to order, I perused the dark hallways, half expecting to find a blacksmith shop or stables at the back.  On the northern side of the bar a brighter room offered contrast to the dim chambers adjacent, and at its rear a doorway opened restrooms and a stairwell led to a beer garden and further to a higher level of the restaurant, complete with a second bar.  Now acquainted with the setting, I returned to the first level and sat beside a charred fireplace, a Dutch oven hanging inside it.  Above my head a television broadcasted the 2012 Match Play darts championships on mute.

   Only a few minutes after sitting at the table, lower than my knees, an attractive waitress with black hair took my order of the Bloomesque special, chips, and peas, to be washed down by a pint of Guinness.  Less than half an hour later my food was before me, the smell of stewed beef rising from a small casserole dish beneath a flaky puff pastry.  Other ingredients within the pie included carrots, mushrooms, onions, and chunks of kidney.  Contrary to carnivorous Bloom, the latter of these did not appeal to my personal taste, but its delicious counterparts made up for the peculiarity.  Overall the meal was a delectable example of down home Irish cooking, and though it cost upwards of €12 and required me to keel over to reach the plate, I was satisfied.