![]() It’s just the ticket a velvety, spirit-forward slug that cools my fingers and warms my chest. “But first you have to tell me what you like in a drink.” Cue a bit of back and forth before we settle on the glass curtain - a tart and boozy lowball mixing Jameson Black Barrel whiskey with shiso and blackberry, topped with a cracker laid across a huge cube of ice. I pull up a stool and ask the bartender to prescribe a cocktail for me. A polished bar set opposite the Metropole Hotel in Cork’s slowly gentrifying Victorian Quarter, Cask’s menus change every 12 weeks, and the focus is on ‘seasonal, nature-led’ drinks - a plum fit for a city that prides itself on showcasing the best seafood, farm produce and artisanal ingredients produced in the wider county. One told me to ask the bartenders at Cask to recommend a cocktail and just go with it. Talk to each other’, the sign outside says.īefore my city pub crawl, I sought suggestions for bars to visit from friends and on Twitter. And then there are the uncategorisable - by which I mean the Hi-B, a first-floor lounge surviving from a long-gone hotel on Oliver Plunkett Street. Or the Franciscan Well Brewery & Brewpub - be sure to try a pizza in its backyard beer garden, washed down with a pint of the Hazy IPA. There are hip haunts such as Arthur Mayne’s, a former pharmacy turned wine and tapas bar on Pembroke Street. Choices range from old-school pints at The Castle Inn or Mutton Lane to swanky salons like the Glasshouse rooftop bar at The Montenotte hotel. ‘It would sink without a Cork’ it ends.Ībout 100 bars are dotted around the city, and they perfectly encapsulate the split personalities and rebel spirit of the place. ‘Ireland is like a bottle’, as a mural painted on an electrical cabinet on Parnell Place begins. Compact but cosmopolitan, it feels both inward and outward looking. You’re never more than a few steps away from spots of dereliction and flashes of crumbling heritage. Its English and Marina markets are world-class, a high percentage of its fascia-boarded shops and restaurants are independently owned, and the colourfully canopied Princes Street has led Ireland’s new wave of outdoor dining. But there are also tight-knit alleys and steep hills to navigate. Set by a huge natural harbour, split by the River Lee, its quays and waterfronts give it a classic, open feel. “If these walls could talk,” he says, smiling.Ĭork is Ireland’s second-largest city, but it walks and talks like a small town. I ask if I can photograph the fireplace, and O’Donovan nods, telling me how the chimneys connect like secret passages through the old house above. The man beside me has placed his glasses on a rolled-up newspaper. We talk hurling and high gas bills and taxis and technology. I pay for my pint and join in the chat softly orchestrated by the bartender around his counter. Inside, it’s brightly lit, warm and cosy. Outside, night is falling and streetlights reflect off rainy pavements. Walls are galleried with old beer ads and black-and-white photographs of sports legends like hurler Christy Ring, wearing a flat cap in the days before helmets. It’s a traditional pub with a small snug inside the window, timeworn red-and-cream wood panelling and little tubs of snuff for sale behind the bar. A pub has stood on the site since the 1870s and has been run by the same family since the 1930s. The Castle Inn is on South Main Street, a stone’s throw from Cork’s main drag. The wood spits and crackles as the conversation eases into gear. There are licks of flame in a tiled fireplace nearby. That’s my thinking as bartender Michael O’Donovan lets my pint of Murphy’s settle on the counter, pausing for an intuitive amount of time before topping off the stout’s creamy crown. ![]() This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |