Right so, four stars because even though I have nothing to complain about, like the sea, I'm a harsh, unforgiving mistress.
This place is quite possibly one of the best bars in Dublin.
It does food, but we weren't there for that. Having turned up to a free cocktail event at Venu which we appeared to have missed or didn't happen - even though we were oh about eight minutes late. There was a serious hunger for cocktails.
Cheap cocktails.
Not badly made cheap cocktails like you may find in the Mercantile or elsewhere.
I had heard tell from a wizened old hag at a crossroads under a harvest moon (the bartender at Coppinger Row) that this place was doing a 2 for 1 deal on cocktails. I'm not sure if it is specific to Tuesday, it could be.
Upon arriving there was no signage to offer any sort of veracity to the hags words. So we milled in and out of the smoking area until a young dairymaid took pity on us and answered my question.
Yes, yes there was a 2 for 1 on cocktails.
Finding this out had the social equivalence on our small and desperate group of three of the partially monstrous gimp from a 70s movie, clippity-clopping down a pier, his shrivelled arm flopping at his side as he comes to a lurching halt over the still waters whereupon he retrieves a conch fro his rags and blows into it.
Heeerrp!
Heeerrp!
(Which is generally how I imagine a conch should sound)
Over the stirring, bubbling waters - he will then bellow
"RELEASE THE KRAKEN"
And the water will churn and boil...
This was the general feeling of having been invited to two hours of free cocktails earlier, which had fled upon finding a closed Venu. And Harry's allowed us to feel it again, and not just feel it, but revel in it.
This place is built how bars should be.
This has bar staff the way real bars should, the sort of bars 1920s artists and 1940s philandering fighting movie stars drank in. The real ones. Not the glitz boring pandering places Frank Sinatra hung out in because of some mob envy. That is to say, learned in their trade, a touch cranky, ready for a fight, but overall jovial.
Bogart and Burton would drink here, and if you brought the wrong person, they'd probably punch you out.
The waiting staff are polite and smile.
The drinks menu is a thing of beauty. I hear they do food, but look at the other reviews on Yelp for that. This one is about a booze hole for boozehounds. I'm not here to pander to your obvious need to know if this is a good place to eat.
Don't tell your friends about this place, they may come here and wreck its ambiance. Keep this place a secret.
Whatever you do, don't write a review about it on some website. The world must never know how wonderful their cocktails are.
We sat outside at first, but were beset upon by the common spotted Dublin smoking area asshole. Who shuffled over like a friendless thing from a time before light and Gods - demanding that we agree to his company. The dairymaid even helped him bring his drinks over which I thought was a nice touch of service. Upon arriving to our table, he began to shout obscenities and make intellectual comments like __"I bet you were a contestant from Irelands got no talent"__ before as he would with everything apologise and move on to his next insult. Which was quite odd, as he had quite pleaded to join us, whilst joining us.
Still recovering from our loss of two free hours of cocktails and before we had even seen the menu. I ordered six Gimlets. The Gimlets are suitably old fashioned and you have to ask if you want them made with fresh lime.
Upon discovery of this and the fact that the bar has both, and I stress, both types of Old Raj gin (quite possibly the greatest gin known to man. I heard tell from an Old gypsy in one of the camps that it is actually the bottled tears of some lost and forgotten God.)
The bar was filled with a strange sort of trilling sound. It took me a moment to realize that this was in fact, my liver, Patsy, singing like the dog creature from The Dark Crystal, at all the joy and splendour that was Harrys on the Green.
Each ensuing cocktail was more beautiful than the next. We drank until our money out, then, having rolled a tramp for his pennies, we drank until his money ran out.
The head barman is old school. And all the staff behind that blessed bar are quite awesome. They have the an effect on a drunk like kittens do to a young girl. You just want to bustle them up under your coat and take them with you, for a night of drunken whoring.
If you take your drinking, even mildly seriously. If you like cocktails, proper barmen from a time that may have only existed in novels, poems and my head.
Go to Harrys.
Bring the right friends - you know, the ones that can drink.
Make sure the end the night squabbling over who gets the extra Destroyer shot.
Your liver demands it.
Oh and I lied about the four stars, I couldn't possibly give this place any less than five. read more