Dmytro A.
Yelp
It felt just like the first day of school. My heavy feet stumbled closer to the hole of a doorway sucking me in, and my nerves rattled as I hoped desperately that they would like me. I needed to be liked here. I needed to stop feeling like an outsider, like a...the word is hard to say...like a tourist! So here I was, trying to fit in by going to the oldest family-owned pub in Dublin, the way Japanese tourists buy cowboy hats to fit in with Texans. What has my curiosity brought me to? Oy vey, it's not too late, save yourself! But I couldn't. The Gravediggers beckoned, nay requested, nay - commanded - and I acquiesced, fully entranced, to the mysterious invitation.
"Hi! Are you here for lunch?" came the cheery greeting. So far, so good...
"Yes, ma'am, I am."
"Great! Well, you can sit anywhere you like, our menu is this board in the back," the *gee-yor-geous* blonde woman cheered. Huh...well, that was easy. I guess we'll be friends!
By the way, the chalkboard in the back really is the menu. You see, the menu is different every single day at Gravediggers. Every single day, the son of John Kavanagh comes up with new delicious delights to please the palates of his patrons. And every single day, those palates are pleased. Oh yes, they are pleased, oh yes.
I ordered the bean and chorizo soup, and a pint of Guinness for good measure. Oh, and hey, help myself to some water while I wait the few minutes for that pour? Don't mind if I do.
Delicious. Pleased palate. I told you so.
Two men off to the side getting rambunctious. REALLY rambunctious. Seemingly good-natured, but rambunctious enough to get kicked out of a lesser pub. But not here. Why? Well, this place is all about human interaction. All about the most human of activities, eating and talking, sharing a meal with others, sharing a drink with others. Also, because one of those rowdy ramblers was none other than Mr. Kavanagh himself, proprietor. Oh, and that gorgeous blonde who so welcomed me? His daughter.
I learned all of this the old-fashioned way - through friendly conversation, and it's all to the credit of the folks here. See, I'm used to the German stand-offishness, and left to my own devices, probably would not have struck up any warm conversation. But here...it wasn't my choice really. I was overwhelmed with the spirit of the place. For a place called The Gravediggers, this place is damn cheery.
Eventually, I sauntered next door, to the original saloon part of the pub. Man, it looks like it hasn't seen sunlight since it first opened in the 1800s. The swingin' saloon doors do a good job of blocking out that vile poison from the sky. Here is where I encountered the true treasure of Kavanagh's - the barman. He is there seemingly every day of the week, all day long. He leans back against his shelf of bottled goodies, glint in his eye, humour in his voice, smile on his face, and the best pint of Guinness poured anywhere in Dublin maturing on the rail, every day. The day we first met, I had just wanted a look-see, out of pure historical interest. But I stayed. And stayed. And stayed. And met regulars. And talked with them. And stayed. And a couple hours later, I left with more rose on my cheeks than the Botanic Gardens next door.
Yes, it's the mighty craic at Gravediggers. I easily persuaded myself to stop by again on my last day in Dublin and surprise my new friend for breakfast . The damn bastard even remembered my name. Powers, "up", and a pint of Guinness, he served me. That's when I met J- M-, another regular who's gotten on in years but still manages to breakfast as I was, but with more frequency.
According to legend and lore, there used to be a hole in the wall in the back of this place where the gravediggers working at Glasnevin cemetery next door would grab their pints. If there were, that hole is now sealed up, and that's a good thing. Because that is history. There are good people in the here and now who deserve your earnest attention. Take away the food, take away the Guinness, take away the whiskey. You've got people. And they are the mightiest craic.