In his second review inspired by Orwell’s fastidious criteria, Tom Comer ventures into a pub too eager to prove its historical significance
When classifying his “perfect pub” Orwell had a number of criteria that are nearly impossible to fulfil in the city centre. Firstly, he specified a “a fairly large garden with plane trees, under which there are little green tables with iron chairs round them” further elaborating to say at one end of the garden there should be “Swings and a chute for the children”. I know of no such pub in Dublin that satisfies this criteria as well as being “no more than two minutes from a bus stop”.
However particular Orwell was about pubs, I am growing more fond of his stubborn allegiance to Victorian interior the more time I spend in such pubs. The Long Hall is a brilliant example of uncompromisingly Victorian decor. It is similar to Bowe’s, both have ruby red walls and plush leather sofas towards the back, but has a much higher ceiling and more intricate decoration. There is a gorgeous patterned carpet as opposed to the traditional wood, which was nice.
I took a seat at the back so I could face the door and assess the place. This was a mistake. I ended up a shoulder width away from the bathroom and heard intermittent hand dryers throughout the evening. Nevertheless, I got a great view of the various regalia on the walls of the pub. Numerous old photographs of Victorian men and women, rifles crossed over each other, and most importantly – mirrors. Thick, bevelled mirrors line the pub granting it the illusion of space. Blended with the ruby walls and dark wood panelling, it strikes a nice balance between ornate and intimate.
Regarding intimacy, a couple beside me were engaging in a nice game of tonsil tennis as I drank my pints; take from that what you will. Orwell certainly did not list shifting as a prerequisite to publican glory. However, he did assert that music has no good place in a pub – the music started at 9:45pm and was the kind of music your dad thinks is “pop”. Bad sign.
As for the pints themselves, I got three pints of Guinness, and for €6.50 a pop I was disappointed. The first pint was too bitter and had some hefty bubbles in the head, the second pint a tad flat and felt like it had been left sitting too long. I can’t really remember the third one, but I assume it wasn’t a tremendous outlier.
Orwell lists the ability to get draught stout at the pub as an absolute must, and I agree. However, these pints left a lot to be desired. Anthony Bourdain himself visited this pub on his journey through Dublin, and claimed to love the pints. Maybe they made a special effort to pour him a nice, creamy one.
If you sit at the back you’ll notice some tourist brochures resting on some ledges on the back. I perused the leaflet, and learnt the historical significance of the place. Once a meeting place for fervent Fenians, bent on opposing monarchy is now frequented by Big Four workers, taking a stroll out from Grand Canal Docks to experience some semblance of “Dublin Culture”.
The brochures were nice, well written and took me on a journey of sorts through the annals of Long Hall. I assumed that the pub was titled such because of the dimensions, it’s a lot longer than it is wide. The “long hall” is named such because of a now filled in hallway that was to the right of the original pub. Upon learning this I felt both silly and cheated.
Orwell doesn’t massively emphasise good service in his ideal pub. However, I have some particular opinions. Good service behind a bar means not having to voice my need for a pint. The interaction between myself and the bar staff should be based solely on nods and subtle hand gestures to grab their attention. There shouldn’t be any formality, song or dance. In fact, I would nearly go as far as to say I should feel just about acknowledged by the bar staff. That, to me, is good service.
By this metric, the service in the Long Hall was horrible. We were regularly asked if we would like another pint when sitting down, and had the pints brought down to us upon ordering at the bar. When I asked for a packet of bacon fries, which were sold out, I was passionately apologised to. If nice, courteous and attentive service is your thing, you’ll enjoy the Long Hall’s approach.
Personally, I enjoy the traditional misery of pub etiquette.
I have a big issue with the Long Hall. There is a small creeping anxiety, a desperation. The brochures at the back. The attention to displaying the rifles on the wall. The polished mirrors between sepia photographs of nameless victorians. The attention to the customer’s every need. The lie about the existence of its titular artefact! The Long Hall, teeters on American, skirts around total tourist facetiousness. The faces on the wall beg for your attention, plead for you to recognize their historical significance. The polished mirrors on the wall, so determined to elongate the room and magnify your experience. It feels insecure, clawing at an identity now long forgotten.
The Long Hall fills a lot of Orwell’s criteria; close to a bus stop, serves stout, Victorian interior and what seems to be a regular crowd. However, it operates under a guise; lift the veil from its face and there’s a hidden, desperate smile. The Long Hall wants you to go to it, and wants you to enjoy it. It yearns for you to soak in the history, revel in the ruby walls. I was most struck by this when we left, around 11.30pm, and noticed the customised blinds. There is a silhouette of the pub itself, etched into cream blinds in the main window outside the pub, flanked by barbershop-esque red and white awnings, this is the image they want the world to see first. The vapid silhouette of the pub etched into commercial curtains is just as facetious as the inside atmosphere – but I would recommend you go and see for yourself.
If you like polite service, Victorian trinkets, and accountants shifting beside you – maybe the Long Hall is for you.
Critical Details:
Not too busy on a Monday Night
Pint of Guinness: €6.50
Bacon Fries were sold out, but crisps were available
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