Tom Comer takes a leaf out of Orwell’s book in a search for Dublin’s perfect pub

While he was best known for astute allegory on authoritarianism, I have always empathised more strongly with Orwell’s desire for the perfect pub (though I also oppose encroachment on individual liberties, I promise). In his essay “Moon Under the Water ”, Orwell wrote of his imaginary ideal pub, and concluded by admitting he knew no such pub in the Greater London area which held a candle to his imagined paradise. I believe that this pub had to exist in Dublin. Surely this city, adorned on every corner with boasting barrooms, could have satiated Orwell. More than this, is his list of criteria really the true permutation to publican perfection? Or, like his book about pigs, is it complete nonsense with no deeper meaning? 

I decided to begin diversifying my pub portfolio by glancing into Bowe’s. The first tweet on their official account reads “Bowes of Fleet Street finally on the tweet machine. Great info to come on unique craft beers, whiskey and one of the best pints in Dublin” – November 2014. There have been just four tweets since, most of them retweets. If you’re like me, this feels like a great sign. You’ve likely walked past this pub and confused it for Doyle’s. In fact, their own website confuses it for Doyle’s; the three photos in their “Gallery” section are all, of Doyle’s.

Fortunately for this pub, my growing boredom of the neighbouring taproom is exactly what brought me here. Too many nights squeezed into small booths in Doyle’s, coaxed in by its proximity, have caged me. My desire for new frontiers, creamier pints and better decor has sat stewing over the winter break and I have resolved to find my ”Moon Under Water”. Doyle’s, for me, is now emblematic of a mediocre pub. The Guinness is fine, the seats are stale and the craic middlin’. No better place to expand my hooch horizons than at the arse of the pub that now symbolises wasted nights. 

I want to preface this review by stating that I went to Bowe’s at 9pm on a Monday, and it was busy. You walk through two opaque glass doors adorned with logos, into a long room within dark-wood panelled walls. The pub itself is quite dark, but there are warm lights behind the bar which shine through their range of whiskey bottles, creating a nice glow. Bowe’s is small. You will struggle to find a seat. I was lucky enough to land one at the very back, facing the entrance. It was a thick bouncy leather seat that was very comfortable. From here, I got a good feel of the place. The chunky varnished wooden walls made me feel like I was in a music box; which was nice. To my left there was an aul’ fella tapping away at a samsung with a leather flip case, with one finger – presumably on WhatsApp. Every now and then he’d raise his index finger and another pint of Carlsberg would land at his table. This was an encouraging sign. 

A group of regulars and a staunch Victorian interior are two ideal features of the “Moon Under Water” according to Orwell. With no glass table tops, and golden rails at the bar, Bowe’s fits this brief. There’s a rosy tint to the place due to the red, wooden panelling throughout the bar. I’m sure the low lighting made this seem nicer than in reality, but it made it very easy to romanticise.

I had two pints of Guinness and they were nothing but gorgeous. More importantly, there was no music. Orwell lists this as one of his key criteria, and I now understand why. There was a constant hum of regular conversation, not loud enough to disrupt, but it meant I didn’t notice any gaps in my own interactions. I went to Bowe’s with a friend whom I hadn’t seen in months and it really suited that occasion. It’s not a place to build up to anything, I had no desire to go further out into the night after my pints. The lack of music meant that as the time neared midnight and conversations dwindled you realised that it was midnight on a Monday; you should probably go home. There were a lot of regulars, of varying age, but no begrudging stares from the older crowd as young people came and went.

The bar staff kept going downstairs behind the bar to fetch things, which kept making me think they were doing the “imaginary stairs” gag, which I personally found hilarious. There was no real wait time for my pints, the bar staff asking me what I wanted from metres away rather than journeying over to me. If you’re into whiskey, there’s a wide range of them. I don’t like whiskey, but would like to be someone who does, and Bowe’s really tempted me. The bottles are stacked up with backing lights on the shelves so they glow amber, reminiscent of the apple cider from Fantastic Mr. Fox. They do a “Whiskey of the month” for €6.50 if you’re ever tempted. 

Unfortunately there’s a rather large air conditioning block on the ceiling which kept catching my eye when I leaned back. This is a small thing, obviously, but once I noticed it, I let it get to me. The toilets are tiny and you have to shuffle past people to relieve yourself. But they have nice black and white tiles, so that’s something. 

There’s a small room to the immediate right as you enter which I wouldn’t dare go into unless I had a crowd. It’s a breakaway room with a larger table and glass panelling surrounding it. I didn’t have a gang or posse to plan anything with, so felt taking this seating would be a waste. It might be a nice place to catch up with a few friends, however. 

Look, Bowe’s is great. It could be better, but it’s great. Granted, it doesn’t satisfy a lot of the criteria Orwell lines out, namely there’s no food nor garden, and you are in fact proximate to areas with “rowdy drunkards”. But what would Orwell know? He’s never been to Bowe’s, I have. Once. I will go again more than likely, and I will more than likely enjoy it the second time. But Bowe’s doesn’t have to be brilliant to be worth going to. I had never been before and that made it worthwhile. Maybe you won’t like Bowe’s, maybe you’ll even hate it. Maybe the small tight atmosphere that I found charming, you’ll find claustrophobic and too traditional. However, being able to say that you’ve been to Bowe’s – that’s important.

Critical Details: 

Guinness: €5.90

No bacon fries 

Busy even on Mondays