A real Bartender

Don’t give me your DIT diploma bartender. The “this is done the classical way”, overtrained, under experienced bartender that populates the Dublin pubs at the moment. Give me the sinners, people who like their drink, know their customers, hang with the crowd, grumpy as fuck bartenter. Not the bland, blend with the back, black grarbed bartender. No personality must show, just pump the pints, factory line, server who is afraid to speak. It’s a public house for godsake, make me feel at home.

Of course, I can’t really blame the bartenders, they’re just the workers but it’s the owners. The corporate no face seem, pull a profit type who have turned Temple Bar into an alcoholic Disneyland. It’s not fun.

I like the bartenders at Sin E. Real bartenders. Wild childs one and all. Sinners. It’s a rockin’ spot at night but I prefer the daytime. I admit, I am more of your Saturday afternoon person. Getting old I guess but you can’t beat mullin’ over a pint. Reading the paper. Enjoying the craic. Getting a laugh out of the young ones that roll in from partying all night at Traffic, in Abbey street, then onto the early house of the White Horse and then to the mellow, chill of Sin E’s on Ormond Quay.

There we hang. There we chat, in one of the few good inner city public houses. Check it out. You’ll like it, I know. And say Hi to the bartenders, they answer back. It’s fun.

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