Dublin Summers

Dublin Summers. 

Do they exist? 

Or is our Summer a couple of days strung together? Whatever a Dublin Summer is, one or two things can be expected. 

One, we spend the time complaining about the weather being cold and miserable for July and August. But yet when we do have a beautiful dry day or two in these months, it's... 'Jaszus it's bleedin roastin' or 'Christ I'm sweatin' We decamp to the nearest beach en masse. Our parks are thronged. 

Clothes are thorn off, flesh of all shades are displayed in all it's glory.. trips to Penneys for cotton Ts & Beach towels. We hunt the middle isle of Lidl & Aldi for super soakers & barbies...We spin to Woddies & local DIY stores for outdoor paint & plants...'we need new window boxes & patio tubs'. 

Quick! lets go early to Dunnes, Super Valu or Tesco for a cooked chicken so we won't need to cook later! And the offie, we need to stop off at the offie pick up a few beers & a nice rose. It's 11am on a perfect and rare Summer Day .. and we are frantically racing to fit it all in. After all we also need to enjoy the rare and near perfect day we plan it to the hour  we listen to the weather forecast ..'scatterd showers in places'..but that's not here & not today! No not today!  Or will it? 

We awoke at 8am to gleaming sun and storybook clouds. We can now wear that summer dress we have kept for so long. I'll just grab a shower make sure to exfoliate and defuzz.. maybe a touch of tan on the knee down.. lot to do so a TShirt & jeans will do, saves time too. 

Quick breakfast and still scanning the sky for changes, a last glub of coffee...'will it rain?' you ask yourself..'Will I chance it?' ...like hell you chance it you're no longer an optimistic ameture when it comes to Dublin Sun & Summer Rain... you take the raincoat.

So it's nearly 12.30am shop done, and yes the lounger was a steal so a must buy, you justify this purchase as it sticks out of the boot of your car.

Holey moley, the traffic is manic, passenger & driver windows open the air flowing through the car summer tunes on the radio. Happy tunes, it's looking like a beautiful day.

Simling to yourself, a smirk crosses your face. 'Did it'...'Yep, got it all done in two hours'... you long to get home, pack it all away. 

Unfold that new lounger, book ready, sunscreen on..here we go, we have this Summer in Dublin in our sights. 

The car is almost home, you pull up, you park, you unload your treasure. You carry as much as possible, no time to waste. 

You long to feel those rays of sun. For your skin to feel the air. Not going to make the beach don't want to spend this beautiful day in traffic, you're quietly talking to yourself as you unlock the door. 

Any anyway the garden is perfect! it's going to be a perfectly lazy, easy afternoon....as you mutter a pray to yourself..'Hope no one decides to visit...Please no visitors.please no one visit me today.'

You made it! Shopping packed away, and you're lathered in Sunscreen. Reading material ready, glass of cool water, lounger strategically places for optimum rays. 

You release a satisfied sigh as your bottom centres onto the lounger and you slowly lie back, head and feet alined, your content, comfortable, your body starts to ease out starts to relax...you made it. 

It's heaven. It's perfect. 

You can smell the flowers you can hear neighbours near by out & about, children laughing. Yes this is what it's all about, the simple things, pure simply joy, calm, and in your own space, sure what more do you need or want. You think ahead, dinner on the balcony. 

At last we can eat Al Fresco, perfect, heaven...and then it happens. Heaven decides to open and awake you from your slumber...The heaven open a deluge a torrent..rain! Ah yes Summers in Dublin, always have a raincoat!

Whose family or kin...

What is Family or Kin, there is that saying blood makes you a relative but loyalty makes you family.
Even my mother would tell me 'just because someone's related, doesn't mean you have to like them' too true indeed there's a lot of people I love but do I like them?
Then of course being from a mix of Irish Italian family this in itself was different to my friends upbringing. My mother's Italian side was almost flamboyant in their displays of affection, hugs, kisses big hellos, busy family gatherings for all sorts of celebrations or just because it was a Sunday. My father's family a little more reserved,  and usually around funerals.
Growing up in seventies Dublin was good and bad, father's worked long continuous hours and mother's did the rearing, but not in our family. Many families emigrated to Australia or other countries. Luckily our Dad was a progressive modern man and luckily he was in full time employment, he'd get us up for breakfast and out to school to allow our Mammy (as we say) to have a lie on. He'd hug and hold our hand and was happy to bounce a baby on his knee or push a pram unlike the other men of his generation. Daddy lost his own mother quite young and communication with him and his own father was of quiet understanding, they didn't talk much.
His Aunts stepped in but only partly, he adored these two Aunts, Aunty Day (May/Margaret) and Aunty Aggie. These two sisters lived in a dark house together filled with memorabilia from WW1, old photos and furniture made by Hick's Cabinet Makers. Johnny Hicks was husband to Aggie. Aggie was Johnny's second wife she was a French Polisher and by all accounts excellent at her job, and worked in most of the fine houses of the 1900s, the thing is he told her soon after the marriage that he married her for the sole reason of rearing his children and that on his death he'd be buried with his deceased first wife. Aggie raised the children and she said she truly loved them, on his death and within  weeks of his burial, her sister, Auntie Day called to take her to live with her on Collin's Avenue, the Hick's family never visited my Great Aunt Aggie. Her job was done, the children raised and she, surplus to requirement. She would sit in a beautiful carved minimalist Art Deco style curved chair in wrinkled stockings about her ankles as myself and my twin brother John would crawl beneath the old dark cupboards on a Safari to reach her, our goal was to tiggle her ankles, and hear her laugh, she had a wonderful laugh. She would teach us old Dublin songs that she had taught our father, she was loving and good. Yet abandoned in a loveless convenient marriage and then ignored by those she reared. How many people go through this? Her family, her kin, her friend was her sister. The two sisters attended Mass every Sunday, same time, same church, same pew, with the same people she raised and reared within touching distance, did they offer her the hand of peace? Who knows..
Aunty Day was different again there's photos of her as a glamorous hipster, very stylish, but more Victorian in her ways, manners was  very important  to her day to day. We learned not to interrupt, to stand when someone came in the room, to politely wait to be offered a biscuit, always say please and of course thank you. It's something that to this day I hold onto, good manners and I appreciate those that try too.

Daddy loved his two elderly Aunts and it wasn't by a sense of gratitude it was one of utterly unconditional love. His Aunts showed him love when at a time in Irish Society children were often seen but not heard. It was a time when foundlings were raised by those that found them and nothing ever said. A time when irritant boys were sent to institutions that no one talked about, that Irish babies were shipped to Canada and the USA for a small fee.
When Dad was a young boy of ten he was a cadet in the St John's Brigade, his father my Grandfather was a returned British Naval Petty Officer and was a member of the St John's for years. Dad was often in the First Aid Post on O'Connell Street, he talked not often, but about what he witnessed, young women the victim of attacks or abandoned on the streets while pregnant he could never understand how 'family' could discard a young child or family member that way. One thing this insight gave him was humanity and compassion, he always wanted or tried to see the good in others even if it meant being taken advantage of himself. My mother always said people took his kindness for granted..but then isn't that the most wonderful attribute to have..kindness. To this day, to me, anyone that can show their fellow kindness is priceless in a world full of disposable and fleeting commodities. Some folk are so poor all they have is money. My two Great Aunts where a strong force in his life, the loss of his mother wasn't spoken about, it was a get on with it attitude. He was a loving Dad, a kind caring Uncle, he was a generous and compassionate man. He abhorred cruelty especially to children and I often witnessed him championing children. Yes he shouted yes he'd 'give out' to us but he also encouraged us especially us girls. 'Remember women can do anything..and usually better than us men, but you'll have to work three times harder to prove it and most likely get paid less, but you can do anything'..he adored women in a respectful and admiring way, he enjoyed their company and they enjoyed his. His one love was our mother his glamorous, striking and often stubborn wife Patty.
They were very different, but it worked or at least they worked at it to make it work.
Their friends would become extended family to us twins, our Aunty Kitty and Uncle Tommy may not have been blood relatives but  they are my Aunt & Uncle in every sense of the words. My Hindi friend uses Aunty or Uncle as a term of endearment to someone older or elderly, and I love this tradition. these two Great Aunts of mine where my Dad's strongest family or members of his kin. The love was genuine and real.
Growing up in the late 30s to 50s in Dublin was very different as was the 70s to now. Simple gestures like collecting seawater in lemonade bottles for our elderly Aunts and taking them to their house so they can bade their feet still brings a smile. I remember how they delighted that although they couldn't go to the beach, Daddy brought some of the beach to them. Then we'd be sent to the chipper for Fresh Cod and Chips. My memory of our Aunts soaking their feet in basins filled with water from Dollymount Strand, seaweed floating about their ankles, eating fish and chips while in the background with the sound down Big Daddy was wrestling Giant Haystack it's a priceless image, the memory maybe sepia but it's wonderful.
He couldn't do a lot for their ailing health but he could make them smile. Aunty Aggie died first and it was heartbreaking, there was little or no singing in the dark house then.
 When Aunty Day died and it broke Daddy's heart, she was so ill she didn't recognize him when he sat everyday by her side.  'Where's Francie?..why hasn't he come, Francis tell him to come see me.' Francis was our Dad's Dad, Aunty Day's beloved brother. He was there. She was his kin his family. Some people find genuine love with a friend, I know I have friends  and cousins I call them my family, they are my kin, I am lucky my own family are important to me. Other people may not have the blood link but do we need it? The meaning of family has changed and is different to so many. I'll never be a 'natural' mother but I know I've been and will be a mother to those that I can be, they will always be part of my family, my kin. I have been surrogate Aunty adopted sister..and I have been and am truly loved. I am lucky to have a family to know my kin to realise that it isn't blood it's kindness it's consideration that creates a bond...and I am so grateful.

Easter's Remembered

It's Easter week in Dublin and the City is in the throws of remembering The Rising, a rebellion that took place on her streets in 1916. Controversy and conflicting stories fill every shop and bar. The Irish are famed as storytellers and her Dubliners are even more famed. Throughout the years facts can blur into fiction and vice a versa. One thing remains, all those involved in the Irish Uprising against the British Empire took a chance against a great force to have their voice heard.  Thanks to their bravery and the risk of so few we now have a land we can call home. However all this Easter remembering reminded me of my own family traditions at this time.

Being from an Italian /Irish background, an Italian mother whose family arrived to an often hostile Ireland in the 1930s. My father an Irish Tenor singing Gas Fitter from the North Strand. Daddy was famed for his beautiful voice, always had a tune or whistle as he went. He was also a formidable ballroom dancer, and hopeless romantic. They meet at school in Marino Tech in the late 40s, he remembered the day and how he saw her on the sweeping terrazzo staircase, a staircase made by her father, my Nono. But that's another story.

Easter was herald by frantic Spring Cleaning. The house, the garden, the car, the family. All washed, polished, tidied, gleaming. The white linen table cloths all ready, I can still smell the sunlight soap from the cloths hung out on a windy day for drying, my twin brother and I running between the giant cloths gliding our grubby hands along the fabric. A sharp bang on the window and brisque Italian shouted at us to get out from under the cloths, soon had us away. We would get bored with all this cleaning and fed up with the frantic pace our mother and Aunt seemed to work at. Our mother didn't really do the religious side of things, she never did, before her time really. 'I don't need a church or any inbetweener to tell me what or how to live my life' - she was wonderful, creative, captivating and clever, also very beautiful.

So Good Friday, early in the morning Dad would drop myself, my brother and Mammy to Aunty Mary's in Marino. Aunty Mary lived with our Italian Grandparents, how she managed to do all she did none of us will ever know, she was always working. She cared twenty four hours a day for her parents, entertained and fed the extended family most Sundays and took care of me and my brother each day after school. I don't think any of us truly appreciated the linchpin Aunty Mary was, the foundation stone and anchor to all our families she was.

Aunty Mary waited for us, The Twins on Good Friday to collect the fresh eggs from her hens in the back yard. Each egg  was marked with a cross, some would be kept for Easter Sunday breakfast. The rest we would boil and paint in bright colours to add to the Easter table display. Nona and Nono would be given a fried egg in butter with fresh Vienna bread and sugary coffee. Aunty Mary did believe strongly in the church traditions, she would've already had attended mass, and was usually waiting for the PP (Parish Priest) to come visit the house. I think he came because her baking was legendary and there was always freshly ground percolated coffee on the stove. This simple luxury of coffee that we all expect these days was not so easy to come by in Dublin in the 1970s.
We were given small jobs, like polish the cutlery at the table beneath the canaries. Their cages were hung high on the window frame looking out to a small but beautiful garden, the window sill crammed with terracotta pots with red and scarlet geraniums. Sometimes on a fine day the birds and their cages were hung outside, the wild birds trying to match their song. We would also be put to work, sitting on the back step taking turns grinding the coffee beans.There was always a cat, either belonging to the house or another neighbour, but Aunty Mary was always feeding one. She had a straight forward fairness, she loved animals, but they had a job to do too. Daddy would pick us up in his orange Dublin Gas Co van with his new hair cut. We were laden down with cloth wrapped pots of pasta, lemon drizzle cake, fresh ground coffee. This trusty  Ford Escort Betsy van always had the smell of hard work, copper pipes and brass fittings, but on Good Friday it was lemons and home cooking that filled the air. We'd sing, Dad starting us off...' Mares eat oats, and Doe's eat oats and little lambs eat ivy..'it didn't end till we pulled up to the driveway of our home.

Saturday was the new clothes, everything was laid out for the following Sunday. Out to play, or more likely out of the way. That evening washes, and sitting by the fire one of my older sister would 'Rag' my hair. This was socks or stripes of fabrics that your hair was wrapped around to create bouncing ringlets the following day. Daddy would most likely do  a trip to the chipper for fish and chips, he always had the smoked cod.

So Easter Sunday, Daddy had made breakfast, opera or the radio would be on and we would all be dressed in our finest. New ribbons in my hair, either white or yellow, white knee socks, polished. My twin brother in a new shirt and pants his blonde hair gleaming. Our two older sisters dressed in the latest style. off to Nona, Nono and Aunty Mary. All the preparations on Good Friday paid off for this day. When we'd get there, we'd sometimes 'have to' go to mass, Aunty Mary would be at the door hat, gloves and coat on, handbag over her arm, we'd be turned on our heels and marched down the hill of Philipsburgh Avenue to Fairview church to the sound of the bells ringing. Everyone in the community knew and respected our Aunt and she was very well liked. I think she must have made over a hundred wedding dresses, First Holy Communion dresses and altered every suit in a fifty mile radius. I also think she took pride in showing off her extended family at Easter Sunday mass and we always behaved ourselves in church or in grown up situations.

By the time we got back to the house on Brian Road, it was packed with cousins, neighbours Aunts, Uncles. The table was filled with Colomba, an Easter Panettone and very Italian, lemon drizzle cake, home made profiteroles, china cups and saucers, side plates, the sideboard was over laden with flowers and gifts from the descended crowd. Numerous conversations in Italian, English on numerous topics flowed, sweet smells of coffee cake, tobacco and pipe hung in the air like clouds. The canaries singing as high as they could, children casing the cat ran in and about the adults. Through it all Aunty Mary ensured everyone had something to drink something to eat, she pacified any childish disagreement she picked up every baby she kissed everyone's cheek at least twice, she never sat down. And the fire in the heath was always burning.
This family celebration would last till the afternoon, then home to our roast dinner that Mammy had put on in the morning by this stage the lamb was well done the roasted potatoes good and crispy. We'd bust through the hall door long to take our new shoes off and re count our Easter eggs we got from our cousins. The family dog delighted we where at last home. Daddy would go to collect his two elderly Aunts in Donnycarney to have dinner with us. The day seemed to go on and on. Daddy's Aunt where Dubliners that lived through unrest and strife, we didn't appreciate the stories they shared about lock outs and a city in flames at an Easter they'll never forget, of things hidden in skirts. But then I just thought it was stories, they told great stories, but I was too young to realise that fact can be stranger than fiction and that older ladies were once young and extremely brave, I wish I had listened more intently. Every family has it's heroes many go unnoticed.

A Love of Food & Pints 4-The Women, or some of them

The Women

Behind every great bar…is usually a woman…

John Kavanagh The Gravediggers has a long history of strong, inspirational women. Don't be fooled by the name above the door as historically it owes a lot of its survival and success to the involvement of hard working determined women.

In Ireland women were not allowed to enter a public house till 1958, even then they had to be with a male member of their family, this prohibition of women lasted to the 1970s. In the 70s if a woman ordered a Pint, she'd be given a Glass. Pints were considered too manly for a woman.

Some Public Houses welcomed women, those on Moore Street depended on the traders that were predominantly women and had little choice as turning away these formidable women wasn't an option. Sadly like the women traders on Moore Street these trader Pubs have also vanished. With this loss Dublin has lost some of it's character and many of her stories.

We do owe the existence of ‘The Snug’ to women and their being welcomed into Public Houses. A Sung was either a Private Room or a Partition to a bar specially set aside for women to drink out of sight of the men.

John Kavanagh’s still has the remnants of its ‘Private Room’ in the bar. This room could also be hired and some of the ledgers list’s Republican meetings held in this room. The front of the bar was converted into a grocery in the era of Josie McKenna Kavanagh. This was good for business and also allowed the men on the other side of the swinging doors to enjoy their Pints in peace out of view from their own children that were often sent on errands by their mother’s to pick up grain or flour.

John Kavanagh’s strong women goes right back to the beginnings of the pub. The first owner John O’Neill handed the pub over to John Kavanagh when he married his daughter Suzanne back in 1833 a time when women couldn't hold property never mind be a licensee. Suzanne also managed to have twenty four children. Sadly little survives on Suzanne O’Neill Kavanagh or of John Kavanagh, but we do have a picture in the bar that belonged to Suzanne’s father John O’Neill. The picture on wood ‘The Chucker Outter’ painted by Lancashire barge and advertising artist John Pemberley is older than the pub itself and is still on the bar wall, in the same place it has always been. So many generations come and go, and the ‘Chucker Outter’ has seen them all leave through the bar door.

After Suzanne and the first John Kavanagh their son Joseph took over in 1870. Joseph was responsible for installing a shooting range and skittle alley into the back of the bar to generate more business. The gate for the cemetery the pubs main revenue had been relocated to the new Finglas Road. Joseph’s wife Margaret took over the licensee in 1878 at age 52, she battled with the authorities on the new licencing laws. As the expert below details..

HISTORY OF THE DUBLIN CATHOLIC CEMETERIES
By William J. Fitzpatrick, LL.D.
Dublin 1900
The fact has long been notorious that at funerals of the lower orders in Ireland the use of alcoholic drinks had been freely indulged in, mainly with a view to deaden grief; but too often with results which cause pain still more poignant to every sensitive mind. The evils to be dreaded by the opening of public houses in the immediate vicinity of Prospect cemetery led the Board to oppose with vigour the granting of licences for the sale of drink, and it was a wise regulation of the committee to restrict the time for funerals to the earlier hours of the day. When they were not always successful in this effort, they bought up the ground on the opposite side of the road and thus prevented the erection of houses from which intoxicants might be supplied. A large fortune had been realized by the owner of a public house which - soon after the cemetery had been opened - was established at the old entrance-gate, and when, in 1878, the committee decided on closing this gate and making the new entrance near Finglas, they were threatened by the owner with legal proceedings on the plea that she would lose a lucrative business by the change

Margaret was living on Prospect Avenue with her son John Kavanagh and was responsible for hiring Josie McKenna from Howth. Josie is a  woman still remembered by many that still drink in the bar. Josie McKenna was working for her Uncle in his busy hotel in the harbour of Howth North Dublin, at that time Howth was a busy passenger harbour, and her Uncle had a successful business. 

When Josie’s Uncle took a young wife, over 25 years his junior, his new wife also brought with her an even younger sister to live and work in the hotel. Perhaps all those young women where too much?  Josie was hired firstly, as a house servant, then as a  Barmaid. In a short time Josie was wife to Margaret’s son John H Kavanagh, eleven years her junior!

Although John H was named licensee, it’s well known that Josie was the business. She installed the grocery and the bar’s upkeep was different than today, washed, polished floors, dust free cabinets. Drawers filled with produce, sacks of grain and a good steady business from the local families. Drinking was kept the opposite side of the swinging doors, giving men privacy and out of sight from their children on errands. She was ahead of her time and kept a tight ship.  From family stories and reflections of older locals, it seems Josie was a strong force and had good head for business. I imagine her to be strong and fair, not afraid of hard work or voicing an opinion.

Josie and John H had sons, two went into trades of printing and carpentry two joined her in the pub business. Her daughter -in-laws stayed supportive in the background.

It wasn't until Josie’s Grandson Eugene bought the pub from his Uncle and Step-Father was there to be a female figure to make an impression.

Eugene and Kathleen worked side by side to make a success of what was a busy pub but run down family home. Kathleen was also a full time mother to six children; Eugene could enjoy his world-wide marathon running because his wife was running the pub with a good manager and staff. Kathleen would work through pregnancies ensuring the customers were looked after. Hailing from Yorkshire this lass worked long tiring hours at a time when women were still frowned upon in Public Houses.

 Kathleen was also taking care of a large family and undertaking renovations of a crumbling building.

Kathleen & Sinead (daughter)

 Often referred to as ‘The War Office’ by her late husband Eugene but then he also referred to their children as ‘My wife’s children’ luckily she understood his sense of humour and his ambition, together they worked well as a team, and together they saved this bar and it’s heritage. Building the first lounge, on the Northside of the city they created a more luxurious partner to the rustic bar, bringing in a new clientele.  Kathleen continues to work in John Kavanagh’s The Gravediggers and is now licensee. She has a strong sense of fairness and a great work ethic that she has instilled in all her family. Completing a degree and continuing to work as a charitable volunteer locally she has set a standard that will be hard to follow, a truly inspiring, pioneering woman. Kathleen is greatly admired and respected by everyone. Beside Kathleen are her children and Grandchildren ensuring the Kavanagh work ethic continues. Many work closely behind the scenes, but they are all involved, it’s wonderful to see a family work together and at the helm someone that is much loved.  

An inspiring no-nonsense Grandmother.  This Grandmother was the cause of many a broken heart throughout the years without even knowing it. Locals still remark on her quick wit, her charm and natural beauty. Eugene knew he was a lucky man, a rare woman indeed.

Eugene, Ciaran Kathleen, Granddaughter Rebecca (Anne's daughter),
 Robert, Stephen (Anne's sons) & Niall Kavanagh

Alongside Kathleen on a daily basis is her daughter Anne Kavanagh.

Anne Kavanagh, her son Robert & daughter Rebecca

Anne is famed for a warm welcome and even more for those wonderful delicious homemade desserts. And her portion size!  Anne believes in a generous amount, and topped with extras, extra cream, extra ice cream, extra fresh fruit.  Anne remembers coming to the bar on a Sunday with her Dad Eugene to wash the glasses and collect the dirty ones in preparation for the Sunday 3pm madness.  Holy Hour as was the term was actually two hours long. This caused a break in pub trading on a Sunday. Traditionally this was to ensure people went home to have dinner with their family, this wasn't always the case. Anne was eight years old at the time. She continued to work or help out all through school and throughout her Nursing Career. 

Anne is a diamond in a dark bar, smiling and greeting locals, visitors, family and friends. As the saying goes ‘she didn't lick it off the stones’ it’s in her heritage. Her Pavlova has legendary status, no point in sharing her recipe …only Anne makes them that way. Maybe it’s the love she mixes into it. She has a great pride and love of her family’s heritage, and gets enjoyment chatting to those that have travelled from afar to visit her and her family. The familiar ‘Hiyaaa…’ and a quick wave as she glides across the floor, never empty handed..’Here for food?.take a seat, with ye in a mo’ all with that flashing smile that melts the toughest of men!  Whether or not one is having food Anne’s warm hearted charm will soon win you over and before you know it, you've had a Pint or two, full lunch and dessert!..Just leave room for that legendary dessert, her portions are as big as her heart!

Anne Kavanagh on Bloomsday June 16th.

So please remember the women may not always be insight, but their impression is there, it’s subtle, unassuming. But also remember to behave; this bar is also home to seven generations. That’s a lot of family to deal with.  'The Cucker Outter' is keeping an eye on the comes and goings of this family run pub..

Kathleen Kavanagh.

John Kavanagh The Gravediggers A Love of Food & Pints -3 'Coddle'

John Kavanagh The Gravediggers A Love of Food & Pints - 3 Coddle

What’s happening today..

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Ciaran Kavanagh, brings flavour back to Glasnevin

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Naturally there are little changes in John Kavanaghs. Regulars and family can get nervous at the mention of ‘adding’ something.  A lot of the time people laugh at a suggestion or a possibility that ‘adding’ something can work in harmony with the existing charm. Ciaran came up against a lot of these reactions, put perseverance and a natural desire to make things work meant that John Kavanaghs reputation for good value and a great product will continue. Ciaran Kavanagh trained as a Chef in the 1990s, working closely with well-respected talented chefs he finished his training in Switzerland, then London. From London Ciaran worked in the Bahamas and then Italy where he ran a successful restaurant. However, home is where his heart lies and throughout his travels he knew Dublin and especially Glasnevin needed something new?

Ciaran knows the importance of a good team, to be surrounded by a great crew in a busy kitchen is important, as too is the bar and floor staff, all that, and family working together, make for a recipe to success. We hope the images and recipes here give a little insight to John Kavanaghs, but really the best is to call by and have a pint, meet the wonderful locals that give this old bar its renowned welcome it is known for. You never know you may even be privy to one of their legendary stories.

So from our small and happy ‘box kitchen’ we hope you enjoy the flavours..

A great group, Christine, Roberto, Ciaran & Phillo

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“that’s lovely…what’s in it?”  I hope to share a few favourite dishes that Ciaran and crew create in The Box Kitchen of the lounge. 
Loving all things Dublin and responsible for it’s come back to many a menu in the city, Ciaran’s Coddle is Number One…

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Ciaran’s Coddle, perhaps not the prettiest of dishes, but this most Dublin bowl of wholesomeness is perfect on cold evenings, or as a finish to a late night of pints, serve with ‘Batch’ bread great for the ‘;ol  soakage’. Good pork products are the key to this dish, support your local butcher and veg man as they usually have the best!

Coddle is a beautiful word, roughly meaning to nurse or to tend to someone when they are ill “to Coddle a child”.

Or Coddle to cook something gently in water just below boiling point, it’s a word that some say comes from Caudle a warm drink that was served to invalids in the 1700s.

But to Dubliners it’s a homely clear (depending on family tradition) broth with bacon, potatoes, onion and sausage. Traditionally served on Saturday evening and a dish usually made by the men of the house. There can be variations of this dish, some add milk, white pudding, gravy or even a can of tomatoes it’s what tastes good that matters. Hope you enjoy Ciaran’s Coddle from John Kavanagh’s The Gravediggers- 
I imagine there will be a lot of people that have a different version, one thing  I do hope is, it brings back a few memories for you. Or even better gets you making your own version of Coddle.

Here we have Niall, Emilou, Christine, Ciaran & Phillo

              

So here’s our Coddle, regularly served in The Lounge of John Kavanagh’s The Gravediggers.

CIARAN’S CODDLE

Ciaran’s Coddle: A dish made for radio, more than TV as visually it can be ‘curious?’

For 4 persons

You will need:

250 grams of Bacon Pieces

250 grams of Cocktail Sausages

1 Sheet of Bacon Ribs (cut in pieces)

1 Onion (diced) traditionally this would’ve been whole

4 Potatoes (peeled, diced, or sliced)

Sprig of Parsley & Thyme

Optional extra: White pudding

Put Bacon Pieces, & Ribs into a saucepan of water & bring to the boil. When it has boiled, take saucepan off the heat, strain & wash Bacon Pieces & Ribs under cold water.

Replace the Bacon Pieces & Ribs back into saucepan, with clean water, add Onion, Potatoes, Parsley & Thyme, cook everything for 1 hour, add Sausages and cook for a further 15 minutes.

Serve with batch bread, & enjoy

Perfect on Bloomsday too!

Happy Cooking.

A Love of Food & Pints -2

Through famine, rebellion, civil unrest and economic downturns...one place remains...

A Brief History

Through ages and World Wars, Rebellion, Civil Unrest and Economic Downturns, one place remained the same…

1831

What started out as a private residence in 1831 the first owner John O’Neill, Hotelier and businessman foresaw an opportunity for success when word of a new cemetery was to be placed in Prospect, Glasnevin, and that this cemetery would be open to all of Dublin’s dead. As the main entrance would be ‘right’ next door to his residence, well, it certainly was an opportunity not to be missed…

John O’Neill converted the ground floor into a bar and a brisk trade followed as funeral corteges would await their turn to enter the large cemetery gate, where better to wait it out, other than warm interior of the bar. John’s daughter Susannah married a John Kavanagh on this marriage John O’Neill handed over the business to the Kavanaghs, nice wedding gift indeed. John Kavanagh’s name was put above on the facia, a name that is there to this day.

Mr and Mrs John Kavanagh not only had a busy public house but also raised a large family at No 1 Prospect Square, twenty four children no less. Three of their sons would travel to the United States to fight in The War of Independence, and where mentioned in the chronicles on The Battle of Gettysburg.

One son returned from his travels to find that the cemetery had moved the entrance to another location, causing a sharp fall in business. Undeterred he installed a Shooting Range and a Skittle Alley. Slowly as the area of Glasnevin became more populated, Prospect Square remained a quiet haven; the pub became a local to the workers of the cemetery and surrounding businesses.

In the early 1900s Josie McKenna Kavanagh from Howth Co Dublin was licensee. Josie had married the younger John H Kavanagh and she would become a driving force behind the business adding a grocery shop, some of the remnants can still be seen behind the bar today.  A private meeting room was also added, it is said many a republican meeting was held here in the early days of a fledgling Nation. Josie and John had four sons, Fintan, John H, Michael and Gerard  During Josie’s era the pub would be called either Josie’s, or The Widows a name that many locals used up till the 90s

The heyday of Josie

In 1943 Josie's son John M. Kavanagh took over, John ran the business alongside his brother Fintan. Their other brothers followed a trade, Michael in carpentry and Gerard into printing.

Circa 1980-notice no pitch roof.

In the 1970s Eugene Kavanagh brought the pub from his uncle (and Step-Father) and with Kathleen his wife raised their family while keeping the business going. In the 1980s a lounge, number 2, was added to the bar. This was more appealing to couples although children and crisps were not allowed in the carpeted lounge till 2000 when it was renovated by the Kavanagh family. The pub and surroundings have changed some but some things within the pub remain the same, no music allowed, no TV, there has never been a telephone. Stories abound of rowdy wakes one story is that the cream of Irish and International music descended on the bar in the 90s to mourn and celebrate a much loved Irish Folk singer, when the crowd started to ‘tune up’ they were quickly told ‘No Singing, No Music, No Exceptions’ simply because it would mean the regulars would sing every night, and they don't have a note between them. Although there is one or two that can hold a note?

The great thing about this bar is the continuous family link. John Kavanagh’s is perhaps the longest generational bar in Dublin and even Ireland. Often three generations of the family will be working side by side at any given time of day. So it could be a Kavanagh serving you Coddle, or pulling a pint. You never know who could be there, perhaps even one of the gravediggers from our neighbours next-door?

And it just keeps getting better, keeping true to it's origins.

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John Kavangh The Gravediggers ..A story of food & Pints

First instalment for 2016..on John Kavanagh The Gravediggers.

The story…or stories

What is it about this pub?....

 There is something special about John Kavanagh’s Public Bar, and it always makes an impression.

What is it that makes this bar so special? One thing is the hum of conversation, at a time when our senses are competing with technology and gadgets, the bar is a haven. Conversation is king. With no television on the premises or piped music, there has never been a public phone just the buzz of chat and laughter entices you to join in on the conversation. Newcomers are welcome as the ‘locals’ our regulars are a friendly bunch and they love to tell a tale or two, the locals also love a new audience, they are a big part to the success of this old Dublin pub.

It’s often hard to believe that this bar is real. It has starred as a backdrop to many films and it’s bar has propped up many a Hollywood Star, but what happens in Kavanagh’s stays in Kavanagh’s unless you owe a ‘round’ of drinks then that will be news!

However this bar is not a movie or stage set, this is a working bar. A bar that has seen many, many years. The dusty, often patched up old interior is genuine having evolved. The tables are a mix of make do as are the knocked together benches. This isn't a wealthy Victorian bar of stain glass and gilt mirrors this was and is a workingman’s bar of straight talking and creamy pints. Today there is a great generational mix of customers and people from all walks of life each trading tales and stories. This is not a Retro or Reproduction bar, it is what it is. It is a survivor, John Kavanagh’s survives because it is very much loved not just by the Kavanagh family but by the locals that take great pride in this most Dublin of bars. The notes scribbled in our visitors books also give a glimpse into the impression this bar makes on those that find themselves at Kavanaghs.

There are many tales and stories surrounding this bar, and even more versions depending on who is telling it. Nestled in a quiet square next to one of Dublin’s oldest cemeteries, if it wasn't for the cars, one would think you were back in time. Welcome to John Kavanaghs, trading since 1831.

I will do my best to capture some of that magic this bar and it's surroundings has, a little bit of history, a few recipes...a few stories, and some of the faces that makes it special.  

A quiet Pint in the bar, before the hordes.

'Josie'-Chef Ciaran's daily mode of transport. 

Often called the 'Wake Table' as it's a good size to lay a coffin..

This is me, selling Fresh Oysters, perfect with a Pint.

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