I love the holidays. I love my family. I just don't always love them together. If this were the 1960s, I would retreat to my Fortress of Masculine Solitude in the basement, with a six-pack of Busch and the snowy black-and-white glare of football via rabbit ears to drown out nattering in-laws and squealing children. Thankfully, I'm not that guy.
I do need a place to go, though — maybe with a favorite cousin or uncle — where I can surround myself with people who don't know my name, where alcohol flows in a never-ending stream of amber joy, and where there is food that is homey and hearty, but not like my home.
I need an Irish bar. My thoughts immediately turn to a particular block in the heart of South Howard, home to The Dubliner and MacDinton's.
Wha huh? MacDinton's? The way it sprawls along a half block of South Howard, the building itself all but hidden by a giant wooden deck festooned with banners and flags advertising a plethora of alcohol brands, doesn't evoke romantic images of a village pub from the old country. Neither does the weekly "Playstation" night, the giant plasma screen gracing the outdoor bar or the frequent appearance of distinctly non-Celtic cover bands. When the Miller Lite girls — with their soft faces, tan skin, and tight black-and-white striped polos — start unpacking giveaways, it's easy to ask: Is this a frat party, or an Irish pub?
Look a little closer, though, and you'll find some hidden depths to MacDinton's. Leave the deck and wander through a veritable labyrinth of cozy, wood-adorned rooms, some decked out with booths and tables, several with bars. On a recent recon mission, screams were emanating from a barroom outfitted with TVs, filled with jersey-wearing hooligans happy about something that was piped in through MacDinton's satellite soccer feeds. It's sweet to see people get worked up over a game like soccer.
When asked about what's on tap, our server replied, "Just name it!" MacDinton's pours the usual suspects through its dozen taps; the pints come out cold with a beautiful thin layer of tight foam. The menu is largely overcome by fried bar snacks and sandwiches, with some decent salads and pastas to fill it out. Hidden on the back, though, near the end of the laminated sheet, is a section of Irish standards. That's why I'm here.
We start with potato skins ($4.95) because, well, it seems that that might be one American bar classic that could make it on the Emerald isle. Bacon and melted cheese are cradled in thick halves of hollowed-out potato. Smeared with luscious, full-fat sour cream, they are a quick reminder that the '80s weren't an entirely worthless decade.
Guinness beef stew ($9.95) is uniform chocolate brown, an exact match with my half-empty pint glass. Big chunks of carrot, potatoes and beef that falls apart at the touch of a fork are suspended in a gravy that tastes more like it came from a packet than from a keg of good stout. Sad that fresh, well-cooked ingredients are forced to bathe in this dreary dreck.
Golden brown filets of fried fish ($9.95) are crunchy, with steam escaping from the moist flesh as we break them open. There is absolutely no seasoning in the crisp breading, resulting in a whole lot of texture and almost no flavor. At least the chips are thick and salted.
MacDinton's cottage pie ($9.55) puts the rest of this stuff to shame. Underneath a layer of piped mashed potato is a lake of creamy chicken gravy loaded with peas, carrots, mushrooms, potatoes and diced chicken breast. Perfectly seasoned, this dish almost makes the visit worthwhile.
Just up the street, though, is another option. The Dubliner is just off Howard, a two-story wooden house tucked behind Sangria's. The requisite wooden deck is built amidst natural foliage. It's more like an expat bar in the jungle than a village pub or a frat house.
On the covered front porch, you can look straight down the long shotgun bar that runs the length of the house. The whole place has a lived-in feel, just on the comfy side of run down.
When we sit, one of my companions claims that "the people at the other place were better-looking." Sure, but these people look more fun, and the music is significantly better. Sex Pistols, Dead Kennedys — a parade of punk and almost-punk and, damn, it just fits the feel of the place.
The Dubliner's beer selection and bar menu are similar to MacDinton's, but when the plates hit the table the differences become apparent. Although the chips are typical skinny fries, the crispy fish ($8.75) actually has a lot of flavor, thanks to some well-seasoned breading. Potato and leek soup ($3.75) is better than I could have hoped, the mild chicken broth flavored with bay leaf and parsley and packed with tender slivers of leek and chunks of creamy potato.
Melted cheese adds depth to creamy mashed potatoes layered on top of the shepherd's pie ($8.75). The ground beef, peas and diced carrots underneath are coated in a rich gravy that actually tastes like beef and Guinness. The potato skins ($6.95) don't live up to the rest of the food, but they're fine.
While MacDinton's is like an Irish bar crossed with a fraternity mixer, The Dubliner feels cozy. Off the main drag, tucked amongst the trees, it's a nice place to recharge with a few pints of amber love when the nerves start to fray this holiday season.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. He can be reached at brian.ries@weeklyplanet.com. Planet food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in Nov 23-29, 2005.