Every Dubliner’s got an opinion on where to get the best pint. They’ll argue about it for hours, usually in a place that doesn’t even serve Guinness. I’ve had good pints in all sorts of places — old pubs, new ones, pubs I can’t remember the name of, and one funeral home, but that’s a story for another day.
But one stands out. And so does the worst. Like most things, it’s not about the drink itself. It’s about timing. And not being handed something that looks like soup and tastes like bin water.
The Best Pint: Kehoe’s, Around 3:40pm, Rain Outside
Not shouting about it — just a fact.
I’d finished a long tour, the kind where everyone wants to ask questions after even though you’re clearly packing up. I ducked into Kehoe’s on South Anne Street just before the after-work crowd kicked off.
One lad behind the bar. Quiet hum. Few regulars. I didn’t have to say anything clever. Just nodded and got the nod back. That kind of place.
He poured it slow. Proper two-part pour. Let it sit. Came back to it without being prompted. No rush, no faffing.
Sat me down near the window, pint in hand, coat still wet. No music, just chat. Not forced chat. The kind that happens naturally around 4pm when no one’s trying to be interesting.
The pint was cold. Settled perfect. Didn’t taste like anything special — just how it’s supposed to. No bite, no metal, no weird aftertaste. Didn’t even think about it until it was nearly gone. That’s the sign of a good pint. You forget you’re drinking it.
The Worst Pint: Somewhere Near Temple Bar, €7.10, Warm Glass
I won’t name the place. I’m not here to start rows or get banned. But it’s on a corner, and they advertise “traditional Irish music” on a Tuesday afternoon. That should’ve been the first clue.
I was meeting a cousin from Offaly. He picked the spot because it “looked cosy.” It wasn’t. It was loud, sticky, and full of American students doing shots out of green plastic hats.
I ordered a Guinness. Mistake.
It came in one go. No settling. No second pour. Just foamed up and dumped in front of me like a milkshake from a petrol station. Warm glass. Wrong shape. Head like shaving cream. Tasted off — like it’d been poured through a sock someone left on a radiator.
I took two sips, left it. The cousin didn’t even notice. He was halfway through a bowl of nachos he was calling Irish food.
I still think about that pint. Not in a poetic way. In a “how was that allowed to happen” way.
Pint Rules No One Tells You
- Watch the pour. If it’s rushed or all in one go, walk away.
- Glass matters. Proper branded glass, clean, cold. If it’s foggy or warm, you’re in trouble.
- Price isn’t a guarantee. A €6.80 pint in a pub with flags hanging from the ceiling isn’t better than a €5.50 one from a man who’s been behind the bar since the ‘80s.
- Trust your gut. If the place smells like vinegar or tequila before 5pm, it’s not a Guinness pub.
Other Honourable Mentions
- Toner’s – Good if you get a spot out the back. Bit too many influencers these days.
- Grogans – Pint’s decent, and they won’t bother you.
- Mulligan’s on Poolbeg Street – A bit of a cliché, but still solid. Don’t sit near the toilets.
- Your mate’s uncle’s garage – Honestly? Sometimes better than half the pubs in town.
Tourists always ask me where the “best pint” is. I say: go somewhere quiet. Watch the barman. If he doesn’t look up much and he still remembers your order, you’re in the right place.
And if you do end up somewhere awful — warm glass, flat head, €7 and a free headache — don’t finish it. That’s not Irish tradition. That’s self-harm.
