(another from the archives) 

Hi Sean!

Sunday, September 29, 2002

You know, the Irish Heather is an odd duck, or, it being a pub I suppose you have to call it an odd pub, but that doesn't have quite the same, though almost, ring to it. Anyway, it's odd. and it's not quite a pub; it's a restaurant. Technically speaking, that is, it is, and this being Canada we prefer to speak technically if at all possible, just to keep the raw enthusiasm down.

They have a private room called the Shebeen which is not, in fact, a shebeen, a shebeen being, in fact and in Irish, a place where one may purchase a dram or even quite a lot of moonshine, which you can't do in this Shebeen at all, not even for takeout and most especially not if you bring your own bottle or jar, a practice that, while traditional in such places as, ferinstance, say, Ireland, is strongly discouraged here.

It's some sort of conspiracy by the bottle manufacturers.

In the main restaurant one can order whiskey, or even whisky, and I wish I could tell you that they use the correct designation for each type but unfortunately I had a couple and now cannot remember. But one, the other, or both: of that I am sure. One can also order cocktails of a traditional cast such as the Black and Tan, though other variants such as the Black Velvet should be ashamed of themselves for calling themselves thus, as a Black Velvet is Guinness and champagne and the Irish Heather Black Velvet is Guinness and cider, not the same thing at all, though it has merit and makes a nice, light lunch, and a vegetarian lunch at that. We used to give Guinness to our racehorses to put meat on their bones, so you just know it's good for you; probably helps your time over six furlongs. Let me know.

But you cannot order whisky, whiskey, or even Black Velvet without also ordering and at least pretending to consume food. That's because of the restaurant license. Now, it's not the kind of policy I normally object to, being, as I may perhaps have mentioned, somewhat pro-food, especially when I am peckish. Yes, nothing stimulates the appetite like being hungry, at least I find it so. And I certainly have no objection to the Irish Heather's food: it is excellent, especially the soup, the drunken mussels and the curry fries, even though when I spill the red curry sauce on my nice white jeans I have to walk home through the Downtown EastSide looking like I have forgotten my tampon. The sauce must be very slippery, as I typically have only one drink. A pint is only half a litre, right?

So it is not that I would even begin to have a problem with a place that pushed good food upon one. But the fact is that the place is kitted out more like an Irish pub than many pubs in Ireland now that the disco ball has landed on the Emerald Isle. It is false advertising or maybe just confusing, althought the possiblility exists that could I afford to order food and booze more often I would not resent the whole setup so much; perhaps they should comp me for a month or so and we can put this theory to a fair test. Sean, you know where the comments button is.

There is a nice glass conservatory in the back looking out on Gaoler's Mews where they used to have the hangings, except you wouldn't have been able to see them from the Heather then, as the place was a jail and did not generally keep the criminals in the glassed-in part; perhaps they grew orchids there, or ran a little tearoom out in back of the prison. How quaint. If you were a criminal and were not taking the featured role in the hanging you might have been able to peek at it from your cell (they still have the barred windows upstairs) but then, why?

One of the waiters was out front having a smoke one night and he was saying to his bud: "I always knew I'd end up in jail but at least I picked one you can get beer in."

The floor is stone flags and brick and other antique-y things, and old, saggy boards upstairs, which used to be the cells and then was the bridal annex when Laura Ashley had the space, and I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere. There's frosted glass windows out front and glossy green woodwork all around and tiny little pubby tables that don't really fit plates all that well though they accomodate glasses perfectly well. So it looks for all the world like a pub. Most particularly when the band is playing, which they do from a sitting position usually at the table next to me and although I am violently allergic to live music they must be good, as I generally really enjoy the whole thing and let them continue. Besides, if I objected they'd poke me with their fiddle bows and that would totally hurt.

I'll tell you about the eavesdropping and the presentation of the Watermelon Turnip next time…