Best Casual Vibe Pubs

Just what Cork needed - another craft brewery trying to convince us that their IPA is somehow revolutionary. When I first heard about Rising Sons Brewery in Cork's city center, I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly sprained an ocular muscle. Haven't we reached peak craft beer? Apparently not. Look, I wanted to hate this place. I really did. The industrial-chic aesthetic, the obligatory exposed brick, the bearded staff who probably know more about hop varieties than their own mothers' birthdays - it's all so predictably on-trend it hurts. But damn it, Rising Sons Brewery has managed to do something irritatingly impressive here. First, let's talk about their beer because that's supposedly the main event. Their raspberry stout - which sounds like something conceived during a particularly misguided focus group - is annoyingly delicious. It's like someone took a perfectly respectable stout and gave it just enough berry character to make it interesting without veering into dessert-drink territory. I hate that I love it. The space itself is a clever conversion of what was probably some sort of warehouse, though the staff seems suspiciously vague about its previous incarnation. It's got that whole "we discovered these brick walls behind some plaster and just had to keep them" vibe, but the overall effect works. The brewing equipment gleams like some sort of steampunk fantasy, and the seating arrangement manages to accommodate both the "I'm here for a serious beer tasting" crowd and the "I just want to watch the match" contingent without making either feel out of place. Let's address the food because apparently, we can't have a brewery in 2025 without a kitchen throwing out "elevated pub grub." The pizza, which I fully expected to be an afterthought, emerges from their wood-fired oven with the kind of crust that makes Italians nod appreciatively. And the nachos - lord help me - are something I've actually craved after leaving. They're topped with beef that's actually seasoned properly, which shouldn't be noteworthy but somehow is. The pricing is what you'd expect for a place that makes its own beer and doesn't want to be confused with your standard pub. It's not going to bankrupt you, but you're definitely paying for the privilege of drinking something brewed 20 feet from where you're sitting. That said, their half-pour options are a surprisingly considerate touch for those of us who'd like to sample widely without ending up face-down in our pizza. The staff, despite their encyclopedic knowledge of fermentation processes, manage to avoid the condescension that often comes with craft beer territory. They'll happily explain the difference between their various IPAs without making you feel like you've just enrolled in Beer 101. And if you just want "something like Guinness but not Guinness," they'll handle that request with remarkable grace. What's particularly vexing about Rising Sons Brewery is how seamlessly it fits into Cork's drinking culture while still managing to do its own thing. It's neither trying too hard to be traditional nor attempting to reinvent the wheel. The place gets surprisingly busy, especially during matches, but the layout prevents it from feeling like a sardine tin, even when it's heaving. They've also managed to create that elusive thing - a space that works as well for an afternoon pint as it does for a full evening out. The lighting doesn't make you look like you're under interrogation, the music stays at a level where conversation is actually possible, and there's enough room between tables that you're not involuntarily participating in your neighbors' discussion about their recent home renovation. Look, I'm as surprised as anyone to be writing this, but Rising Sons Brewery in Cork has earned its place in the city's drinking landscape. Whether you're a craft beer enthusiast (congratulations on your beard) or just someone looking for a solid spot to spend an evening, you'll find something to like here. Just don't come back telling me I've gone soft - I still maintain a healthy skepticism about 90% of craft breweries. This one just happens to fall into the other 10%. Book ahead if you're planning to come with a group, or risk standing around looking pathetic while watching others enjoy their perfectly poured pints.

Just what Shoreditch needed - another "carefully restored" Victorian pub. The Knave of Clubs in London beckoned with promises of historical grandeur and craft beer, and I entered with the weary skepticism of someone who's seen far too many soulless renovations masquerading as authentic experiences. The Grade II listed building had been shuttered for three decades, and part of me wished it had stayed that way rather than potentially joining the ranks of London's Instagram-ready disappointments. But here we are, drawn like moths to the flame of yet another resurrection story in the city's ever-evolving east end. I'll admit, begrudgingly, that they didn't completely butcher the restoration. The central servery, with its ornate columns and original cornicing, somehow manages to avoid the try-hard historical cosplay that plagues so many renovated London pubs. The Victorian gilded advertising mirrors above those original glazed tiles? They're actually... good. Damn it. The true revelation came when I settled in at the bar, fully prepared to pen a scathing critique of overpriced mediocrity. The bartender, refreshingly free of the usual Shoreditch attitude, actually knew their stuff. When I ordered the Purity Session IPA, they didn't launch into an unsolicited dissertation on hop profiles - just pulled a properly kept pint with the kind of quiet competence that's becoming endangered in this postcode. Let's talk about that open kitchen at the back, shall we? The rotisserie chicken could have been a gimmick - lord knows we've seen enough of those - but the aroma wafting through the space made me temporarily forget my professional cynicism. The chicken fat potatoes (a concept I wanted to hate but couldn't) arrived golden and crackling, with a baguette that would make a Parisian grudgingly nod in approval. The prawn Scotch egg deserves its own paragraph, if only because it's managed to elevate pub fare without descending into pretension. It's the kind of dish that makes you wonder why no one thought of it before, then makes you grateful they waited until someone could do it justice. The space strikes an impossible balance between pub and dining room, maintaining its boozer soul while serving food that actually warrants a proper napkin. The wooden floorboards creak with satisfying authenticity, and those black-and-white photos from 1976 serve as more than mere decoration - they're a reminder of what this place once was, when it was known as The Bird House and hosted songbird traders from Club Row market. Dogs are welcome, which feels right in a proper pub, and the payment options are thoroughly modern despite the historical setting. The staff manage that rare feat of being attentive without hovering, and the playlist - soul music at a volume that permits actual conversation - suggests someone actually thought about the atmosphere instead of just copying the latest Spotify trending playlist. Yes, the beer prices might make your wallet wince (£7.20 for a pint of Session IPA? Really?), but in a neighborhood where you can easily pay more for something far worse, it's hardly the cardinal sin it might be elsewhere. The cocktail program, while not the main event, shows the same attention to detail as everything else here. The Knave of Clubs sits at the eastern edge of Shoreditch, a location that saves it from the worst excesses of the area's weekend warriors. It's close enough to the action to be convenient, but just far enough removed to maintain its dignity. The fact that you can actually reserve a table feels like a small miracle in an area where queueing has become a competitive sport. Look, I wanted to hate it. I really did. But The Knave of Clubs has managed to pull off something remarkable - a genuine pub experience that acknowledges both its heritage and its present-day context. If you're going to venture into Shoreditch for a drink and a meal (and despite my better judgment, I'm suggesting you should), make it here. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation to maintain.