The Old Mill

Just what Dublin needs - another pub claiming to be the authentic Irish experience. The Old Mill sits there, all proud of itself, wearing its traditional facade like a badge of honor among the city's countless watering holes. I approached with the same enthusiasm I reserve for dental appointments, fully expecting another tourist trap trading on tired Celtic clichés.

I hate being wrong. But here we are.

The moment you cross The Old Mill's threshold, something shifts. It's subtle - like the difference between real butter and the cheap stuff - but unmistakable. The interior manages to be both lived-in and impossibly welcoming, achieving that delicate balance between "carefully curated" and "actually authentic" that so many Dublin pubs desperately try and spectacularly fail to achieve.

The staff, God help me, are actually genuine. Not the forced-smile-while-mentally-planning-their-escape genuine, but the sort who remember your name and drink order without making a Broadway production of it. It's almost annoying how effortlessly they pull this off.

Let's talk about the beverages because that's what you're here for, isn't it? The Guinness (because of course you're ordering Guinness) is poured with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious ceremonies. The perfect two-part pour, the exact right temperature, the shamrock on top that somehow doesn't feel tacky - it's all there. And yes, it really does taste better here. I've tested this theory extensively. For research purposes, naturally.

The cocktail program surprised me, and I don't surprise easily. Traditional Irish whiskey drinks share menu space with contemporary creations that actually work, rather than feeling like something conceived by a marketing team who once saw a leprechaun movie. Their house Old Fashioned, made with local whiskey, has no business being as good as it is.

Live music happens regularly, and unlike many Dublin venues where traditional music feels like a performance for tourists, The Old Mill's sessions feel organic. Musicians appear to genuinely enjoy playing here, which says something about both the acoustics and the atmosphere. The crowd - a healthy mix of locals and visitors - actually listens rather than treating it as background noise for their Instagram stories.

Speaking of crowds, yes, it gets busy. But unlike other popular Dublin pubs where you need shoulder pads and a rugby player's determination to reach the bar, The Old Mill somehow manages its space well. The layout creates natural pockets of conversation, and the outdoor seating area - when weather permits (so, three days a year) - is surprisingly pleasant.

Food-wise, they've wisely stuck to pub classics done well rather than attempting some confused fusion menu. The fish and chips don't pretend to reinvent the wheel, but they execute it perfectly - crispy batter, flaky fish, proper thick-cut chips. Their stew, which I ordered purely to find fault with, left me momentarily speechless. The prices won't make your wallet weep, though they're not giving it away either. For central Dublin, it's fair value, even if that phrase makes me wince slightly.

The amenities are all present and correct - card payments (welcome to the 21st century), decent bathrooms (a miracle in Dublin), and parking nearby (though if you're driving to a pub, we need to have a different conversation). They take reservations, which in these "queue for everything" times feels almost revolutionary.

Look, I didn't want to like The Old Mill Dublin. I really didn't. My professional cynicism has standards to maintain. But much like that one friend who's irritatingly perfect yet impossible to hate, this place has worn down my defenses through sheer competence and charm.

If you must visit a pub in Dublin - and let's face it, you must - make it The Old Mill. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation to maintain, and they're already smug enough about being good at what they do. Though I suppose they've earned that right. Barely.