I've been quite remiss in posting since initiating the blog a couple months ago, but tonight's experience is going to change all that, hopefully on a permanent basis.
A couple years back I revisited O'Reilly's Pub on Green Street in North Beach, San Francisco looking to confirm my earlier experience. In all my travels and at least four score and seven pubs, I had yet to find a lamb stew that challenged the reigning champion. As it was a weekday evening, the dining room of the pub was uncrowded. I enjoyed dinner and a few pints at a quiet table in earshot of the only other occupants. I couldn't help but overhear -- actually, I could have probably helped it -- as they discussed the acquisition of an old building near the Civic Center, and plans to restore the building to its former grandeur and open an oyster house.
Although I experienced a few minor pangs of guilt at eavesdropping, I was enjoying the character study presented by their discourse. The age difference between the men created the impression of a younger entrepreneur and his older, more experienced mentor. Because I had already sampled the Oysters O'Reilly on the menu, I suspected that the younger man was the proprietor of the establishment, and that the new venture had at least a reasonable chance for success. Without any pressing engagements for the evening, I ordered the one dessert that I can rarely pass up, the Irish bread pudding with whiskey sauce.
While I finished gorging myself, the conversation ended and the younger man walked his friend to the door. As he passed back by my table, I inquired if he was the proprietor. "Yes, I'm Myles O'Reilly," said he. I introduced myself and explained my quest for the best lamb stew in the country. I told him, "After extensive research, I had to come back and see if yours is still the best -- and it is!" Myles told me that it was his mother's recipe and offered that the secret was the fresh-squeezed orange juice. While he may well have spoken the truth, it occurred to me that the Dublin native may have kissed the Blarney stone a time or two. Some three-quarters of an hour later, I left the pub with a full belly, a pleasant buzz, and a few O'Reilly's souvenirs given me by my new Irish friend. "Ah, take this cap for y'self and a tam for the missus."
All of which brings us to today. Since none of my recent trips have brought me to San Francisco, I have had to follow the development and opening of O'Reilly's Holy Grail vicariously through the websites (http://www.oreillysirish.com/ and lately http://www.oreillysholygrail.com/). I've often longed to attend some of the special occasions and events that their email promotions have advertised. So today I finished the workshop I was leading in the early afternoon, and as is my practice, I jumped on the Web to find a Irish pub for the evening . None of the search results in the East Bay area captured my interest, but I did discover that my hotel was close to the Dublin/Pleasanton BART station. A forty-minute train ride and ten-minute walk brought me to the Holy Grail; that would be the pub, not the chalice. And the Holy Grail it proved to be! While the menu does not feature the regular object of my obsession (i.e., lamb stew), the grilled lamb chops and lamb sausage and cucumber yogurt were incredible. And the featured oysters perfectly complemented the perfect pours of Guinness. I'll have to develop a rating scale for my pub review, but today I found the benchmark against which, at least in the near term, all others will be measured. Congratulations to Myles on his great new restaurant and pub and to Chef Sean Canavan, who has talent rarely found in Irish cuisine. Enough to inspire this errant blogger to get of his bum and get to work. Slainte!
