Address: Sedlárska 6, Bratislava
Hours: Every day, 10-1 am.
Prices: Sk Sk Sk
English menu: Yes
Credit Cards: No
Recommended: Go for the Guinness and great atmosphere.
After a productive morning meeting, my associates and I decided to grab a bite to eat. The Dubliner, known as the Irish Pub, was close to the office, so off we went. Most of us had, of course, been to this famous expat Bratislava hangout before, and felt it was time we sampled the epicurean delights. I was dying for a steak, so I went for the 200 gram carnivore special, cooked rare with pepper sauce. The fully loaded spud was the perfect partner for my slab of meat. My fellow diners chose the Irish Stew, a steak sandwich and a couple of stuffed spuds covered with cheese, one with and one without ham. After ordering, we spent half an hour in idle shop talk before the first meal arrived - the Irish Stew, advertised as "containing Guinness". Maybe they poured the beer in after taking the stew out of the microwave, for the meal was luke warm. It tasted good, and contained lots of meat, but we all agreed it really should have been served hot. With little to do but watch the lucky diner dig around vainly for a hot morsel, we decided to order another round of pints.
Then my steak arrived, fighting for space on the plate with the veggies, spud and fried mushrooms. The steak itself was cooked rare, and the pepper sauce had a nice bite to it. The mushrooms were cold, but the potato was nice and hot. I believe the meat was a sirloin cut, and one of my associates had a couple of bites and pronounced it 'not bad'. His judgement, however, may have been influenced by the fact that he was by now faint with hunger - the rest of our party were still waiting for their meals while I sheepishly tucked in to my hunk o' flesh and the Irish Stew recipient scraped her bowl clean.
The baked spuds arrived as I was half-way through my steak. They hadn't stinted on the melted cheese, but unfortunately had melted it long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away. It, too, was as cold and stiff as the skin on yesterday's pudding. At this point, growing somewhat perturbed, I began hunting for a waitress, since the last lunch at our table still hadn't arrived. I finally caught the attention of one young lady (by rugby-tackling her and bringing her crashing to the floor among the fire irons). She politely informed me that she didn't serve food, a task that was the exclusive preserve of "Food Only" wait staff. The mysterious "Food Only" finally showed up empty-handed. The steak had been forgotten, and a remembered replacement didn't arrive until all of us had (at various times) finished. Ah well, time for another pint.
26. Mar 1998 at 0:00 | Elen van der Net