Shannon Hotel

Your typical Time Out pub review is based on a talented young writer visiting a bar incognito for a couple of hours or so and then giving their heartfelt opinion of said establishment.
This one is a bit different.
You see, I’m old, not particularly talented and have been drinking at The Shannon for around eight years (although I have been home once or twice in that time). In the spirit of transparency I thought it best to declare that up front. And while we’re about it, I might also have a long overdue bar tab with them - I can’t remember.
Previously known as the Royal Oak and operating more or less continuously since 1865, The Shannon pretends to be nothing other than, well, a pub - and a bloody good one at that.
Nestled in rapidly gentrifying inner city Chippendale, The Shannon is cornered by two welcoming open-air windows that provide a decent breeze on a good day.
The pub’s focal point is its rather striking ten-foot stained glass oval window depicting the Shannon river, County Limerick, complete with crumbling castle, moored boats, leaping salmon and meditative Celtic bards. OK, I made the last bit up but the window really is worth the visit alone.
Inside you’ve got an open plan area with a huge bar with bar stools, a loose collection of tables, two decent pool tables and a jukebox with an eclectic 500-plus song selection. Downstairs is a massive new bar, available for private hire.
In the beer garden you’ve got a sunny and welcoming outdoor dining area and kitchen. The menu is a lively compilation of the usual suspects - steaks, fish, chicken, pasta - all under $20. The food is nothing pretentious but it’s always fresh, house made and presented to a standard you normally expect to see at the posher, pricier end of town.
And then there is Pat the publican. An expat Limerick man, broad of girth and broader of accent, Pat is a throwback to a bygone era when all publicans were gruff, witty, bullshit artists who wouldn’t hesitate to stop, prop and talk to all and sundry. He’s a star attraction.
Being old school, Pat is fastidious about making sure the beer is cold, crisp and clean. There’s a good selection on offer at around $4.50 a schooner, from VB, New and Coopers to the increasingly popular younger brands such as Pure Blonde. But the crowing glory is the Guinness which Pat proudly claims as the best in Sydney. And I wouldn’t argue with him.
Nor would any of his regulars. His clientele is healthily diverse: from veterans locals to just-passing-through backpackers; from young professional couples to students from the nearby University Notre Dame’s Broadway campus.
Different nights attract different crowds. On a Tuesday, you’ve got the dulcet Dublin tones of local Lou Carey, famed around these parts for once telling Bono to eff off and get his own gig. True story. Saturday is jazz night while on a Sunday you’ll often stumble across an impromptu pick-up gathering of up to 40 Irish musos each with a tin-whistle or a drum or a fiddle.
Aye, it’s a good craic to be sure. Phil McCluskey