Gray Matter: Gray’s guide to the curse of the cussed customer

In Arezzo in 1992, for instance, I surprised friends by ducking a quincentennial exhibition of the work of Piero della Francesca in favour of visiting a street market where I bought a cardigan (unworn ever since). This year, I now realise, is the 600th anniversary of Piero’s birth; perhaps I might have opportunity to make amends.

In Marseilles, I steered clear of bouillabaisse and in Genoa said no thanks to pesto alla Genovese.

During a week in New Orleans I sedulously avoided having anything to do with the music it’s famed for and managed to write a 2,000-word travel article without mentioning the ‘j’ word once. This is in contrast with the Daily Telegraph’s Nigel Richardson who last Saturday made jazz the principal theme of his cover piece on the city.

I shoehorned in a reference to Mr Richardson in order to mention a strange thing that happened in my brief acquaintance with him. He was sitting to my left at a formal dinner at the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park in the autumn of 2000. During conversation, I told him I was reading an excellent new book called Dog Days in Soho. Beaming, he owned to being its author.

The book (and here’s another reason for the mention) dealt with the louche life around London’s pubs that had its parallel – still has – in the bar scene for which Dublin has long been famed.

Incredibly, you might think, seasoned toper that I am, it was not until this month that I conducted a personal investigation.

Staying as guests of Dublin’s super-luxury Merrion Hotel, Rosemarie and I found ourselves singularly well placed to conduct our researches, with many excellent bars within easy reach.

For the first full day and for most of the second – to return to the theme of my opening sentence – I drank only gin, Cork gin mainly, and whiskey – the single pot still Redbreast became a favourite, earning approval from the bar staff whenever I ordered it.

Guinness, the expected tipple here, was stoutly avoided until, on the second evening, a Sunday, we found O’Donoghue’s, just around the corner from the hotel. Not to drink Guinness here seemed somehow improper, with so many pints of the stuff lined up the whole time at the bar.

Because demand for the black stuff is so consistent, and large, the bar staff are filling glasses all the time rather than waiting for orders. This allows time for the beer to settle, before the final top-up as it is passed to the customer.

Though it was after 11pm when we made our post-dinner visit, the place was absolutely packed outside and in. A big draw, no doubt, were the musicians, of vintage age and supplying the mixture of the plangent and the upbeat that characterises Irish music.

Unknown to us, this is a famous place, with an important role in the musical history of the city.

As O’Donoghue’s says on its website: “Ask any Irishman to name the artists or bands that have shaped Irish traditional and contemporary music and the name of the Dubliners always comes up.

“Christy Moore and the Dubliners have spent many a memorable night entertaining Dublin’s music lovers in our bar.”

This being the case, it seems likely that O’Donoghue’s could have been a port of call when a pal of mine set out to interview them back in 1967.

Only old folk, or those with an interest in these matters, will remember that sandwiching the records in the Summer of Love – including San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair) and A Whiter Shade of Pale – were two hits by The Dubliners, Seven Drunken Nights and The Black Velvet Band.

After the first of these, my friend Richard, a reporter on the Disc and Music Echo, was considered the ideal candidate, such was his thirst, to interview the musicians.

Finding them, though, was an entirely different matter. He arrived at the first rendezvous bar to be told, “You’ve just missed them, try [another bar was named]”. And so it went on for hours before the famously bibulous players were tracked down, rather too refreshed to make a great deal of sense.