Half intimidated by the waitress 'Tattens' we always seemed to get when as children we were brought for a treat to Bewley’s. I recognised her voice immediately on Bowman; Sunday - (I always asked for Shepherds Pie, followed by Rice Pudding, both were served in foil tins.)
Thawing out from freezing student living over almond buns and white coffee on
Sundays, the four sections of the
single paper shared out between us
High spirits at 6 a.m. after the Trinity Ball, everyone in the cafe wearing black tie and ball gowns as Bewley's opened specially for the occasion.
Fascination with the boiled sweet rotating vats during a personal tour of the sweet factory
upstairs, – I was researching
at the time and had dreams for years after about getting
lost in such meandering corridors.
Delight as my overseas visitors to the Bacon Studio and Harry Clarke windows in the Municipal Gallery sipped their tea and slowly realised they were seated under more art.
‘The Table’
- towards the back of the restaurant where breakups invariably happened - Not too public, but safely surrounded by
people should things get out of hand.
Lunchtime Plays, served with a bowl of soup
and brown bread,
Narrow balcony seats high over Grafton
Street, the scene below felt like theatre.
Inside wine high backed snugs, bentwood
chairs, real coal
fires
Authentic, original, cherished
Like a Phoenix Bewleys rose up from the ashes before.
Can this really ‘be the end’ for Bewley’s of Grafton Street?
©Sheena Meagher
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