“What has four teeth and eight tits?”
…
“The third shift at Waffle House!”
Welcome to O’Reilly’s Pub, a fantastic little dive in Clintonville where the customers tell you heartwarming jokes with reckless abandon and huge grins.
The combination of kelly green on the exterior, including the patio fence and the parking lot shamrocks, along with the absence of light escaping to the outside world announce that O’Reilly’s qualifies as a quintessential Irish dive bar. As we opened the door it took a minute for my eyes to adjust from the bright outside to the very dark inside, and I couldn’t tell if there was a step down to the incredibly low office/bar chairs. Heads up: There’s not. The relatively long and narrow space features low leather chairs with incredibly comfortable backs to encourage a long, pleasant visit.
We were greeted on the left by a skeleton pirate holding up a chalice and on the right by a friendly bartender named Cyndi. The beers are what you’d expect with the Guinness, Smithwicks, Harp trifecta and the nicest of the eight beers on draft being Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. A small selection of bottles and a backbar filled with whiskeys, scotches and standard liquor options offer an additional selection if you don’t feel like it’s a lovely day for a Guinness. I ordered an Old Granddad on the rocks (which Cyndi offered in a fabulously healthy pour) while what could best be described as Irish spa music wafted through the fairly quiet bar.
The bartender (the aforementioned Cyndi) introduced herself and asked for our names when she delivered our drinks. As we sat at O’Reilly’s for about an hour and a half, more and more customers trickled in, and they all seemed to know each other or at least be welcome to becoming great friends fast. Professors, students, old men, young women, and a generally good mix of clientele high-fived, told jokes and patted each other on the back happily as the work crowd came in this early Wednesday evening.
The menu offers standard pub fare with a healthy amount of fried (the poppers were everything I’ve dreamt of and more) as well as subs, sandwiches and a few token salads for good measure. Shamrock lights and various Irish tchotchkes offered a warm atmosphere among beer flags, OSU memorabilia and a kelly green drop ceiling. Barflies yelled across the bar to ask if they were natural redheads before they turned into old men with gray hair. And the true mark of a great dive bar, the Budweiser Clydesdale carousel light, hangs right in the middle of all the action. Tiled kelly green and white tables line the nearly windowless walls to offer seating for larger groups, and two televisions in the corners showed ESPN. The walls are covered with Bushmills, Smithwicks and Guinness goodies and the floor is covered in carpet.
Two drinkers next to us became quick friends telling war stories (literally) as they introduced themselves and began talking about everything from their attempts to dodge the Vietnam draft to their children and divorces. As their stories switched to potential war in Syria, I realized that generations of drinkers have been having the same conversation in O’Reilly’s for years, and likely O’Reilly’s has been more or less the identical backdrop to gripes about war, marriage, children and jobs for decades.
As a customer described the happy hour as being a quarter off everything and really more of a “meh” hour, everyone’s emergency alerts on their phone went off warning of an incoming storm. The din of the phone sirens was immediately followed by raised voices and the excitement of the crowd having an excuse to stay for another one. (Which I’m guessing at O’Reilly’s is often another five for some of the regulars.) The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, and no one cared what was happening outside so long as they were relaxing inside their favorite pub.
The prices were fair, the service was fantastic, and the cheesy Irish bumper stickers and signs were welcome during our two drinks. We thoroughly enjoyed our time at O’Reilly’s Pub, and like most of the rest of the clientele, we will be back. The large “Irish today, hungover tomorrow” sign hanging proudly on the wall was less of a threat and far more of a pleasant promise.
