The curse of Leopold Bloom seems to be lingering at the lavishly recreated Burton Tavern on Dublin’s Duke Street, which remains closed more than a year after it seemed all ready to open.
A plaque in the footpath outside records the fictional moment at lunchtime on June 16th, 1904, when James Joyce has Bloom hovering on the threshold of the premises: “His heart astir he pushed in the door of the Burton Restaurant.”
In the Homeric subtext of Ulysses, Bloom represents Odysseus landing in the country of the Lestrygonians, a race of cannibal giants who will eat several of his crew and force him to flee back to his ship in a panic.
In the actual text, meanwhile, Bloom is merely repelled by the sights and smells of men eating meat. Turning temporarily vegetarian, he goes next door to Davy Byrne’s and has a cheese sandwich instead.
But in the 21st century version of Burton’s, the decor for which includes an elaborate mural of Bloom on the side wall, it is not mythical cannibals or messy eaters that are keeping our hero from entering. It’s the planning laws.
When the new Burton Tavern opened for a sneak preview on Bloomsday last June, a man who served me a complimentary drink (sparkling water, I swear – I was working), told me the bar would open properly “in about three weeks”.
In fact, what happened three-or-so weeks later – July 11th – was An Coimisiún Pleanála turned down an appeal against Dublin City Council’s refusal of retention permission for the 17-room hotel that was also to be part of the development.
As I understand it, permission has been separately granted for retention of the ground-floor works – i.e. the bar. But the hotel development got the thumbs down for, among other reasons, adding to an existing over-proliferation of hotels in the area and for not sufficiently respecting the fabric of No 18 and 19 Duke Street, both protected structures.
Of No 19, a conservation officer had written: “The current appearance of the property is characterised by restrained late nineteenth-century materials and detailing, although the building is likely to have earlier origins, sharing proportions and a chimneystack . . . with the adjoining pair of buildings to the east, which are of early typology (c.1730), having the pinched fenestration of a modified ‘Dutch Billy’.”
Dutch Billys, of which there are very few left in Dublin now, were steep-roofed, gable-to-the-street houses introduced by French Huguenots and other religious refugees in the 17th and early 18th centuries. They gave Dublin its signature look for a time before the city turned Georgian.
The company behind the Burton hotel plan is called Lucky Park Ltd. The luck appears to be out for now, at least.
It’s a measure of Joyce’s global fame these days that the Tavern’s Duke Lane mural indirectly commemorates a customer review of the original restaurant that, were Bloom to repeat on Tripadvisor today, would be a public relations catastrophe.
It may have been just as well for the then-much-less-celebrated author that the Burton, as he knew it, had already closed by the time Ulysses appeared in 1922.
But perhaps the greatest glories of the original had passed even before Bloom hesitated in the doorway, briefly tempted by “an eightpenny [dinner] in the Burton”, as he had thought to himself earlier while passing The Irish Times.
He declared the latter to be “best paper by long chalks for a small ad”, which is of course only the truth. And sure enough, the old Burton did often take out small ads in this newspaper, one of which shouted “Oysters! Oysters!! Oysters!!!” in the headline while also promising “Chops, Steaks and Kidneys from the Gridiron up to 12.30″.
On a less hungry note, that ad included the throwaway detail, “Pool always going”. This was a reference to the “spacious and elegant billiard rooms” that were among its other attractions then. They were added just before Christmas, 1876, by public demand, or as the proprietor phrased it, “in compliance with the wishes of his numerous and esteemed patrons”.
Billiards must have been quite a draw at the time, because to celebrate the opening on December 22nd, 1876, the proprietor announced a special handicap match “between James O’Hara and Thomas Corrigan, Billiard Marker at the Burlington Restaurant, the latter to receive 100 points start in 1,000 up, for a prize of £20″.
I’m not sure who James O’Hara – a big name then, clearly – was, or what a “100 points start in 1,000 up” involved. Alas, in the ranks of cue-and-ball-game popularity, billiards has long since been snookered. As for the old Burton, it was on the way out when Bloom pushed in the door. Another Irish Times small ad, in September 1905, announced it would shortly be the subject of an “administratrix sale”.