Cosy Joe's

Bridge Street, Westport

Not quite what it says on the tin...

The early stages of a bromance are a delicate, fragile and beautiful thing: the tentative steps, the slow development of trust and feeling, the timid call and response of gesture and reciprocation. At our first meeting it was lust at first sight - I knew I wanted Gilbert the moment I saw him, though I was cautious to seem too keen early on. But as we took our first few halting steps together, learning one another's ways, I could sense my feelings developing, deepening, and I knew this bond could become one of the central relationships of my life, one that might change the way I would come to live out my days.

Gilbert fell sick twelve miles outside Westport. There was no warning, no prior indication, and suddenly the entire character of our relationship had changed. I felt angry and betrayed, and then simultaneously was wracked with guilt for feeling this way, knowing that Gilbert didn't want this to happen either, that this sickness was worse for him than it was for me. But can a relationship still in its nascent stages withstand such a calamitous shockwave? Will I ever be able to trust him again? There was nothing to do but call the tow truck and a taxi, unload the wife and child with whatever necessaries we could carry, and send Gilbert away to the Campervan hospital.

Gilbert in happier times

Truth to tell, there are worse towns in Ireland than Westport in which to find oneself high and dry, and only a very few better.  One half of the memorable Cork duo Foxy Ladies (widely regarded as one of the finest musical acts never to have actually performed a gig) was on hand to give succour to the other, and once the Sprog was fed, watered and put to bed and a cold beer put into a chap's hand, things didn't look quite so bad as they might otherwise have been.  A mitigated disaster, if you will, and the intrepid reviewer began to consider ways to derive from this sow's ear some class of a silk purse.

Westport's noble riverfront - found a new setting on me camera....

Westport is a vibrant and bustling town, and its Irish name Cathair na Mart gives an indication of its traditional importance as the market centre of the surrounding region.  It's now supremely well set up to cater to the tourist dollar, and the triangle from the Octagon down to the Carrowbeg River is peppered with thriving pubs and restaurants heaving with Yanks and Europeans of every hue.  There are mussels aplenty to be had, more panini and ciabatta than a man could shake a baguette at, but precious little sign of the humble and endangered toasted sandwich.  It took an intense and arduous search for the reviewer to turn up some indigenous pub fare.

Cosy Joe's enjoys a prominent location on Bridge St. right in the centre of things and is well placed to capitalise on the prodigious amount of tourist traffic passing its doors.  Cosy is something of a misnomer, as its demure exterior belies the enormous, four-floor split-level affair that lies within.  Speaking from experience, it enjoys a dubious popularity with hen and stag groups at the weekends, but during the day caters expertly to the pub-grub masses.  Its interior reminded me of nothing so much as that latest blight of Hollywood blockbusters where the credits boast of six and more screenwriters - everything here is design by consensus.  Each aspect, from furniture choice to menu, from lighting to background music, is homogenised; any quirk of personality that might give rise to offence or interest airbrushed from existence.  It is clean, considered and ruthlessly efficient.

Getting the job done - design by consensus

And this is not always a bad thing.  McDonald's and Starbucks enjoy ubiquity for the same reasons - you can be sure it won't be excellent, but you can also be assured that it won't be awful.  And while I like to roll the dice when flying solo, when taking lunch with the missus and Sprog in tow, playing it safe is a good option.  And in this regard, Cosy Joe's excels.  A high chair was produced with a flourish, and the Sprog had a diluted drink and a baby-bowl (free, gratis and for nothing) lashed in front of his ravenous facehole in the blink of an eye.  The table service was lightning quick and unfailingly helpful and courteous.  You may be ambivalent about its objectives, but Cosy Joe's know what it's at, and by God, it's good at it.

The Sandwich:

Chips - I'm never sad to see them...

The menu at Cosy Joe's is quite broad and includes a sandwich section where you pick your own fillings.  So while you can order a Toasted Special and reliably expect the desired ingredients to arrive, it's not something the kitchen deliberately sets out to do, and my expectations weren't especially high.  So, I was pleasantly surprised to find that my quite reasonable €4.25 bought me a daycent looking class of a sandwich accompanied by a nice side of chips.  Now, there were no particular high points - the tomatoes were the anticipated pale watery affair the supermarkets here dare to call ripe, the ham was from a packet as opposed to sliced from the joint - but it was a workmanlike performance designed to get the job done, the Glenn Whelan of the Toasted Special world, if you will.  The sandwich would have benefitted from another minute or so under the heat:  the sides could have done with a little more colour, the cheese with a little more melting.  One quirk was the different finishes on either side of the sandwich that had me wondering what class of a contraption had produced it - a flat, Brevilled texture on one side with a griddled finish on the other.  It was a riddle inside an enigma all wrapped up in a conundrum.  A braver reviewer might have asked to see the toaster...

A Riddle to best Oedipus

On Tap:
I guess one upside to a sick campervan; I least I wasn't driving!  The pint of Guinness was grand, and to be fair, it was early in the day, so there wouldn't have been much of a run on it.  You could be confident of a good jar in Cosy Joe's - it's a well-run establishment which will make sure these things are done right.  Options were pretty much confined to the usual suspects, though I'm most pleased to see Peroni, a very fine Italian beer, moving more and more into this bracket.

On the Stereo:
Background noise was being generated by one of these computerised jukebox jobbies, where staff can just select a setting (insipid and inoffensive in this case) and walk away.  The computer decided I would be treated to some agreeable The National, some acceptable Coldplay and some atrocious Peter Andre wannabe whose name, I am delighted to admit, does not reside in my store of knowledge.

The Verdict:
Cosy Joe's knows what it's about, and is superb at delivering a homogenised, sanitised, safe version of the Irish Pub experience.  The staff are excellent; friendly and efficient at all time.  The food is dependably good, the setting eminently family friendly, and these factors are very important when the Sprog is on the hip.  But personally speaking, I don't take my coffee at Starbucks, I don't eat burgers from McDonald's.  I prefer to run the risk of encountering something awful in the hope of unearthing the rare gem.

They say that fish and guests share this attribute - both begin to stink after three days.  Gilbert was still in campervan hospital, so the missus, the Sprog and I took the train out of Westport.  When I come back, hopefully Gilbert will be fitted with a shiny new clutch and we can pick up where we left off - it might still be the start of something beautiful....