Hackett's of Schull

Main St., Schull, West Cork.

A simple idea, well executed.

Is there anything better than a good idea, well executed?

Opposable thumbs, for example.  Oh, the dolphins and the elephants may be ferocious intelligent creatures, but when it comes to chucking a spear or grasping a fork, you can't beat d'auld opposable thumbs.  I'm sure after another long day of more bloody sushi, Fungi must gaze wistfully in at the tourists in the boats thinking, "If only I had the hands to hold it, I'd murdher a bag of crisps!"

The Toasted Special is, at its heart, a good idea, well executed - a simple sandwich, four humble ingredients, but when well sourced, combined with skill and toasted to sensuous perfection, a thing of beauty.  It's a source of grief to me that such a fine indigenous foodstuff has found itself supplanted on so many pub menus by foreign fare we can't even get grammatically correct (panini is already plural, there's no such thing as 'paninis').

The people of Schull (and specifically a Canadian lady by the name of Camille, if my pub earwigging is to be trusted) had a simple idea not so long ago.  The October Bank Holiday weekend would see an influx of monied classes from the city, down to spend the school break in their holiday homes.  But without street lights and out in the wilds of West Cork, the business of trick or treating would occasion long, lonely walks on narrow, unlit roads.  Hardly ideal.  And so the local dramatic society had the simple idea of staging 'Fright Night' in the town on the night of Samhain.  It can't hurt that even the town's name sounds spooky!

And if this seems a simple idea, good lord have they executed it well.  The entire town turns itself over to a ghoulish cast of characters that prowl the main street, turning local businesses and buildings into houses of horror.  Caged schoolchildren await their grisly fate, deranged cartmen call for the dead of the houses to be brought out and piled high.  In my opinion, when terrified and tearful eight-year-olds have to be consoled by bemused but concerned parents, you've pitched the horror levels just right.  The fear and loathing is subsequently assuaged by plunder in any case  - the local shops hand out all sorts of loot to by now mollified trick-and-treaters.  It is, quite simply, a wonderful celebration of a very ancient festival - it is recommended most highly.


Hackett's is another good idea, executed here with panache.  The face it shows to Main St. is traditional, but crisply painted; a brisk, vibrant red facade set off by a cool, clean cream above.  It's a public statement of intent - what we do here, we do well - and it's telling no lies.  Within is wonderfully stygian, as all good pubs should be; a cool cave in the heights of summer, a cosy nook on a winter's eve.  The roughly flagged floor gives onto a black half-timbered wall topped with ruggedly rendered and whitewashed plaster above.  The wall facing the bar area is dominated by a work-in-progress mural of some skill, depicting a clearly recognisable cast of characters and regulars, some of whose heads could be matched with a few of those floating around during my visit.  The remaining wall decorations comprised of superior quality artwork with a strong emphasis on portraiture, including extensive publicity material for a German photographic exhibition (which left me pondering 'the why?').  And beyond the bar, left through the archway, the most wonderful snug.

Not Quite Hemmingway's Clean, Well-Lighted Place

One of these pictures serves pints....

View from the Snug

The Sandwich:

Hackett's does pub grub, and does it extremely well, I suspect, but didn't have a straight up toasted special on offer.  It was ordered as such, for the barman to clarify that it would be an open sandwich and with Gubbeen cheese - the author had no issue with these modifications, and settled back contentedly with his Irish Times.

A Very Good-Looking Bar Menu

The sandwich made an excellent first impression on arrival, attractively presented with a very appetising salad on the side.  The base of the sandwich was a single but good, thick slice of white artisan loaf.  It hadn't been pre-toasted, so while the underside was crispy and warm, the filling side, and consequently the centre of the sandwich, was somewhat liquid in character - not necessarily a criticism; I was reminded, for some reason, of the silky centre of a very good onion ring.  The tomatoes were better that the usual offenders, the onions a little unusual - a very loose chop which gave long sections of a very mild white onion.  The ham was a little lost to the Gubbeen (of which more anon), and I think the more robust saltiness of bacon, also an option on the menu, would have stood up to the strength of the cheese a little better.  For the cheese was the star of the show, centre stage and bubbling as the sandwich arrived.  Having made the one mile journey from the Gubbeen farm out the road, it had been elevated and celebrated by the kitchen staff, its powerful and slightly acrid flavour dovetailing beautifully with my beer, forcing me to consider how well it would go with another one, suggesting to me how little of a hurry I was in to actually be anywhere else.  Powerful stuff!  The other (rather surprising) star of the show was the salad - a real mixed salad of lambs leaf, cress, rocket and others I couldn't identify (locally grown, or I'm a simian's mum's brother) bulked out by a crisp iceberg base, and brought together with a pleasantly sharp wholegrain mustard dressing.  The entire meal is a great example of what West Cork does so well, delivering locally produced artisan produce with minimum fuss, as if to say "Maybe we should be eating this well all the time."

A Small Slice of Heaven

On Tap:
Only four taps on the bar, which is something I approve of.  Making one of them Becks is a decision I'd question, the others being Murphy's, Guinness and Heineken.  Exhaustive research had been conducted the evening previous into the quality of the Murphy's - not being convinced of the standard of the first pint, I had three more before concluding it was absolutely excellent.  Moreover, it was found to pair very nicely with a wee drop of Bushmills Black - who'd have thought it?  The starring draught beers were very ably supported by a diverse cast of characters in the fridge, and to accompany my toastie and newspaper, I chose a bottle of Howling Gale ale from the Eight Degrees Brewery based out of Ballyhoura.  I was disappointed to find it quite gassy from the bottle, with the hops notes a bit harsh and overpowering at the finish - I'd like to try it from cask at some stage to give it a fair shake.

On the Stereo:
Sometimes the well-worn route is the best way to travel - Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix, the Doors provided the aural backdrop for my visits.  The volume level was perfectly judged, no impediment to conversation, but not background noise either.  A genuine filler of gaps in conversation, and in many cases a conversation stopper and starter as well.  How often do you get the time to just sit down and listen to some of these tracks that have shaped our soundscape for decades?  Very pleased to find Alabama 3 popping up on occasion as well - 'twas like an old friend had walked in for a drink.

The Verdict:
Dare I say it?  Were I to be back in Hackett's again (and I very much hope I will be), 'twouldn't be the Toasted Special I'd be having.  Not that the sandwich was unpleasant, though it was a little cheffy for my tastes (in toasties, in any case) and a little pricey at €7.  It's more that the rest of the menu looked very inviting, and Hackett's is a good example of something West Cork does extremely well, showcasing top quality local artisan produce in a non-flashy, everyday way.  A nice bowl of hot soup, a daycent pint, a good book and a bit of weather against the windowpane in Hackett's of an afternoon would very much be my idea of a good time.  There's no sense of compromise in here; Hackett's retains the character of top quality pub, but lashes out good-looking, simple, well-prepared food to punters who might find themselves famished.  As the great Van the Man might say, 'Wouldn't it be great if things were like this all the time?'

Many thanks to Dr. Brudder for the use of his Fright Night photos.