Reidy O’Neil’s Makes Case for Irish Authenticity

At lunch one bright day in May, 1983, an old, old man crossed the dining room at the venerable McDini’s on Market Street, sat down at a piano that seemed nearly as aged as he, and, without preliminaries, keyed out a charming and memorable “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag.”

The scene, framed as it was by the scents of Irish corned beef on rye and spilled beer, by the hazy half-light that defied the noon sun spilling in at the door, and by the low roar of voices that stilled when the old man began to play, remains an example of a perfect moment. It also illustrates the reasons why nearly every big city downtown in America makes room for at least one Irish bar.

The changes for better and worse that then were beginning to remake downtown San Diego claimed McDini’s as a casualty in the mid-1980s. But there seems to be some truth to the old phrase that what goes around, comes around, because the end of 1989 saw the opening of Reidy O’Neil’s, a prototypical Irish bar and restaurant and another sign of an evolving downtown San Diego. The location, across from Horton Plaza on the Gaslamp Quarter side of 4th Avenue, long housed a pair of seedy go-go bars.

Although its gentrified looks and somewhat California-style menu hover at the edge of formality, Reidy O’Neil’s is a noisy, open-handed sort of place, and it already seems to have made its mark as a watering hole. Whether it will be taken with equal seriousness as a restaurant remains to be seen, but the mood--which sometimes is half the battle--is undeniably attractive.

The pianist here is a professional who plays regular hours, and he knows how to please the crowd with both unobtrusive Broadway lullabyes and, when the patrons seem to want them, with selections from the Irish Top 40. One recent evening, the playing of the Notre Dame fight song prompted a large group of convening alumni to put down their corned beef sandwiches and sing along.

Chef Richard Savitch has written menus that seek authenticity where possible but more often attempt to create it. Savitch has shown allegiance to California and nouvelle styles at other chef’s posts (at his own, since-closed Richard’s, and at La Jolla’s El Crab Catcher) and at times, these menus take presumably unintended antic turns.

The lunch list offers up shark with papaya-cilantro relish and bay scallop linguine alongside the fish and chips and chopped steak smothered in mushrooms and onions. You can safely bet your shillelagh that when folks in the Auld Sod sit down to a hearty meal, it does not include shark with papaya-cilantro relish (or mahi-mahi in Champagne and caper sauce, or chicken breast with goat cheese, or “blackened” filet mignon, for heaven’s sake).

The dinner menu expands somewhat upon the lunch list, with such added offerings as lamb chops and gingered pork tenderloin; prices for repeated dishes are the same at both meals.

Some attempts to create an Irish style are rather shameless because they rely on nomenclature or appearance rather than traditional flavor combinations. This applies especially to the appetizer list, which offers things like “shrimp pots o’ gold” (tough shrimp in garlic butter, baked under soggy puff paste) and “fried salmon barrels,” whose shape supposedly suggests beer casks.

Other attempts merely misfire, at least at times. The Bass Ale-marinated steak slices looks like nothing so much as Irish-style carne asada , and the concept--soaking thin sheets of beef in seasoned ale--would seem a sound one. The portion sampled, however, put up a vigorous and ultimately successful resistance to knife, fork and teeth.

Yet other attempts at creating an Irish culinary mood work wonderfully well. The Bailey’s burnt cream, a dessert that deliciously intensifies the flavor of the sugar-glazed French creme brulee with Bailey’s liqueur, is a fine invention. The Jameson whiskey used to flame the New York sirloin steaks makes for a nicely smoky, peat-flavored variation on the more austere flavor offered by the brandy that usually lights flaming meats.

An informal survey taken one evening of the trays heading out from the kitchen suggested that a good percentage of Reidy O’Neil’s guests quit reading the menu when they reach the corned beef sandwich listing. This is every bit as good as it should be, the juicy meat piled high between double slices of rye; the first layer of bread absorbs much juice and amalgamates with the meat, so that the second slice is needed to ensure that the dish can indeed be eaten as a sandwich. A first-rate, horseradish-powered mustard brings a noble fire to this sandwich, which the cole slaw on the side helps to tame. (These sandwiches are always available, but corned beef and cabbage appears only on Monday nights.)

The kitchen also sends out a good hamburger with credible French fries. It is not a brilliant burger, but it is big, juicy, nicely garnished and more than satisfying. Other less formal choices include a Caesar salad (Reidy O’Neil’s must, after all, acknowledge the fact that it is in San Diego), a warm chicken salad, a “grilled fishburger” and even--mama mia!--chicken brochettes with pesto . The spinach salad with walnuts and raspberry vinaigrette is a light and elegant affair, which includes a sprinkle of fresh berries and a coronet of Belgian endive.

No matter how often the cooking’s Irish brogue slips, the decor and other details more than make up for it. The managing partnership--developer Mike Reidy and attorneys Mike Neil and Leo Sullivan--has said that the restaurant celebrates the success of the Irish immigrants in America, and it memorializes this group with photos and busts of the famous, most notably a bronze of John F. Kennedy. It almost goes without saying that the carpeting features a shamrock pattern. Television monitors above the bar repeatedly play scenes from Irish-themed films, and a 7-foot statue of John Wayne in his role as Sean Thornton, hero of the 1952 film “The Quiet Man,” stands on the sidewalk as a silent but expressive greeter.

* REIDY O’NEIL’S

939 4th Ave., San Diego

231-8500

Lunch and dinner served Monday through Saturday; closed Sunday.

Credit cards accepted.

Dinner for two, with a glass of wine each, tax and tip, $25 to $60.