REVIEW: St. James Gate Publick House

Since opening in 2003, St. James Gate has offered Maplewood residents and visitors a surprisingly authentic Irish pub experience. The furniture and much of the staff come directly from Ireland–County Derry, to be precise.  

But it wouldn’t matter what county the bartenders and benches came from if the Guinness was warm and the food was rotten. Thankfully, the opposite is true at the St. James Gate. The ambiance is truly Irish and the food and drink are truly good.

The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, with a dining area and bar filled with sturdy-looking stained wood furniture and a cozy fireplace.  There are a handful of televisions tuned to sports, but during the day and dinner hours, the bar is quiet enough to read the paper and enjoy a pint.

The menu hits the expected UK-style pub points (fish and chips, shepherd’s pie, bangers and mash) and the expected domestic ones (burgers, nachos and wings).

The food is prepared with an attention to detail that is anything but standard.
At a recent lunch, a friend of mine ordered the cheeseburger. The patty was topped with a bubbling and cracked cheese that was hearty, delicious and later identified by the waiter as crumbled blue cheese. For my friend, who likes his pub food served sans frills, it was exactly on the line of familiar and adventurous. The turkey club sandwich, another obligatory bar food offering, is stuffed with crisp, flavorful mashers (like bacon, only seemingly less fatty but just as flavorful).  

When I ordered the fish and chips, the waiter said “excellent choice.” When it came, at least one reason the choice was good was immediately apparent: it comes with an enormous amount of fish. Biting into the first piece, the second reason for my waiter’s praise was clear. A thin and soft layer of bread–not breading, but warm, doughy bread–separated the meat from the crispy fried shell.

The chips are greasy, salty, pulpy potato pieces that are impossible to put down. (Oddly, the fries served with the burger were more thinly sliced and crisper than the ones that came with the fish and chips). The menu is unfortunately too cute by a half; it does that thing a lot of Ireland-style American pubs do, where every dish has to have an Irish name. The buffalo chicken pieces are “Irish Wings,” the fish is “Galway Salmon,” the onion rings are “Danny Boy ‘O’ Rings.”

Of course, all these complaints are petty, and this author isn’t such a sour puss that he’d deny the charm of Danny Boy ‘O’ Rings. It just seems odd that a place so genuinely charming would go through so much effort to present itself as frosted lucky charming as well.