Lunch with Pat Donnelly

Somewhere between fact and fiction? You decide

This weekend, some reading—a two-parter. A story I wrote back in 2023, somewhere between fact and fiction. Pat Donnelly is real. South Boston is real. What happened at Mul’s? You decide. Nick
Boston, MA, May 26, 2023

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Spring’s been bashful in the Northeast, radiating with sunshine one minute, only to be covered up with rolling clouds and dampening rain the next. New England weather—like Melbourne— can be as predictable as the Celtics during finals!

I feel like Boston is meant to be dark and dank. And, if and when it gets hot, it seems like nobody knows what to do. Puffer jackets and woollen headwear are the norm, while t-shirts, shorts, and sunglasses look out of place. To me, it just feels like the kind of city where it’s easier to complain about the weather than embrace it. Growing up in Manchester—where weather-bashing is an art form—I can certainly relate.

Wednesday is ‘hump day’ wherever you are, like reaching the summit of a mediocre mountain; it helps you feel OK about the descent into the weekend. This Wednesday, I was in Boston; the Celtics had just avoided being swept by Miami, and Game 5 was Thursday night at TD Garden.

Travelling into town on the commuter train—after spending the night in Beverly—I pondered how the locals might be feeling after the Celtics slipped to a 0–3 position against Miami. The Heat had been all over the Celtics like a cheap suit. Could they rally on home court? They’ve lost five of the last seven at TD Garden. Or would this be the end of the line for Joe Mazzulla’s Celtics?

It’s an interesting ride from Beverly to Boston’s North Station. The line hugs Massachusetts Bay, originating in Newburyport, then reaches the North Shore and winds through a very unremarkable landscape. You first get sight of the city skyline at Chelsea—yes, that place nobody wants to go! Then it’s on to North Station, which is an extension of TD Garden. Pretty handy if you’re travelling in to watch a game.

I planned to cross town to Southie and see if I could locate ‘Slim’ Pat Donnelly.

Pat had been missing in action for a few days now, so I wasn’t too confident in finding him. I was pretty sure he’d be pissed at the way the Celtics had been playing. He did tell them to look after their defence first!

I made it to Southie a bit after 11 a.m. There were a few options available: I could go over to the ‘Mad Hatter’, and I’m pretty sure it would be cranking by now. There were a couple more bars close by that might appeal to Pat on this intemperate Wednesday, or I might wander without any purpose, hoping to cross paths with Pat. I took the last option; it felt too early in the day to be in a bar.

Broadway is the main thoroughfare in Southie; it runs in a north-south direction from City Point in the south to Andrew Square in the north. It serves as a crucial transportation artery, connecting Southie to Downtown and other surrounding neighbourhoods.

Recent years have seen a revitalisation and resurgence, with new restaurants, bars, boutiques, and residential developments emerging. This is a long way removed from the shady history of its past. Clearly, Pat would have preferred it to remain as it was.

I was slowly making my way towards Mul’s, an institution when it comes to classic Irish diners. Mul’s has been feeding the Southie faithful since 1937 and holds a special place in the hearts of locals and visitors alike. Home fries, French toast (not as posh as it sounds), corn beef hash, eggs anyway you can imagine, pancakes, bacon that looks like gammon steak—it’s all there; the menus are as thick as the Bible!

I had black pudding and baked beans on my mind; I must have been salivating as I nearly walked clean by Mul’s. Oh, I didn’t mention the coffee. Mul’s takes American coffee to a new level—terrible. It’s my only knock on the place, saying that I still drink it; you have no choice. There’s no refusing a refill at Mul’s.

With a spare seat at the bar (that’s a diner bar) and a full view of the grills and kitchen, this was me for brunch. By the way, if you make it to Mul’s, or any other diner for that matter, do not mention brunch. It’s either breakfast or lunch.

“What are ya goin’ to have?” The server asked. It looked like she’d been here since the place opened! Searching for my best Aussie accent, I went back with, “Some black pudding and baked beans, please.” There was an awkward silence. “What na eggs?” she shouted, just so everyone in the place could hear. “Of course, sorry, scrambled, please?” Honestly, I can never remember the over-easy stuff, so I just go scrambled, which isn’t always appreciated!

With my order in and the tar-black coffee on the way, I settled in for some classic people-watching. First, a span to the left, then back to the kitchen, and finally a sweep to my right.

“Holy hell, Pat, how long have you been there?” Yes, it was an uncanny coincidence that “Slim’ Pat Donnelly was sitting on the next stool!

“What’s up, Kid? Watta you doin’ here? I thought ya only liked the bars!” Pat said mischievously.

“Well, Pat, I’m actually here looking for you and wondering where you’ve been.”

“That’s a story, kid. Those fackin’ Celtics, I tell ya, something’s up.”

To be continued.

Nick