Depending on where and when you grew up, when you think of a tavern, you might think of wooden-toothed men in colonial wigs hoisting pewter mugs and talkin’ ’bout a revolution. Or maybe you think of Bennigan’s at the mall, where you and your best friends gossiped about boys while splitting a Monte Cristo sandwich, paid for with babysitting money. Both perceptions are correct, in that taverns have always been gathering places first and eating houses second. Murray’s is no exception to this rule.

Murray’s Tavern is barman Travis Tober’s (the mastermind behind beloved Eastside bar Nickel City, among other joints) love letter to his grandmother, meant to evoke the taverns he imagines she was hanging out in as a youth; the menu was developed by Nic Yanes (Uncle Nicky’s), while the cocktail program is the brainchild of managing partner Brett Esler (Hestia/Kalimotxo).

We made our first visit to Murray’s on a Saturday night; it was simply seething with people. There were people at high-top tables, nestled into private booths, sitting and standing three-deep at the 50-foot-long bar, seated at tables in the back dining room, and just milling about.

I was only a few sips into my Paper Plane, a citrusy Aperol-and-bourbon concoction, when the hostess offered us a high-top table. Our waitress, tiny and friendly, greeted us promptly and took our orders, shouted over the din of humans and music.

We received our entrées not too long after the arrival of our spinach artichoke dip starter, which was runny and vinegary and served with thin tortilla chips that weren’t up to the task of conveying a heavy dip from point A to point B. My goulash almost filled the entire plate on which it was served, and it was lukewarm. The dish is simple: thick, corkscrew cavatappi noodles and finely minced ground beef in a tomato-based sauce spiced with paprika. It’s not a dish to inspire or ignite nostalgia – it’s just a huge plate of noodles and ground beef in sauce.

I wish I could have captured the look of awe on my kid’s face when her plate of fish and chips arrived, a huge baton of battered cod resting atop a generous portion of french fries, with a wee wedge of lemon on the side. While it was clearly freshly made, the batter was thick and greasy. Maybe the fish hadn’t been drained thoroughly, or the oil wasn’t hot enough, causing the batter to absorb oil while the fish cooked. It’s a shame that a gorgeous, high-quality piece of fish was undermined by the greasy batter. The fries were fantastic, though, crisp and salty and addictive.

My spouse’s beef and cheddar sandwich was the big loser of the night. While the bun on which it was served was soft and delicious, the Irish cheddar sauce that overwhelmed the roast beef was grainy and strangely sweet. Another disappointing triple-digit dinner in the rearview mirror, we trudged back to our car, stopping to visit the front yard geese on the corner and leave a small donation for their upkeep.

Of the signature fish and chips, it’s a shame that a gorgeous, high-quality piece of fish was undermined by the greasy batter. The fries were fantastic, though, crisp and salty and addictive.

My spouse and I returned for an earlyish weeknight dinner a couple of weeks later and scored a ludicrously capacious table in the quieter, swanky back dining room, which would be a great space for an adult birthday gathering or post-work meetup. The walls are covered in an elegant floral wallpaper and adorned with photographs of everyone from Sex-era Madonna to Jackie O and Biggie Smalls (not together). A bookcase with a textured glass door showcases vintage pulp novels and ancient trinkets, giving the room a very “elegant grandma’s living room” vibe. Slightly lower lighting would have made the space feel even more exclusive and mysterious.

We ordered our drinks – a New York Sour for me (I really wanted to try the signature cocktail, the whiskey-heavy Grandma Murray’s Rob Roy, but reminded myself that I had a 5am wake-up call and responsibilities the next day) and an Emperor’s New Groove (similar to a tequila sunrise) for him – plus a Murray’s Charcuterie to share.

“This is like an adult Lunchable,” my spouse groused of the charcuterie plate, comprising corned beef, Irish cheddar, fried Saltines, and a garnish of pickled onions and mustard. I’m not 100% sure I agree. Is this a charcuterie plate? Definitely not. Taxonomically, this plate has more in common with a Lunchable than a charcuterie plate in that they both offer a combo of protein, cheese, and carbohydrate. But a Lunchable is a sad solo meal of convenience, while this plate is meant to be shared with friends. Yes, the cheese was unremarkable (I suspect it is not that far off from the block of Tillamook in my fridge) and the corned beef was extremely mildly flavored (is that a whiff of star anise in the rub?), but I kind of dug those fried Saltines. (Why aren’t these served with the spinach artichoke dip?)

Semantics aside, we made quick work of the “charcuterie” plate, just in time for our fish and chips to arrive. I insisted that we try it again because this seems to be Murray’s signature dish and maybe the greasiness on our prior visit was a fluke due to it being a busy Saturday night. Sadly, the greasy battered cod wasn’t a fluke, but neither were the excellent fries. At least they’re consistent, right?

Would I come back to Murray’s? Actually, yes, I would, but not for dinner. As a bar and a local hangout, Murray’s is a success. The cocktails are excellent – the lemony, bourbon-y New York Sour may be my new favorite drink – the service is friendly, and the space is conducive to a great hang with friends (albeit extremely loud). I hesitate to recommend it as a dining destination, especially when dining out is such an expensive proposition.

At a place like Murray’s, you don’t need a full meal to have a good time. Split a plate of fries with your pals (or your grandma, if she’s cool and not too hard of hearing) over drinks as you plan your next adventure – or revolution.

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Murray’s Tavern

2316 Webberville Rd.

murraysaustin.com