Oh yes, yes indeed. I really hoped this pint would live up to its down-the-country holiday billing & my goodness, did it deliver. The barstaff look like they’ve been around solid numbers their whole life, I had every confidence in them before they’d even grabbed the glass for these jars. They let them rest n all, none of this rushing the pour to get you to piss off out of their face. I sat down & they didn’t touch them till I went back to the bar a good two minutes later, which is exactly how it should be. My face lit up the moment I saw them, the head on them, you could walk on these things the cream was so thick.
I resisted the urge to dive in right there n then & I let her settle on the table in front of me before going to a well deserved gulp-gargle. Ahhhhhh, mmmmm, yes, the G-sniff was so black & creamy & the flavour itself was that deep & Guinnessey one that reminded me of long Saturday afternoons in O’Donoghues back in the day, the real old-school taste of quality G’s. The liquid flowed o’er my mouthnthroat like a leg into satin pants & left its delighful creamy residue in my esophagus. Each sup as good as the last, right through to the thick, creamy finisher. This is what loving Guinness is all about, those amazing instances that occur up & down the country, those times you get those top-notchers & you just savour it. Thank you Glenbeigh Hotel, I’ll be back (& I was, every day of me holiday!).
Well, what a whirlwind it has been on the G-front these past months. From amzing consistency in my local town (Swords), to some absolute belters in The Swan on Auinger Street over the Christmas, to my rock of recent years, Bowes of Fleet Street, coming up badly short on me, it’s hard to know where we stand these days. All the more recent assesments can be found over on Instagram (guinnesslove_dotcom) as I just don’t have time for the in depth reports now that I have a little nipper in tow but, all-in-all, I’d have to say, things have, for the most part, improved. I’d still be watching the black stuff like a hawk when I enter a pub, to get the first impressions, & still wouldn’t trust most publicans as far as I could throw them, but in the old reliables, things have been good of late. Of particular note is that good old Mulligans has come back into the fold & is pouring solid numbers on the regular again (thanks be to God for that!). But the best part of my G-life these past months has been Kehoes of South Anne Street, by-Jaysus do they dollop out some pints in there. It’s currently top-of-the pile for me & at present is my most regular haunt. And seeing as I’m getting old, lazy & grumpy, I think I may keep it like that for the time being too! Happy guzzling fellow G-lovers.
Well as you can see, I haven’t added a post in a good while. I add the odd brief one over on Instagram (guinnesslove_dotcom) but the fact of the matter is, the G is so shite in Dublin these days that I won’t even bother with it anymore unless I’m in Bowe’s. There ain’t no love for the G no more round these parts. First Mulligans, then O’D’s, like what in the name of holy good fuck is going on? Well all the arsehole publicans can just fuck off if they think they’re getting my business anymore, the absolute lack of respect for real G-lovers is beyond belief. I can’t wait to see them all go under when the next crash arrives, they deserve it for the pure shite they serve up these days. Down the country, pubs seem to respect the regulars & the G’s are just better. Up here it’s just bollocks. Next time I get a corker I’ll post but till then, there’s no point, coz at the moment, as a rule, they’re all rubbish. I say to G-lovers in Dublin, just pack it in, I pretty much have.
Oh good lord yes!!! We now have proof of the existance of a God. Experiences like this are a rarity these days but when they do arise they are absolute heaven. On this occasion it was a Friday afternoon & Toby’s was the first bar available on the way into town off the train. We weren’t gonna pop in n all but by Jaysus am I glad we did. It’s a tiny little local, which is usually a good omen as the pints just have to be great to keep them coming back.
We were slurping from the G-trough & the every pint that landed in front of us looked excellent, very promising & the wobble-test spoke of a creamy thickness I hadn’t seen in a while. The signs were good &, as I was on a stag with nothing holding me back, I went for the full gulp-gargle. The lip-flop was incredible, leaving a solid G-tache Tom Selleck would be proud of, & the G flowed through my mouthnthroat like a silken liquid sent from the gods; cool & flavoursome in the exact right proportions. My mouth, nay, my body & all my senses were tingling as I hit it again & again. I was salivating as I drank, it was just that good! She was gone within minutes & regardless of the fact that we were on a tight schedule we just had to go again! And the next one was pure mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm. Wow, words can barely describe these, suffice to say it’s there with the best.
Some pints these, I can not wait get back. Might consider moving to Westport on a permanant basis to be near these beauties.
By the time I got to Carrick-On-Shannon I knew I was going the wrong way & my chances of a pint on the first night of of my holiday were going up in smoke. I finally arrived at Breaffy House around ten & was too wrecked for a sneaky so it was five o’clock the next day before I finally had the opportunity to have my first holiday pint & I was buzzin, absolutely gasping for it I was. That was about the height of my G-buzz for this holiday.
This establishment has won foreign bar of the year for its bars in Malaysia & Indonesia. As we all know, the Guinness is shite anywhere outside of Ireland & unfortunately they serve the same ass-juice in their Irish branch in Breaffy.
When poured initially it started out as a pencil-tache & then grew into a normal head once settled, post-second pour. This is a 100% guarantee of a shite pint. If the Settler doesn’t already have the usual creamy head that remains once topped up, you’re fucked. Being my first holiday pint, I tried to pretend to myself that this one was normal & it would be ok but deep down I knew. The wobble-test was average I guess, wasn’t saying much really, certainly did nothing to quell my fears but sher I went for a normal sup anyway. There wasn’t much in terms of a lip-flop & the taste was quite bitter, definitely off. This had all the hallmarks of many pints I’ve had before; too much carbon dioxide, just a bad gas mix. Pure amateur stuff. I knew it would be bloody brutal in no time. Next sup was worse & by now the head was quickly becoming a fluffy bubble-head! By halfway down, the pint was just undrinkable, pure piss with a pencil-tache forming; all bubbles, no cream. Where is the god damned nitrogen? I want my cream!! I was gutted, my holiday was ruined. I packed the night in even though it was only seven. Fuck it like.
Pints like this are the reason this website exists. The manager says they check the G every few weeks, but, regardless of what they’re doing, the Guinness is just awful. It’s a lovely spot, but it’s no G-spot & if thats the clincher, like it is for me, then it’ll be a no for holidaying here.
It was a strangely warm summer’s eve & the streets were packed. Nowhere better to be on the gargle so that out on Dame Lame. You’d obviously have some fear for the G-standard as pubs like this are ten-a-penny but The Mercantile has proved its worth in the past regardless so I took some solace in this.
Out she arrived & landed in front of me lookin right-good, I was relieved & delighted. The wobbe-test showed good promise, better-than-fine, so far so good so in I went for the a gulp-gargle earning myself a huge G-tache for my trouble. Mmmmm, decent flavour, nice bit o’the cream, as should be, all round cool & tasty. I was extremely happy with the high 3’s dished out in this establishment & I horsed through a consistently enjoyable pile o’pints over the course of the evening (& night). Summer outdoor drinking in town with a cold G is one of life’s little pleasures & out back of The Mercantile on Dame Lane is most definitely one of the places to do it. I’ll be back for sure… if we get the weather for it.
Whenever you attend a wedding, you always have that fear that the venue just won’t be up to scratch in the G department, not to mention the bar staff being au fait with the art of the G. And so it was for me on this summer’s afternoon in Ballybeg House, South Wicklow. The reception room itself is a huge, permanent marquis with a bar in the corner, rather than being an actual bar, so all things considered, I was obviously a little scared of what I might receive here.
Having not realised that the speeches were pre-dinner, I had been caught off guard &, unfortunately, had not managed to pint-up beforehand. So, by the time said speeches, including the most legendary ramble touching on the marriage of a local fiddlers daughter & a detailed, three-point, Francis Brennan plan for the refurbishment of a hotel in the west of Ireland, were over, I was absolutely parched! Yer man behind the bar certainly looked like he know what he was at & the Settler really looked well as she sat there taunting me. To my delight, the head on the finished product looked great & I was more than happy with what the wobble-test was saying to me. I couldn’t wait to dive in so in I went, right there at the bar, for a good gulp-gargle. I received a lovely, creamy hit to the nose & an excellent full-flavored flow over my mouthnthroat; it was absolute thirst-quenching heaven & I was delighted so I was. All my G-fears evaporated in an instant. I could tell the G would be flowing late into the night. Many more were sank, all of a decent standard.
If this venue is on your wedding shortlist, & it’s coming down to the G-quality; have no fear, it’s solid here.