In the words of the great Rod Stewart (not actually his words but so eloquently performed by him, not to mention the ridiculous bass from Ron Wood, but that’s for some other blog);”seems like a long long time” & by-Jaysus it has been! Good Lord it’s been at least wha? 6 months? Did you ever think in yer life such an insane G-drought would take hold? A drought of biblical proportions this. Those widgety cans just don’t cut it any longer, I needed the real-deal; a thirst-quenching, creamulicious, solid pint of The Good BlacknWhite. The post-lockdown new normal for all Irish garglers is: book a table in the pub, order food with a minimum value of five shillings (yes, hilarious as it seems, it’s actually true (Intoxicating Liquor Act, 1962)) & then, & only then, can you hit the G-trough, & man oh man was I ready to slurp from that trough!
So, with the lockdown finally lifted, & the pubs dishing out the pints again, I managed to sneak a few hours to book a table. Now, you only have 1.5 hours to hammer those G’s so you need to be on the G-train as soon as you sit down. We were bursting to order but you can’t actually go up to the bar in the new normal, you have to wait at the table to be served & the bloody bar girl was away off somewhere. Couldn’t she feel the anguish, the pent up G-need? I had a mouth like a badgers-arse & the G-sweats were coming on; I could smell the pints all around but I couldn’t yet partake, it was 60 seconds of hell… before we got her attention & the wait was on. The past 6 months was all coming to a head a this very moment as we waited for their arrival.
Jayz, I could have been sick I was gagging so hard for the Goodness as she settled down in front of me. She looked thick enough & I wasn’t gonna waste a second on a wobble-test, I needed her in me immediately so I just went for it. A soft yet solid lip-flop that had me salivating hard, followed by a serious gulp-gargle & an emotional G-sniff of that good old Guinness aroma; black & creamy. She was cold, with a bit o’the cream, as she should be; she was my salvation from lockdown, my G-motional rescue. There may well have been a tear as my mouthnthroat reacquainted itself with it’s former love; wholly understandable, given the circumstances.
It was exactly what I wanted & what all of us G-punters deserve at this stage. These were tasty solid numbers that you could gargle on all night; the minimum you should expect form any self-respecting public house. Unfortunately, we only had a bloody hour n a half so we had to get horsing, and, of course, we happily obliged.
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.
Back in Dunmore East again, still on the hunt for a decent pint. And I’m now delighted to report that I’ve actually found one.
It was a sleepy March weekday afternoon & I was chillin like a tourist but nonetheless I was still on the prowl (as any self-respecting G-lover always is). Having got a walk out of the way it was relax & pint time; the best part of any holiday day & the time I had been looking forward since sunrise. As the Guinness was average-to-rubbish in the three other establisments I’d previously tried in this village, it had to be one of only two remaining so The Three Sisters it was & on we head. By the façade you wouldn’t know there was a cosy, country pub waiting inside, more like a Irish water park from the 80’s (Rainbow Rapids anyone) but anyway it is lovely inside. This, though, can often lull you into a false sense of security, expecting a decent pint before any efforts have been attempted. This was exacerbated by the fact that the proprieter, a chap in his 50’s I’d say, said he’d drop the pint down to me &, as he seemed very comfortable in his surroundings, I trusted him with the pour.
Fear not though, when she arrived at my table she looked just great, exactly what I’d hoped for. Nice dome, thick lookin head & the wobble test confirmed it’s credentials; so far, so good, but of course, the proof is in the pudding, so in I went. Just a sup to start, nothing crazy, as I was with the family. The lip-flop left that which every good G-lover expects: a soft, flavour-filled residue around my nose. The liquid Goodness left a smile on my tongue; cool, black, refreshing, and a nice bit o’the cream, as it should be. I was loving this lasy afternoon pint, it was everything one would expect of a decent pint of The GoodBlacknWhite. I had another for good measure, again; solid as an ox, leaving this G-man in a good G-mood. Nice pints of Guinness are just lovely, & you will get one here.
Jesus H Christ! Paddy’s day like for fuck’s sake. This one won’t be forgotten.
It was Paddy’s day and Cheltenham Gold Cup day & a good ol session was planned. We’d settled on The Sandyford House as it had blessed us with some quality G’s of a Christmas season many moons ago & we knew we needed the same on this of all days in the drinking calendar. Unbeknownst to myself, in the interveneing period this establishment had changed hands &, it would turn out, it was most certainly not the place it once was. First off, they wouldnt put Cheltenham on the a telly that was being watched by literally no one, and I mean zero people; we had to move! And then my pint arrived. “Oh no” I thought, I knew the moment I saw it I was in trouble & I said as much to my drinking buddy. There were bubbles a plenty in that head & the obligatory, though wholly unnecessary, wobble-test confirmed the worst. She was definitely not gonna be a creamer.
Feeling bad enough, I went for it; oh no, squinty-wince face from the word go. So unenjoyable, so wrong. A horrible taste &, as expect, completely devoid of cream. This was a pure froth-ball; zero lip-flop. I was gutted, disgusted, flustered, flabbergasted! Bloody Paddy’s day, a local bleedin’ boozer (not in town where you expect most of the pints to be slop), Ireland! What the almighty fuck like! I trudged on, trying to be a soldier, but the experience just got worse. Halfway through it we had a full on pencil-tache, nothing but a few fluffy bubbles atop. I was done, I couldn’t go on, why would I? Sure I wasnt drinking TheGoodBlacknWhite here, just some black shite with suds floating on it.
This was some of the worst slop I’ve ever been served as an excuse for a pint of Guinness; pure dregs this. To compound the problem, the Paddy’s day (yes, as in our national holiday) entertainment was a bloke singing random karaoke! No Irish choons (which he said he didn’t have coz I asked him for some). This was one of the weirdest drinking session experiences of my life. This establiment’s efforts are absolutely brutal & do not deserve the custom of any self respecting G-punter. You have been warned.
Often times, while wandering around whatever city or town doing a nice bit of sightseeing, I find myself thinking about lovely creamy G’s & wondering what the local establishments’ efforts are like. I mean, the places I’ve been have all been really beautiful, breathtaking, wonderful, interesting but, being a G-man at heart, all I really wanna do is sample the goods. And such it was on this cold Winter’s afternoon in Kilkenny City, a city steeped in history, full of ancient windy streets, that I found myself dying to duck in out of our pleasant stroll & get my G on. The other-half assured me Langton’s would fit our needs perfectly so in we popped around 1/2 past 3 of a Saturday afternoon.
The place is lovely allright but all I was thinking about now was how lovely a good pint of Guinness would be. They had those new really old-school taps, which appeal to me for some reason. The girl who served me knew exactly what she was at & poured with that blasé attitude that gave me absolute confidence in her ability & also, thought it should not, in the quality of the pint. The finished product looked lovely & the wobble-test agreed; the signs were good. As I was technically on holidays by not being in Dublin, I was feeling jolly & knew I was going for a gulp-gargle so in I dived.
It was a wonderfully thick n creamy lip-flop which would go on to give me a right good G-tache. In flowed the Goodness, in high volume, with an all-round wholesome taste, with a full flavour that hit all over my mouth. It was just so damned refreshing, exactly what I wanted & what anyone should expect from a solid pint of The Black Stuff. When pints are how they should be they’re just so easy to guzzle (many would say too easy) & this one was no exception; I absolutely horsed it in, which, of course, had the added benefit of allowing me to get another in before we departed. Mmmm, the next was as good as the last, full of cream and flavour; what more can a G-punter ask for? And at €4.20 a pint, sher yer laughing. Lovely spot with absolutely solid high-3’s. I hope I make it back again sometime.
Car journeys with kids can obviously be a complete pain in the bollocks & this occasion was right up with worst them. After an hour n a half of hysterical crying, followed by a puke, she finally nodded off (& that was just the wife!), giving me the chance to think of the holiday (if that’s what you could call this) pint that I knew I damned well deserved. Being a hotel bar ye never really know, but based on previous experience (essentially the final straw that prompted the setting up of this website) I would certainly expect the worst & anything better is a bonus. So, having settled the baby, I head down to the bar to order any pint.
There were a good few G-men about & quite a few Settlers sitting at the bar so the initial signs were good. When she arrived, she looked grand, nothing to be afraid of anyway but then the wobble-test unfortunately said “watery-wan“. I was very thirsty & very deserving at this stage so as soon as I got back to the room I dived on in. As anticipated, the lip-flop was a Wetty. “There will be dribbles here” I thought but then the Goodness flowed in over my mouthnthroat &, to my absolute delight, it was really well flavoured & extremely refreshing. “This is gorgeous!” I exclaimed to my wife (in whispers of course as the baba was sleeping not 3 feet away). She could probably tell something was up by the look of shocked happiness on my face. I went back for more &, yes again, watery but wonderful, full of the quality tastiness one would associate with the best pints in O’D’s. I really was in a state of delight with my Hotel Kilkenny holiday (if you could call it that) pint, so, of course, I obliged & went back to the well. The next pint followed in the same vein, I was lovin them so I was.
This place does really great tasting pints, I’d be happy to drink them here any time, if they could only sort out the creaminess they could well be 4’s!
This place is clearly hip, or that’s what it’s going for anyway, with its funky decor of old tv’s, unusual horse ornaments, & wall of mirrors (all very nice I might add). More worryingly for a G-man though is the craft beer menu. When I see a craft beer menu in a hipster joint, I have to say, I get scared. An assumption is made that the place either doesn’t know how to do Guinness or just won’t care for the G-lover or even want their kind in their hip-n-happenin establishment. When we sat down of a Sunday afternoon, in a lovely cranny by the open fire, even my better half was surprised, nay, astonished to see me order a pint of the GoodBlacknWhite in a place such as this. It made me stop a second, then I thought “fuckit, I am gagging for this 2017 cream, so I’m going for it!”. Sometimes you just gotta take the G-plunge.
Everything went right. The Settler looked well, staring down at me from the bar, &, though the finished product arrived before me with a bit of a Bishop’s collar, she looked good n creamy, as the very successful wobble-test attested to. The glass was cold to the touch as I pulled it toward my mouth & got my upper lip right in amongst the fluffy cloud-like head. As it had been quite a few weeks since my last G, I knew I was going for the full gulp-gargle, so I let the juice flow. The cool, flavoursome liquid filled my mouthnthroat providing the refreshment only a decent, tasty pint of The Black Stuff can give. Each sup was cold & tasty, so much so that I didn’t want that first slurp to end. Mmmm, my first of 2017 & it was a Goodie: really nice flavour, cold & creamy. I must have got through that pint in minutes I was so delighted with it. It was the same for the next one, nice bit o’the cream, as it should be, head retained all the way to a solid, creamy finisher.
How wrong I had been about hipster bars; these guys definitely know a good pint. No need to fear the beards! A well deserved high 3 for the Salty Dog, &, more importantly, a good start to the 2017 for Guinnesslove.com.