This is not so much a story as it is a rant. Call it an opinion piece. I’ve been to a lot of bars and pubs in a lot of places. More than I care to admit. I think you realize your knowledge of something has evolved when you know enough to critique it. This goes a step beyond the adage of “you don’t have to be a chef to know when food tastes like shit”. More like when a penalty is called in a sport and you can tell if it is correct or not. If I am doing or watching something I am new to, or know nothing about, I won’t really notice the quality. This can apply to bars. On your 21st birthday, how much did you care about the quality of the bars you were in?

I’m not going to prequalify this with the notion that there are a ‘spectrum of preferences’ for everything. For some things, yes. Sexuality, sure. Types of Italian food, absolutely. Bars and pubs, not a chance. There is a correct answer, and even within that there is a range of quality. The answer, of course, is Irish pubs.

That doesn’t mean it is the only type of bar worth going to. Dive bars are excellent. I like a western bar if the music isn’t too annoying. Speak-Easy’s are fun. But Irish pubs are the perfect type of bar. There’s a reason why the High Kings sing: ‘Cause where ever you go around the world you’ll find an Irish pub’. Perhaps its better to begin with what a good bar is not.

Terrible bars:

• Lack character. You know it when you step into one. Everything feels like stainless steel and plaster. There is nothing memorable. The decorations are generic and devoid of meaning. The bartender might be wearing a silk shirt. The cocktails are expensive. You know the type I’m talking about. A soulless place built by a corporation or a person who fears creativity.
• The worst crowd. Now you may picture a biker bar on the rough side of town when you hear this. That is probably not correct. Picture former frat stars and “Wooo!” girls. Of course, there can be drunk assholes in any bars. Booze and insecurity is a dangerous combo. I mean bars that routinely attract the worst kind of people. The music is probably very loud. It is probably very crowded. Maybe some older divorced guys trying to relive their youth by hitting on 22 year olds. You know, the worst kind of crowd.
• Restaurant bars. Applebees? Cheesecake Factory? Unless you’re getting drunk ironically, not a good time.
• Any bar that charges a cover. Unless there is an incredible view or some other type of attraction. Moreso trying to be exclusive for exclusivity sake.

Probably some other nit picky things I’m forgetting but you get the gist. A good Irish pub won’t have these things. A good Irish pub might have:

• A long, sturdy, wooden bar. Made of some type of dark wood or rose wood? I don’t know I’m just a blogger.
• A plethora of framed pictures and decorations detailing the bar or city’s history. Old photographs from 100 years ago. Maybe a mounted moose head. A painting of the bar or surrounding landscape.
• Not too crowded. Sure St. Paddy’s Day is the obvious exception, but not filled to the brim every night. I’m sure this is directly contrary to what the owner would like, but this is my wish as a patron.
  • Not too big either. This one invites the one above, so often they go hand in hand. The larger a bar becomes, the more it becomes like an assembly line. Lines form to get drinks so you can bring them back to your table that is barely more than a stool in the far corner of the room.
• A friendly bartender. Maybe if you offer to buy them a shot they’ll do one with you. But they’ll also tell you about the time they took a bus to Montreal or the time they went bowling with Warren Moon. That kind of bartender.
• Live music. This is a cherry on top. I will go to any bar playing live music. But an Irish pub playing a mix of pub songs and some classics? I’ve died and gone to heaven.

There are other fun things for bars to have, that aren’t limited to Irish heritage. Like bar games, an outdoor area, the location being superb, or some sort of gimmick, like throwing frozen shot glasses at a bell. But none compare to a good Irish pub. When you walk in, a weight falls off your shoulders. That first sip of Guinness tastes like a dream. You have a conversation with a friendly stranger. The music brings you back to a simpler time. One detail, or every detail together, makes it feel like home.

I suppose I will add a quick story.

The first time I went to Ireland, I travelled alone for five days. I will write my stories from Ireland one day, but I haven’t found the right way yet. This particular time, I had taken three connecting busses to Carrick, Ireland. I was pretty much broke. I had some money for a hotel and a few pints with a flight booked home. The last connecting bus was little more than a van. The town was simpler than the smallest town you’ve ever been to. There was a gas station/grocery store, a lodge, and green, rolling hills of sheep farms. I walked down the empty street and heard two men singing. One played an acoustic guitar skillfully. They played ‘Tangerine’ by Led Zeppelin. Surrounded by the lush, spellbinding landscape that was rural Ireland, standing in this lovely town, watching two men sitting on a bench in the middle of the day play one of my favorite songs, was a perfect moment.

There are moments in everyone’s lives that stand out as truly perfect, and that was one of them. After that moment, I entered what I believed to be the lodge or hotel I was staying in. I stood awkwardly with my bag in what appeared to just be a pub. A few older men sat sipping their dark, foamy beers. I approached the bartender and asked if I was in the wrong place. He said I was in the correct place as he walked out from behind the bar and showed me upstairs. He apparently doubled as the innkeeper.

The next day I took a cab to the Slieve League sea cliffs, which were the reason I made my way to the town in the first place. The same bartender booked me the cab. The cliffs are the tallest sea cliffs in all of Europe, rising over 2,000ft high. I spent the day hiking them, and of course had a Guinness on the peak. Drinking a Guinness while listening to Amazing Grace on bagpipes and shedding a single tear staring into the distance was probably the most Irish moment I will ever have. The height was indescribable. Because I got light-headed every time I got close to the edge.

Later the same cab picked me up and brought me back to the inn. I sat at the bar to unwind from the day. The bartender then spoke to me in an accent so thick I couldn’t make out a single thing he said. It was one of those where you ask them to repeat themselves three times and each time gets more embarrassing. I think he asked me something very basic like, “Do you want a pint?” or “How was the hike?” It got a good laugh from the regulars.

Perhaps it is just Irish culture that I am fond of. It seems to revolve around the pub, which is a form of community. A place to sing songs and tell stories and catch up with old friends. Of course beer greases the social gears, but the atmosphere is more important. I was on the other side of the pond, completely alone, in a bar half full of middle aged men with beer guts, but felt like I was home. So maybe nostalgia drives my preferences for bars. I am still of the mind I am objectively correct. Irish pubs are the best bars on Earth.

Apologies for grammatical or general English language errors, I wrote all of this in one sitting after some whiskey.