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After a year of our close collaboration, the Head of Research at the Institute of Drinking Studies finally shared this piece of information: The true Irish often frown upon the Black and Tan that I love so much. Historically, the drink’s components are Guinness and Bass ale, the latter an English brew. And the drink’s name is sometimes attributed to former British soldiers, notorious for their brutality, who were sent as backup to the Irish police force, also a British unit. As I’m Irish, I was appalled at this gap in my knowledge. My only defense was that I had a more Irish-whiskey upbringing.
Although some enlightened Irishmen will say that ordering a Black and Tan is acceptable because the Irish Guinness comes out on top of the English Bass, others insist that the only acceptable order is a Half and Half, which is made with Guinness and Harp. Unfortunately, Harp isn’t quite the beer that Bass is; the Head of Research refers to it as “Irish PBR.”
The Head of Research and I were steeping ourselves in Irish history, Celtic mythology and lots of liquor at the Squealing Pig Irish Pub (2700 East Third Avenue). Even in its terminally constipated Cherry Creek environs, this is one of the best Irish-pub facsimiles around. The sunken outdoor patio is perfect for enjoying whatever Guinness combination you like, especially on a gloomy afternoon when a slight chill in the air reminds you of the old country. And, as at the real deal, adults, kids and even dogs are welcome here. When it gets too chilly, you move inside to a dark, quiet bar that’s full of Irish tradition — all dark wood and old furnishings. The only thing missing is the smoke you find in true Irish and English pubs, which requires radar vectors in order to navigate the gloom to the bar. The menu complements the vibe. The turkey sandwich is a mess of meat, potatoes and gravy with bread suffocating underneath, and if you didn’t know better, you’d swear that Buffalo wings are a traditional Irish dish.
The atmosphere is so authentic that you almost expect to see leprechauns, or at least one of the guys from Waking Ned Devine, sitting at the next table. It’s not all a pot of gold at the Squealing Pig, though. In Ireland, the delivery of that next Guinness would never be delayed because the waitress was “closing out” — but that’s exactly what happened to the Head of Research’s little brother. The wait was worse than usual because he badly needed that drink after recently giving birth to a ten-and-a-half-pound baby. (Actually, his wife did most of the work.) In our opinion, the Pig should have given him that late Guinness as a present. Instead, he had to go to the bar just to get it.
This was indicative of how America has lost sight of what’s really important — even though such values are seen clearly in the Emerald Isle. Another example: As we drank and watched TV, News 4 continued to interrupt the funeral procession of Ronald Reagan with disrespectful and mind-numbing coverage of weather that had already passed through the Denver area several hours before. This should have been one of the more moving scenes in recent history; instead, we were subjected to Doppler radar details that nobody could decipher. America’s loss of perspective has resulted in other atrocities, too: why there is a designated hitter, why traveling is never called in professional basketball, why there are lights at Wrigley Field. It also explains Internet pop-ups, telemarketers and why hospitals today spend more money on making luxury private suites with plasma-screen TVs than on providing their staff with the necessary tools to provide good patient care.
The Institute of Drinking Studies is dedicated to bringing this lost sense of perspective back. Sadly, we are losing two members: the Researcher Who Joins Us as Often as Conscience and Family Allow, and, yes, the Head of Research. Aside from the latter’s recent lapse in Irish lore, these guys have been mentors, guides and teachers, as well as two of the best drinking partners in history. We here at the Institute won’t forget them. Neither will our livers.
