I didn’t know what to expect from my first pint of Guinness in Ireland.
I’d heard whispers from close friends and confidants who had made the journey over the Irish Sea, who came back preaching from the apocryphal gospel – “Guinness tastes better in Ireland.” But seeing as I was about to go to Ireland for the first time since the age of two, this would be my first opportunity to sample Guinness as it was meant to: in its homeland.
The time it took us from stepping off the plane to stepping through the door of a pub was embarrassingly short. I’d say it was 55 minutes – give or take a few.
Our chosen location? P. Duggan’s. A fun little boozer, with a gorgeous blue wooden bar, a fantastic tap selection – and crucially – just a five-minute stumble from Dublin Heuston train station, where we’d need to pick up our train to Galway in a couple of hours’ time.
The added bonus? The pub itself could not have been more than a half mile from the Guinness factory itself. Indeed, there was a spot, on the corner of the Frank Sherwin Bridge, where one could literally see the sign for P. Duggan’s jutting out down the road, and then the Guinness factory over your other shoulder. The proximity – and dare I say it, the smell of roasting malt? – merely added to the anticipation. We were truly in Guinness’ parish.
Order’s up. The barkeep was a friendly local – quick with a joke, and fiendishly quick to spot the (very slight) Brummie twang in my accent. We bonded over our mutual support of shite football teams – admittedly as I had one eye on the settling pint of black gold so tantalisingly close to my hand.
The first sip was glorious. Linds had the foresight to film me, and it genuinely looks as if I’m having a vaguely out-of-body experience. I honestly believe it’s the greatest single sip of beer I’ve ever had.
The tragedy is – I believe I lack the ability to truly encapsulate what marks the difference between this sip of Guinness and any other. What I’ve settled on amongst circles of friends is to describe the drink itself as somehow more “Guinness-y…thicker, creamier, less watery”. The heightened intensity and sensual experience of my Dublin Guinness became especially noticeable once back on English soil, where my first Guinness seemed thin by comparison.
That leads me to believe that there’s an element of beer science at play here. Guinness in Ireland is at its freshest, consumed as close to the site of brewing as possible. The drink’s near-monopoly over drinking markets in local pubs also means you’re drinking beer from taps which are constantly being used and cleaned; through which the Guinness is flowing. You’re also drinking in a local culture whereby bartenders are veritable Guinness experts – having mastered the highly specific techniques at the heart of pouring a perfect pint of Guinness . Indeed, each and every pub which serves Guinness in Ireland is consistently checked by employees of the brewery to ensure that their kegs are being stored properly, their bartenders are pouring the beer well, and that taps are functioning correctly This almost certainly results in a higher quality pint.
To my mind though, what I believe makes Guinness truly transcendent Perhaps the most important point to this end is the fact that drinking Guinness, in Dublin, engenders an unparalleled atmosphere and feeling of authenticity. In the words of celebrated beer author and historian, Pete Brown, “…drinking Guinness in Ireland is always going to be more enjoyable than in London or Paris, or anywhere else. There is a feeling of authenticity that you associate with drinking a beer in its true home, so the ambiance you feel in an Irish pub would be like no other.
“People will go to Dublin with the intention of ordering a pint of the black stuff, so you’re already gearing yourself up for that satisfaction before it’s passed your lips. It marks the end of a pilgrimage for real Guinness lovers for sure.”
Cheers to that.