St Paddy's Day 2010, Part 2

When last we left our intrepid author, he was hoofing it through the streets of Baltimore, wife in tow, seeking the finest purveyors of craic and uisce beatha. We left off before with me leaving Tir Na Nog in the Inner Harbor feeling unsatisfied. We made our way over to Little Italy to take in the sights, like the fire hydrants painted in the colors of the Italian flag. I had the wife take my picture crouching next to one while a couple of paisanos, lounging on lawn chairs on the corner, looked on in amusement. Not only did we look like tourists, but tourists who were looking for kicks in Little Italy on Saint Patrick’s Day. My ethnic compass must have seemed off to them; I probably go to Chinatown to celebrate Oktoberfest.

It was time to get back on schedule. We got ourselves over to James Joyce Irish Pub. I will admit to being a bit wary about this place. I cannot stand James Joyce’s literature. I love to read, but Joyce’s stuff is just directionless mush about jelly-spined whiners. I know this is heresy to many, but I have taken many cracks at Joyce’s writings, and I just can’t make myself endure it. I think he’s vastly overrated in literary circles, partly because no one wants to risk being labeled an anti-intellectual heathen for daring to suggest that Joyce doesn’t deserve his vaunted status. Anyway, I entered the pub bearing his name with trepidation, but my fears were immediately quelled when I beheld the raucous good time before me. The place was completely packed, but in a good way. The bar was 2-3 deep of people just having a grand old time. I wedged myself into a tight opening, facing perpendicular to the bar, to order my drinks. With booze in hand, the missus and I set out to find a spot in the room where we could take a sip without accidentally elbowing someone in the kisser. The place had a great décor; it looked an oversized study or reading room (part of the literary motif inherent in the name, I assume). There was nothing really specific to Joyce that I could see; the bar could have easily been named The W.B. Yeats Pub or The Brendan Beehan Bar (extra points for alliteration). The establishment is heavy on the dark wood and imitation bookshelves. The bar itself is large and well stocked with Irish whiskey. It seems like the kind of place that is fun on a packed day like St. Paddy’s, but also nice to visit for a quiet drink during the week. There was live music, an Irish dancer with bagpipe accompaniment, and a general feeling of high-level craic. The pub made a very good impression on us and I definitely want to return.

After leaving James Joyce, we headed over to Fells Point and found The Blarney Stone. It was less crowded than the other places we’d been to and we were able to actually get a seat at the bar. The more relaxed atmosphere was a nice break from the mob scene we’d been encountering. The place has the feel of a local watering hole, a neighborhood bar. The selection was good and the staff treated us well. They have a good décor, kind of an honest mish-mash of Irish-themed stuff. There’s a humongous gavel hanging from the ceiling for no apparent reason. The Blarney Stone looks like the kind of place where adults go to drink, a place that doesn’t cater to the hip crowd or the amateur drinkers. It’s nothing spectacular, just a good, honest Irish-American pub.

At the end of my last post, I promised a tale of a drunken man engaging in lewd behavior. Far be it from me to disappoint. When my wife and I left The Blarney Stone, a drunken fellow commented on my Irish-themed apparel. I confirmed for him that not only was I of Irish descent, but my name was also Patrick. The guy’s face took on the look of total credulity and utter wonderment that only the very inebriated are capable of over a relative pedestrian fact. (Encountering a guy named Patrick on St. Paddy’s Day is hardly extraordinary; the odds might be more remote when celebrating the Chinese New Year. In China). The drunk then proceeded to use the green plastic beer bong tube he was holding in a most lewd fashion (i.e. he was stroking it). I told him that I wasn’t interested in such a display but if he took his act to the internet, there is certainly money to be made with such behavior. His friends dragged him off to another bar, and we went on our way.

The last Irish bar we found ourselves in was Slainte, and it was the most disappointing of the bunch. It’s hard for me to put my finger on, but the place just didn’t feel like an Irish pub. Sure, it had a half-decent selection, and there was Irish bric-a-brac, and soccer games on TV (not part of my barometer for Irishness, this is still America, after all). The place just felt off to me and even with a crowd, no true craic was evident. It didn’t help that the Jameson 12 I ordered tasted like soap. Something about the glass I guess. Putting the whiskey into a paper cup didn’t help matters, so I choked it down and decided not to risk getting a second round. The bar had a 2nd floor, which was also Irish looking, and a 3rd floor which had a Tiki theme and a nice view over Fells Point. The bar’s identity was all over the place, and the even though the first 2 floors looked the part of an Irish pub, the vibe was very different. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like those movies you see about Prohibition-era speakeasies. The place is a rollicking bar at first, but then someone presses the secret buzzer to alert everyone that the cops are raiding the place. So the walls turn around, and the bar spins around and becomes a bookcase, and the bandstand flips over to reveal a fake fireplace. Slainte just felt like something else that was imitating an Irish pub, and I didn’t care for it. The place might be a decent enough place to pass the time; but as far as being a good Irish pub, Slainte is a bust.

That was the last stop we made in Baltimore before we decided to call it a day. With all of the walking we did, it was hard for me to maintain even a buzz. I got nowhere near the blurry-eyed drunkenness I experienced the previous Saint Patrick’s Day. But we still had a great time and visited some excellent pubs. I’m really looking forward to visiting Charm City again to revisit the places I enjoy and to try out some good new places. Here’s hoping that all of your St. Paddy’s Day experiences, dear readers, were as full of merriment and craic as mine were. Slainte!

Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Paddythepublican@gmail.com