Letting the Foam Settle in Dublin

As the introductory film rolls to an end on your Old Jameson Distillery tour, don’t forget one thing: raise your hand if you want to get a solid whiskey buzz.

Housed at the old Jameson factory site, the slick Distillery tour unfolds over an hour or so as a truly self-masturbatory look at the history and success of the Jameson brand throughout the years. After the aforementioned film ends, you’re whisked through a recreated Jameson factory, following each step of the whiskey-making process from malting to bottling. It’s only at the end, before passing through the obligatory gift shop, that you’ll whet your whiskey whistle.

In the first room, make sure to keep an eye out for Smitty the Cat, who reputedly caught upwards of 20 mice a day in the original Jameson Distillery… back when he still had working organs. Yes, he’s stuffed, and yes, it’s a little creepy, but boy does he look cute in that little outfit!

As you follow the path of Jameson whiskey righteousness, your tour guide will almost certainly drone on like a looped recording, hammering home such points as "and that’s how we make smooth, refreshing Jameson whiskey." Yes, yes, Jameson is the best whiskey ever made, I get it! We were also repeatedly educated on the differences between Irish whiskey and their competitors in Scotland—namely, that Irish whiskey is distilled three times, boys and girls, not only twice like those evil, clueless Scots.

Despite the tiresome, over-the-top marketing schmaltz, the tour is rather entertaining, and even a bit educational as far as whiskey-making goes. At one stop we learned about Jameson’s most exclusive whiskies (and how to get one for yourself in the gift shop downstairs, of course), while in others the distillation process was clearly demonstrated and explained. In the gristmill room, don’t forget to rub the old millstone, which apparently gives you 10 years of good luck… or, at the very least, some smooth, triple-distilled Jameson whiskey, Mr. Tour Guide?

The tour comes to a close in the Jameson Bar, and it’s here where raising your hand at the beginning of the tour pays off. While the rest of us are left with one complimentary shot or so of whiskey, the volunteers are given one healthy shot each of six different whiskies brewed in Ireland, Scotland, and the United States. Each person then performs a taste test, indicates which are their favorites, etc. As the guide hovers over them, explaining which whiskey was from where, he made sure to drop playful-but-not-so-subtle-reminders to remember we were in Ireland, not Scotland. After the sampling was done, our guide returned with an official Taster’s Certificate for each participant, as well as yet another glass of whiskey based on which (Jameson brand) they had chosen as their favorite.

And so, I remind you once again... if you’re up for six shots and a glass of whiskey, make sure to raise your hand.

A visit to the local shopping mall can sometimes feel like strolling through a prison, except for the food court, Sharper Image, and pimply teenagers. After touring Kilmainheim Jail, an imposing stone fortress in far west Dublin, I realized that that mall-ish sense of conformity is, indeed, not entirely fortuitous.

It was here at Kilmainheim Jail that some of Ireland’s most revered, and controversial, revolutionaries were held and ultimately executed. Thomas Russell, Robert Emmett, Wolfe Tone, and Michael Collins all did time in the jail, the design of which bucked the trend of that time period’s standard prison blueprint.

Kilmainheim had true reform goals in mind for its inmates, i.e. one prisoner per cell instead of throwing everyone—men, women, children, murderers, petty thieves—into one chaotic room that inspired anything but thoughts of penance. Of course, the great famine of 1880 brought those romantic ideals (well, romantic to the warden, I suppose) to a crashing halt. Because of a nightmarish potato season, food supply became so short that people were purposely committing crimes just so they could be guaranteed a meal every day behind bars. Daily rations were later cut to help discourage these desperate tactics.

And where did I learn all these scintillating factoids? Through hours of research in the Old Library at Trinity College? I’d like to say yes, but my crash-course in Irish history was graciously provided by my group’s tour guide, a genial fellow whose spot-on narrations were supplemented by references spoken in Gaelic, his native tongue. He even managed to make a Power Point presentation—given in the wedding chapel Grace Gifford and Joseph Plunkett were wed in on the eve of his execution—into a fascinating look at the jail’s history. I was especially keen on film footage from the aftermath of the 1916 Rising in Dublin.

The jail itself dangled precipitously close to the execution block in the early 20th century. After seeing its last inmates depart in 1924, Kilmainheim was nearly demolished in the 1940s before being saved by a small but determined group of volunteers who rightfully saw the landmark as an important part of Dublin’s history. After years of restoration work, the jail was handed over to the government in 1986, and today stands as one of the city’s must-see attractions.

Admission will set you back 5 euros for adults and 2 euros for students, and includes access to the jail’s award-winning museum on the main floor. Visitors can only tour the jail in groups under the supervision of a guide, except for in the East Wing cell block, a section often rented out for film shoots. It was here in the newest part of the prison that our guide informed us that the layout, one that allowed prison guards to quickly scan all the cells without changing their vantage point, was the foundation for designing our modern shopping malls. The only question now is which is worse: prisons or malls?

Housed in a beautifully restored Georgian townhouse at 35 North Great George’s Street, the James Joyce Centre is a wonderful homage to Dublin’s renowned novelist, with three floors dedicated to his life story and achievements. The history lesson begins before you even enter, in fact; just a few doors down from the townhouse, look for the small plaque on number 38. It was here that Sir John Pentland Mahaffay, former provost of Trinity College, once took up residence. What’s the significance to Joyce? Mahaffay once said that Joyce was a "living argument in favor of my contention that it was a mistake to establish a separate university for the aborigines of this island—for the corner-boys who spit into the Liffey." I’m sure Joyce was frightened to death at that one.

After paying the 5 euro admission fee, take a seat on the first floor in the Maginni Room, so named after Professor Maginni, a "dance master" from Joyce’s time who leased the building in the early 19th century and was given small roles in Ulysses. A short film, narrated by a truly somber gentleman with a bright future in horror film voiceovers, details the trials and tribulations of Joyce’s early childhood, with a concerted focus on his family’s nomadic moving habits.

Moving upstairs, there’s a great Joyce research library with books on each table for perusal. There’s four or five cabinets containing all kinds of Joyce goodies, but they’re locked up and I couldn’t tell if they were just for show, if they rotated the materials in and out, etc. Hey, if there’s something in there you really want to see, it can’t hurt to ask. Next to the library is a gorgeous room with big windows overlooking the street. Judging by the vacant lectern and chairs, my guess is the room is used for presentations and guest lectures. Of note here is the "James Joyce Retrospect" painting, 1996, by Brian Breathnach.

That voice... drifting down the staircase as you approach the top floor... it's from the ghost of James Joyce himself! Kidding, of course. It’s creepy, it’s eerie, and it’s amazing to hear an old recording of him passionately reading excerpts of Finnegan’s Wake. The effect is further exasperated by Joyce’s encased death mask near the top of the stairs. Move into the room to the left for even more insight and background on Joyce’s career, including the original schema of Ulysses that was originally intended only for the eyes of his friend Stuart Gilbert.

It’s clear that by the time he became an adult, Dublin had little room in Joyce’s heart. He spent the majority of his life in Paris, Zurich, and Trieste, and in Dubliners, he wished to show his native city "one good look at themselves in my nicely polished looking glass." Perhaps it’s ironic that such a nicely polished looking glass into his own life is located in the very city he once admonished.

When you have a hankering for arguably the best pint of Guinness in the world, be sure to first check if there’s an All-Irish Hurling Championship that day. Otherwise, you might be left jostling for room amidst 200 or more drunken Cork fans just for a cold pint of suds.

Having read about Mulligan’s storied reputation for serving the freshest, coolest pints of Guinness in all of Dublin, I took the short stroll over from nearby Trinity College early on a Sunday evening, only to find the moderately sized two-room bar was full to capacity, forcing the crowd to spill out into the street. Worried of sticking out like a sore thumb without a red-and-white Cork jersey or flag draped over my body, I decided to return when the scene was far less frantic.

What a difference a day can make.

At around 5pm on Monday, I found ample seating and a small after-work crowd quietly commiserating over tall glasses of Dublin’s famous draught beer (yes, everyone was drinking Guinness as far as I could tell.) There isn’t much in the way of décor—a few wooden tables and chairs, bar stools perched near stain-glassed windows, and a print hung on the wall here and there—but you don’t come to Mulligan’s for the ambience... it’s all about the Guinness.

The staff adheres to the unspoken rule of letting the beer settle for at least 7 minutes before handing it over, and my oh my, the wait is worth it. I won’t pretend to be a Guinness expert, but ever since those pints at Mulligan’s, it just hasn’t tasted the same back here in the States. After ordering up a pint out of curiosity at one of my favorite watering holes in New York, The Library Bar, I couldn’t help but scoff at the flat-tasting imposter I reluctantly choked down. Now I have to deal with being called a "beer snob." Ah, but if only my friend knew...

Of course, claims of serving anything that’s "the world’s best" rarely come without debate, and this one is no different. Just across the street from the Guinness Brewery, Ryan’s pub provides stiff competition for the best pint in Dublin, and has more than its fair share of ardent supporters. After all, there’s far less distance (a mile or so in reality) for the delivery trucks to travel to Ryan’s than to Mulligan’s, so the Guinness must be better, right? Well, I made the long trek over to Ryan’s, downed a pint of their offering, and, if you ask me, it’s a tie. However, because of its primo location in the heart of downtown Dublin, I have to give a slight overall edge to Mulligan’s.

Temple Bar is just a hop, skip, and a stagger down the street... but why bother? For the best Guinness in town—at a mere 3,95 euro a pint, nonetheless—Mulligan’s is the place to be.

It’s one of those trendy parts of town that’s supposed to be the mother brain of the city’s party zone. Temple Bar... Temple Bar... its very name suggests something worthy of worship, a place where all of life’s answers are poured into a murky pint of black Guinness draught. The only problem is that, just like at a Catholic church service, I left feeling strangely hollow when I was supposed to feel fulfilled.

At times, as I tested my famously weak ankles on the cobbled stones lining Temple Bar, I felt that romanticized energy of the Irish people, the one I’d always imagined existed in Dublin. Street poets belting in Gaelic, the sound of violins somehow overcoming the roar of a packed pub and escaping into the street... these are a few things I enjoyed about the area.

The thing is, some of the bars made me feel like a frat boy might pick me up for a keg stand. It takes a discernible eye to earmark the bars you really, really should avoid—posers, in other words—and the ones that genuinely offer at least a glimpse of that famous Irish cheer. Bars/clubs like Buskers and Fitzsimmons, for example—you won’t find much inside except the kind of overdone slickness found in any other bar/club in any other major city around the world. If that’s what you’re looking for, great, just don’t expect anything even close to a real Irish pub atmosphere.

Not to be confused with Temple Bar "the area," Temple Bar "the bar" was absolutely mad when I visited... and on a Sunday night nonetheless! Guinness in hand, I squeezed in amidst a pulsing mob of Cork fans fresh from their home team’s victory at the All-Ireland Hurling Championship match against Galway. I didn’t hear any during my stay, but this 160-year-old institution features live music daily. That, along with the area’s only licensed outdoor beer garden, makes Temple Bar one of your best bets for a brilliant start (or finish) to your night. And, since you’ll be feeling absolutely mental over the thrilling time you have here, there’s a Temple Bar GIFT SHOP right next door! Thank heavens for that one... now what would my entire family do without matching Temple Bar polos this holiday season?

For better or worse, no visit to Dublin is complete without at least one night out in Temple Bar (the area.) There’s perhaps nowhere else in the city where locals and tourists alike mingle in such close quarters—you’re bound to meet some interesting characters. And yes, there are street musicians, but most of the music I heard was a poor representation of the rich musical heritage that Dublin, and Ireland, is known for. Sorry, Oasis cover songs performed in the the city's most well-known tourist hub don’t do much for me.

There’s also quite a few restaurants and cafes serving gourmet cuisine, snacks, gelato, and of course late-night junk food. Vegetarians, just remember to ask if the curry sauce has meat in it; biting down on a chunk of Grade D beef in an order of curry French fries was, well, it was just a great surprise!