Irish Pub Concept by Guinness, pub owners, franchise opportunity

Nine Fine Irishmen

Fibber Magees

Crawling With Pubs

Hearty Irish Food And A Warm Welcome

Pub Grub Grows Up

Lift A Pint In A Pub With An Uptown Dublin Feel

Authentic Irish Pub To Open In St. Anthony

Cheers To The Technology Behind Better Beer

Waiting For Guinness

Nine Fine Irishmen

With its 150 ft replicas of the Statue of Liberty and the Brooklyn Bridge, a casino themed around Central Park, five top restaurants, the Manhattan Express roller coaster, and twelve Big Apple-style skyscrapers housing over 2,000 rooms, New York New York is remarkable even by the standards of Las Vegas hotels. So when Tom McCartney, the hotel’s Senior Vice President of Marketing, decided an Irish pub would provide the final piece of their entertainment package, he was determined it would stand out even in that setting.

Nine Fine Irishmen, which opened for business in early July, the first pub on the world-famous strip, did not let him down.

Inspired by a song about nine Irish revolutionaries who were transported from Ireland in the 1840’s but

escaped to become prominent citizens in Australia, Canada and the US, the theme encompasses influences from those countries around traditional Irish pub values. It also McCartney believes, fits perfectly with the policy of MGM Mirage™, owners of New York New York, to create ‘strong brands people identify with and which set us apart from the competition.

Determined to achieve the highest possible levels of authenticity, McCartney commissioned the Irish Pub Company (IPC) to put his concept into practise. Such was the emphasis on authenticity that their involvement would extend beyond the original design and build stage to being offered a long term management contract by NY/NY to include brand management, recruiting and training the management team and staff and creating and monitoring the entertainment, food and drink offering as well. For IPC Marketing Director Paul Nolan, who has spent many months overseeing the project in Vegas, it was particularly rewarding, ‘because of the incredible space to investigate and explore the concept.’ Indeed, Nolan and the IPC teams had two levels and 9000 square feet to tell the story in design.

On the lower floor, they created a magnificent Victorian bar of the kind the men themselves would have frequented at the great Dublin pubs of the time as well as recreating a law library. This area is inspired by the Clonmel courtroom where Young Irelander Thomas Meagher famously promised the judge that he and his colleagues would offend again given the opportunity, thus provoking the judge to a sentence of execution (later transmuted). The defendant’s box is used for the MC for the nightly entertainment. The diversity of styles on both levels reflects the different parts of Ireland the men came from. This has actually led to new styles, with the introduction of scullery and parlour style bars to recreate the feel of the great Irish houses, as well as cottage and shop styles. Nor is the design limited to Ireland, with strong influences from the countries where the revolutionaries would later rise to prominence – Australia, the US and Canada. Overall, Nolan says, they have taken their cues from the traditional Irish pub, but on a grander scale than normal, ‘subtly blending the mix in styles to make it feel like a really great Irish public house and sparing no detail to achieve absolute authenticity.’ The use of Victorian wallpaper, hand printed in Ireland to an 1848 design, in an indication of the detail involved.

Such attention to detail is also to be found in the pub’s food offering which has been created by one of Ireland’s most acclaimed chefs, Kevin Dundon of the prestigious Dunbrody Country House Hotel and Restaurant in Ireland, Dundon’s strategy has been to create an excitingly diverse menu using the highest quality ingredients, sourced from Ireland where possible. He has even flown out his own butcher to advise local suppliers on the taste and texture of the perfect pork sausage (sausages can’t be imported). Having spent months in Vegas setting up the kitchen, creating the menu and training staff, Dundon has now returned to Dunbrody House, though he will return regularly to monitor the food. He also communicates on a daily basis with his NFI staff, via a web camera installed in the kitchen. Along with Dundon, eight other top Irish chefs have created menus for the pub. Regular dishes include Atlantic oysters served in a shot glass sandwiched between salsa and Poitin and Dundon’s signature dish – Grilled Irish Goat’s Cheese salad topped with balsamic vinaigrette.

Though NFI is primarily a bar, with an extensive portfolio of Irish drinks from Guinness to Bushmills, food, Nolan says, is vital in bringing people in. ‘We are nearly a 24 hour operation and breakfast and lunch bring in the customers and set us up for the day.’ Since opening, the food offering, served on both levels, has won rave reviews. So have the pints! The perfect pint was a key NFI goal and, in collaboration with local Guinness personnel, great care was taken to ensure that their dispense system was of the highest order and staff were properly trained in the art of pouring.

One of the most innovative aspects of the Irish Pub Company approach has been its training strategy. With authenticity again the key, the training programme for the 138 staff has been designed to ensure that the staff ‘think and feel Irish’ according to Una O’Dowd, who devised the programme with John Cooke and Paul Nolan for IPC and who oversaw it in Vegas alongside the all Irish management team (including Publican/General Manager Ciaran Kelly). The aim was to instil a real sense of Irishness that focuses on the natural personalities of the staff, most of whom are American, and immerses them in traditional and contemporary Irish culture. ‘Anyone’, Una O’Dowd says, ‘can serve pints or bring food to a table, but we picked staff because of their personalities.’ Tactics to enhance their understanding of modern Ireland, included role play to think Irish, learning about Irish sports and culture, and, uniquely in the heavily branded US market, how to greet and chat with customers in a natural, unformulaic way. At the end of each day and week, all employees were quizzed on what they had learnt, leading to a final competency test with those successful gaining an Irish ‘passport’. Standards for all areas of the pub operation are extremely high and are monitored not just by the management team but mystery guest auditors too. Does it work? ‘Service staff are all receiving double the amount of tips they received in previous employment in Las Vagas’, says Una O’Dowd. ‘That must say something.’

As befits a hotel/casino location, this is, Paul Nolan says, a particularly lively presentation of the Irish Pub concept, whether it’s the stylish staff uniforms or contemporary food presentation.

While creating an instant transition from casino to pub means the absence of gaming machines and no TV’s, the nightly entertainment has to be of the highest standard to keep hold of customers against competition from within the hotel. Nolan points to a pool of top Irish musicians and dancers, storytellers and a daily changing entertainment roster.

Attaining success in as competitive environment as the Las Vegas strip is surely the ultimate challenge for the Irish pub and signs could not be better. Already far exceeding budget expectations for sales, despite opening in the quiet season, Nine Fine Irishmen is now selling 5,000 pints a week and attracting locals who normally never venture into the strip as well as tourists and a high level of repeat custom. Proof, as well, that the Irish Pub Concept adapts comfortably to a hotel or casino setting. Tom McCartney has no doubts. ‘Properly executed,’ he says, ‘the pub environment will always be successful.’

Fibber Magees

Fibber Magees, see, is an Irish restaurant and pub. It celebrates the Celtic concept of "craic" (pronounced "crack"), meaning a fun, down-to-earth experience. Like any proper pub, it's smoky and loud, thundering with live music on weekends, and pouring huge amounts of draught beer, like Harp and Guinness. It's got the expected Irish pub menu, with staples like Northern Irish beef stew, fish and chips, shepherd's pie, and corned beef and cabbage. Prices are bar-friendly, ranging from a lunch "meal deal" of any sandwich with a side salad, cup of soup or fries and a soda for $5.95, to a 12-ounce New York strip steak dinner for $12.95. There's also a "beat the clock" deal, where Sunday through Thursday from 7 to 9 p.m., select meals are discounted to correspond to what time they were ordered (hint: Get there at 7 p.m. for the portadown pork chops, two center cut beasts grilled, topped

with buttered leeks and served alongside apple chutney, champ and vegetables).

Yet here's where it gets weird. Apparently, no one has told Fibber's head chef he's working in just a pub. His name is Raul Lomas, he's recently come on board, and living in his own little world, he seems to believe he's running a kitchen in a fine restaurant. I show up for a simple beer and a boxty (Irish potato pancake), but discover actual cuisine. Plate after plate arrives at my table, and with each one my astonishment grows. Ingredients are remarkably high-quality. Presentation is artful, and periodically there are sparks of creativity that show this guy knows his way around a professional stove.

This is pub grub? How completely, marvelously strange.

Head chef. I have to snicker when I drag my dining companion in one Friday evening, and explain that there's a guy in this restaurant with such a fancy title. My buddy is highly skeptical as we stand in the foyer, ignored by the entire wait staff. We've been assaulted by toxic cigarette smoke as soon as we entered, we can barely see in the dim bar lighting, and can barely hear each other over a cacophony of music, TV sets and boisterous customers. He's brought along his 13-year-old son, and I'm thinking he's wondering what sort of debauchery to which I'm introducing his young one.

All he can say is, "Really," as we finally give up being hostessed and squeeze ourselves into rough wooden chairs at a rough wooden table, so tightly pressed with other diners that I'm shoved completely into a rough wooden wall. But it's true, I promise him: Lomas has trained at the Boulders, that chic resort in Carefree, and at Vincent's, arguably the best fancy restaurant in all of the Valley. I offer him a little proof. On Fibber's largely traditional menu, Lomas sparks things up with surprising touches like daikon sprouts (in a BLT), charon sauce (sort of a tomato béarnaise, served with smoked salmon atop boxty), and a robust Cheddar ale sauce (on the brown bread stuffed chicken breast). Soda and brown breads are baked fresh daily, and there's an interesting Sunday brunch with dishes like bacon Benedict, bringing char-grilled imported bacon with poached eggs and béarnaise atop toasted soda bread. On the specials board this evening is something pretty high-class, a mixed grill of fresh ono, ahi tuna and shrimp in a curry cream sauce. Periodically, Lomas comes out of the kitchen, dressed in a crisp white chef's jacket, visiting tables to make sure everyone is pleased.

My dinner pals still think I'm nuts. The television tonight is tuned to female boxing -- it's not pretty; we can tell they're women only because, as our teenage friend points out, male boxers don't wear shirts. It's sick, but we're mesmerized, sipping perfectly poured Guinness, deep chocolate-colored with a thick, foamy white cap. We rely on the child to read the menu to us out loud; it's too dark in here for us old folks to decipher the menu printed in ornate Celtic type. And in the chaos, a band of seven hyper musicians is belting out Van Morrison's "Domino" ("Roll me over Romeo!").

But then the appetizers come. Pinch me -- this is a sci-fi dream -- the smoked salmon is so lovely to look at and even better to eat. It comes in a huge rosette of silky pink fish, a serving that would cost easily twice as much at any other restaurant. The top is littered with tangy capers, the bottom is anchored by thick slices of slightly, nicely sweet homemade brown bread slicked with dilled Irish butter, and the plate is fanned with crisp cucumber slices, juicy tomato, and thin-sliced red onion. (Irish butter, FYI, comes from "happy cows," grazing in "cow heavens" of lush pastures and spring water. It's quite rich and creamy.)

I'd never imagined finding such a shrimp cocktail in a bar, one with wooden floors, stained-glass partitions advertising beer, and a drink menu that rivals a short novel. It's another special this evening, but needs to be made a permanent offering, pronto. A half-dozen firm critters overflow a martini glass, speared with sprigs of herb and resting on rémoulade, piquant with mayonnaise and chopped pickles, plus, in this case, fresh shaved ginger and what tastes like horseradish. It's gutsy, spicy, and so luscious that my buddy spreads it on bread, then dumps the remainder into his dinner salad (that vinaigrette does need reworking; it tastes only of vinegar).

Fibber's owners are Trevor Kingston and Steve Fuller, and the general manager is David Maxwell. I normally wouldn't care all that much about these positions, except that all three are natives of Ireland. Supposedly it's their "family recipes" upon which the restaurant was based when it opened this past spring. And if these guys deserve the credit for the spectacular shepherd's pie served here, then I need to put the honor in print. In fact, readers should put down this newspaper and go get some right now. Honestly, my dining pal, who has been a pretty dedicated vegetarian for the last 30 years, can't stop dipping his fork into my plate. No wonder -- I can't get enough of it either, the braised ground beef, peas, carrots and onions capped with champ (soothing, salted mashed potatoes swirled with sliced scallions) and Irish Cheddar (see "Irish butter = happy cows"). The seduction is in the sauce, a savory, rich, salty jus that confirms that my decision to force these two fellows to join me here was a very, very good one.

Fibber's offers "Armagh" steak (named after a city in Northern Ireland), and it's fine, char-grilled, drizzled with whiskey-green peppercorn sauce and served with roasted vegetables and champ. In bar spirit, Fibber's serves potato skins, chicken wings and nachos. There's immense value in a burger, a full pound of Angus for just $7.95, complete with hand-cut, skin-on steak fries, homemade pasta salad, red potato salad or coleslaw. A few dishes stray to the offbeat, including Mexican champ with chorizo, pico de gallo and cheese; and "Italian Job" champ with Parmesan, basil, tomato, garlic and grilled eggplant.

But what brings me back is the Irish stuff. I love the bangers, crisp-skinned pork sausages that are plump like bratwurst, but mildly seasoned and blissfully ungreasy. I can get them in a bun, on a toasted French roll with whole-grain mustard and sautéed onions, or in a "cork" champ, where they're sliced and scattered over two rounds of champ with the interesting addition of baked beans. During the lunch hour (a much quieter, largely smoke-free time), I feast on a tremendous salmon sandwich, the fish marinated in lemon, char-grilled to the edge of moistness, and slicked with tarragon mayo. Plowman's Dubliner is odd but interesting, layering Irish Cheddar with crunchy cucumber, daikon sprouts and sweet mango chutney. Sides are no oversight, with thoughtfully crafted roasted red potato salad, tricolor pasta salad, creamy slaw or skin-on thick cut steak fries that show concern for their freshness.

The only thing I have yet to work up the appetite for is the full Irish breakfast (served all day), an intimidating ensemble of bacon, sausage, beans, two fried eggs, grilled tomato, fried Irish soda bread, and black and white pudding. It's a bit more than I can handle eating in this hot weather, and besides, that b/w pudding is freaky, being black sausage fashioned from pig's blood, suet and oatmeal; the white version is from oatmeal and ground pork. Under Lomas' care, though, I'd bet this dish is as good as it gets anywhere.

I'm sitting at the bar now, musing with the bartender about the quirky nature of this place and its chef. The beer slinger says that Lomas is fanatical, not afraid to throw away expensive salmon if it's not exactly perfect quality. It gets expensive for the bottom line, the barkeep agrees, though it's cool that the cook is so committed.

An honest-to-goodness head chef who works in a casual, craic-y Irish pub. How unreal is that? I have found the Twilight Zone, and it's located in Chandler. On the southeast corner of Dobson and Elliot, to be exact, next to an Eatza Pizza buffet (madness in itself, only $2.99 for all the greasy pie you can stuff down your throat). This zone of oddity I've landed in is called Fibber Magees, and there's no gentler way to put it: The place is truly bizarre.

Suddenly, Irish-style taverns are popping up everywhere.

Growth of authentic Irish Pubs opening throughout the Denver area is on the rise. From the expanded menus, which include fares such as quesadillas and fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, to the departure from traditional Irish Music, these Irish Pubs are here to stay. Guinness anyone! - For more information about Irish Pubs in Denver, click here

Stout's Irish Pub - A great place to find the perfect pint of Guinness

Opened in March of 2002, Stout's has quickly engrained itself into the local culture. Whether you are looking for the traditional Irish menu of corned beef and cabbage or feel like dancing to a classic rock & roll band belting out hits, this is one stop you don't want to miss. For more information about Stout's click here

Pub grub grows up

IN AUSTIN'S IRISH BARS, THE FARE RANGES FROM CORNED BEEF AND CABBAGE TO STUFFED JALAPENOS AND DEEP-FRIED SNICKERS BARS

You can't get any more Irish than B.D. Riley.

In the mid-1800's, her parents left Ireland for the United States, helping spread a cultural influence far more expansive than the size of their homeland. Today, she gazes from a sepia-toned, framed photo toward the front door of the Irish pub

bearing her name in Sixth Street.

Opened four months ago by her grandson, John Erwin, B.D. Riley's is a part of the long - and growing - trend of the Irish pub food.

With Mother Egan's, which opened in November, and Fado, which opened five years ago, B.D. Riley's is dishing up a daily taste o' the Irish in downtown Austin, plying dinners with traditional fare such as shepherd's pie, fish and chips, and corned beef and cabbage.

While pints of beer may be the dominant image many people have of pubs, food is playing an important role in the Irish bar business. "Food has turned out to be a more substantive part of the pub than I originally envisioned," Erwin says.

Mick Morris, co-owner of Mother Egan's, has encountered the same thing. Food accounts for nearly 30 percent of his sales, far more than he expected when the pub opened.

That means the food trend in Irish pubs in the United States is tracking what is happening in Ireland.

"Food has become a very important part of Irish pub culture," says Morris, who moved from Ireland to the United States six years ago. Pubs in Dublin that did not have kitchens were practically forced to install them over the last 10 years, he says.

Consequently, "pub grub" - sandwiches and other light fare frequently served with a pint of ale - is giving way to other popular foods and more upscale versions of traditional dishes. The food found in the pubs of Ireland is an eclectic mix, Erwin says. One of the best plates of lasagna he has had in his life was in a pub in the Temple Bar district of Dublin.

That break with the heavy meat-and-potatoes aspect of Irish food is another component shared by pubs in the United States and Dublin. At Fado, the second in the nine-pub national chain, the corporate chef devised lighter recipes to give diners what they wanted, according to local manager Kim von Miller. Salmon, a traditional Irish fish, was given an Asian twist and is now seared with sesame seeds and served over rice pilaf with roasted vegetables stir-fried in a hoi sin sauce.

In keeping with the eclectic food mix, B.D. Riley's offerings include fried pickles, black bean queso and fajitas. Mother Egan's has spinach dip, stuffed jalapenos and chicken fried steak. However, one thing most of these foods have in common with traditional pub fare is the "comfort" level. These are familiar dishes, without trendy, haute ingredients or elaborate, multi-layered presentations.

"Simplicity is one of the biggest things in Irish food," Morris says. "It's food you can drink a beer before, during and after."

Shepherd's Pie

1 pound ground lamb
1 pound ground beef
½ cup sliced mushrooms
½ cup peas
4 carrots, peeled and diced
½ yellow onion diced
3 cups brown gravy
Mashed potatoes

In a large hot skillet, sauté lamb, beef, carrots, and onions until meat is browned. Strain grease. Add peas and mushrooms while stirring mixture. Add the brown gravy, bring to a boil, reduce heat and stir thoroughly. Add salt and pepper to taste. Cook until meat mixture has thickened enough to support mashed potatoes on top. Spoon meat into casserole dish. Spread mashed potatoes on top. Place under broiler or in high temperature oven and bake until potatoes are brown and crispy.
- John Erwin, B.D. Riley's

Seafood Boxty

Boxty (potato pancake):
Generous ½ pound Idaho potatoes
1 egg
1 ½ cups milk
1 ½ tablespoons margarine (soft but not melted)
2 tablespoons water
Scant ½ teaspoon onion powder
Scant ½ teaspoon garlic powder
Scant tablespoon Lawry's seasoning
Scant ½ teaspoon white pepper
Scant ½ teaspoon salt
2 cups flour
2 tablespoons chopped parsley

Seafood filling:
Olive or vegetable oil
4 tablespoons sliced yellow onion
2 tablespoons chopped garlic
1 pound cooked seafood (shrimp, cod, mussels, salmon or any other seafood alone on in combination)
1 pound cooked rice
8 teaspoons Cajun spices
8 ounces salsa
8 ounces chicken stock
4 tablespoons chopped cilantro
Red chili aioli
Black bean and corn relish

Potato pancake: Grate potatoes into a bowl with water, allowing them to rest in water for 10 minutes. Drain potatoes, squeezing as much water as possible out of them. In a bowl, combine eggs, milk, margarine and water. In another bowl, combine onion powder, garlic powder, Lawry's seasoning, pepper, salt and flour. Slowly add the dry ingredients into the egg-milk mixture and stir until combined. Add the drained potatoes and chopped parsley and mix well. To cook, ladle batter onto a hot, oiled pan and spread thin. Brown on one side, then flip and brown on the other side. Remove to a plate and keep warm. Makes 4.

Seafood filling: sauté onion and garlic in a little oil. Add the seafood mix and sauté. Add the rice, Cajun spice, salsa, chicken stock and cilantro. Cook until heated thoroughly (don't over cook). Divide the filling and place down the center of each hot boxty. Roll and place in center of plate. Garnish with relish and aioli. Serves 4.
- James Moore, Fado

Author: Dale Rice / Austin American-Statesman

Lift a Pint In a Pub With An Uptown Dublin Feel

You know those big trucks with the oversized flatbed trailers, the ones transporting an entire two-story house from one place to another? Kid's stuff. Try moving an entire pub 5,400 miles from Ireland to Southern California. The trick is, you do it in pieces. Dublin Square, the latest example of the greening of the Gaslamp Quarter, wasn't hoisted onto an amphibious truck and driven/sailed around the world. The pub was manufactured bit by bit by a design company in Ireland, shipped to San Diego and then assembled by some Irish craftsmen who made the long trip with it.

The result is a Fourth Avenue watering hole that looks like a public house along Dublin's well-traveled Grafton Street. It's got an oak horseshoe bar that's a replica of the one in 19th century Tynan Bridge House in Kilkenny, a seating area in back with a cast-iron fireplace facade that's a replica of the Shelbourne Lounge in Dublin City, and all the carved oak, etched glass and rugged plaster walls you'd expect in the Ireland of your travelogue or storybook fantasies. Instant atmosphere, in other words. It's not a new concept. The Field, on Fifth Avenue, basically did the same thing a few years back.

Of course it takes more than the trappings of a real Irish pub to make one work so far from the Emerald Isle. Dublin Square, open since March, seems to be doing fine, with live traditional music nightly, a menu that includes shepherd's pie and corned beef and cabbage, lots of Guinness on draft, and crowds that have no compunction about hand-clapping, breaking into a jig or singing along at a given moment. Maybe the Guinness has a little to do with this…or maybe not.

Does the Gaslamp, already home to Patrick's II and Maloney's and the Blarney Stone and The Field, need yet another Irish pub? Samme Ladckie thinks so. Samme Ladckie? He's publican (that means saloonkeeper - he's also the owner) of Dublin Square. "Others call themselves 'Irish pubs,' but the only other authentic Irish pub downtown is The Field," believes Ladckie, who describes the latter as a "village pub," while his has a "city feel. It's more uptown, as the Irish call it."

Comparing one pub to another is best left to each's respective regulars. It gives them something to argue about over their beer and ale. (Don't order a glass of white zinfandel or a designer martini in here, by the way. Looks bad.) Let's just say that strictly as far as Dublin Square is concerned, it's meticulously Irish in detail and unfailingly cheerful.

These downtown pubs, attracting a wide range in clientele, tend not to be meat markets either. That's a point in their favor, along with the fact that even adequately performed Irish folk music is more palatable than all the bands playing classic rock and 80s covers elsewhere in the Gaslamp Quarter.

The stage at Dublin Square is in the front, near the horseshoe bar, and acoustics are good, given how boisterous it can get. The dimly lighted Victorian lounge in the rear of the pub, with its bench seats and that charming fireplace, is a retreat from all the ruckus at the bar. Find a spot back here if you can.

There's no cover charge when the musicians start up ñ the current schedule includes singer/harpist Nodlaig on Mondays; Kitchenfire on Thursdays; the O'Brien Brothers (think Simon & Garfunkel gone Irish) on Fridays; and the Irish band Clarsah on Saturdays.

Samme Ladckie's biggest production is yet to come. He's planning, in conjunction with Liam Harney, director of the Irish Dance Company of San Diego, a full-costume cabaret/revue for Wednesday nights. The pub, he explains, will be converted into a showroom with Vegas-like seating, with entertainment by comedians, musicians and Irish dancers in the tradition of "Riverdance." Coming your way, for about $35 a head, probably by the end of September. Me, I'd prefer a James Joyce Night, with dark and moody readings over Irish whiskey by candlelight. But that's why I'm not a publican.

Author: David L. Coddon

Authentic Irish pub to open in St. Anthony.

Terry Keegan was so set on bringing an authentic Irish pub into Minneapolis, he had a handcrafted bar shipped over from Waterford, Ireland.

The bar - which features a traditional Irish clock in the center and was custom designed in turn-of-the-century Edwardian style - joins the all-Irish decor and ambiance of Keegan's Irish Restaurant and Pub, expected to open in the historic St. Anthony Main neighborhood March 1. Keegan said the location - in the new East Bank Village building across from Surdyk's - is ideal. "Even though it's an older part of the city, it's young in its attitude and true to its heritage," Keegan said. Keegan's Pub will be the first Minnesota bar in association with the Guinness Irish Pub Concept.

All bars operating under Guinness's IPC must have an Irish design and build as well as Irish food and music, Keegan said. The bar must also have some Irish employees and, of course, Guinness beer. Offering an array of beers, Keegan said, the bartenders will be well trained in the "Perfect Pint" method. Pouring the perfect 20-ounce pint is a two-part process because the beer has both carbon dioxide and nitrogen. "If you do a one-part pour, the head doesn't come out right," Keegan said. The two-part pour involves pouring the first three-fourths of the beer at a 45-degree angle, then allowing the beer to sit for two to three minutes before adding the rest. Keegan's manager Marty Neumann said the pub already seems to be drawing attention. He said he received 400 applications in the first week of hiring. Neumann said he's gearing up for St. Patrick's Day with menu preparations that include a special beef stew for the occasion. The pub is intended to have a cozy atmosphere, closely mimicking that of neighborhood pubs in Ireland.

In order to perpetuate that ambiance, the pub will have only one television and will feature a poet's corner with a fireplace and books.

Keegan said the pub will play only Irish music, ranging from traditional to popular bands such as U2.

Neumann said these amenities will create an atmosphere perfect for conversation. "A pub is supposed to be a small environment focusing on customer service," Nuemann said. Jerry Hinman, owner of the neighboring Taraccino Cafe, agrees. He said old St. Anthony businesses thrive on customer service.

Hinman said the neighborhood has the potential to draw in many customers, given its proximity to downtown. He said the pub is a welcome addition to the neighborhood and will fit in nicely because all the local businesses have different specialties. Keegan said he thinks people in the area will appreciate the pub's laid-back atmosphere, especially in contrast to loud and rowdy bars. "Our theme is a place where you can enjoy the art of conversation," he said.

Author:
Robyn Repya-Staff Reporter/The Minnesota Daily

Cheers to the Technology Behind Better Beer

I'm not much of an athlete, but I do enjoy an early morning or lunchtime run. And I've noticed something about serious runners and other athletes. Many of them appreciate a glass of beer after a race. Moreover, most appreciate better beers, rather than the mass market products.

I mentioned this recently to Julie Isphording, a former Olympic Marathon Team member who also loves an occasional glass of Guinness stout. As we discussed the unique qualities of this great beer, it became clear that she knew more than I did, so she introduced me to Charlie Wright, CEO of Wright Brothers. They provide the gas for much of the local beverage industry.

Charlie took me to The Pub at Rookwood Mews in Norwood, where he showed me a remarkably elaborate setup, carefully designed to pour the perfect pint of Guinness. A low level of carbonation, a thick, creamy head, the tiniest bubbles, the right temperature and pressure must all combine for the most satisfying experience. But these qualities of draft Guinness have only been perfected through use of a very special technique.

Most beer is dispensed with gas pressure from cylinders of carbon dioxide, a mixture of carbon dioxide and nitrogen, or even (shudder) compressed air. It usually works well enough, but there's a problem that customers seldom see. By the time a keg is nearly empty, far more carbon dioxide than necessary is dissolved in a small amount of liquid. So the last pints served are likely to be foamy, which means waste for the bar, and a less than perfect glass of beer for us.

Guinness is very sensitive to this issue. They want their draft beer to taste the same everywhere, which means it must be dispensed perfectly. To get the special Guinness combination of thick head and drinkability, a unique gas mixture of 25 percent carbon dioxide and 75 percent nitrogen is used. Mixing the two in exactly the right proportion and keeping the correct pressure all the way to the bottom of every keg, present a challenge.

Guinness employs a staff of "draft technicians" who constantly travel to pubs to check on the dispensing system. They're so picky about it that Charlie Wright said the process of obtaining certification as an official Guinness gas supplier was quite involved. He pointed out that getting certification from the Food and Drug Administration is in some ways easier, because "the Government is more interested in your paperwork, but Guinness is only interested in the product."

The setup Charlie showed me in Norwood is the only one quite like it in the Tristate. Instead of the standard cylinders, there are two larger, stationary tanks. One holds carbon dioxide, the other holds liquid nitrogen. Both tanks are fixed in place, and are filled by special trucks. In fact, the small liquid nitrogen tanker used by Wright Brothers is one of the most sophisticated of its kind. Using liquid nitrogen lets the bar keep a substantial quantity on hand, without devoting much space to storage of cylinders. Both tanks have individual regulators to feed the gas out at the right pressure, and a very special mixing apparatus blends the two gases in exactly the right proportion to push the Guinness to the tap.

What happens when it gets to your glass is just as interesting. Since nitrogen is less soluble than carbon dioxide, it's released in those signature tiny bubbles. As they gradually make their way to the surface, they gather together in that delightfully thick head. The remaining liquid underneath, with its low remaining carbonation, has a smoothness and drinkability found in few other beers. At the same time, it avoids the problems of flat beer, which would occur if merely low pressure were used.

Next time you order one of these black beauties, give a thought to the technology that brought it to you, and join me in a toast to all the folks on the other side of the bar.

Waiting for Guinness

How a common beverage can lead to the downfall of civilization

Recently, the King of Beers, a.k.a. Budweiser, has been pushing the notion that new dodgy foreign beers may not be fresh and may therefore be dangerous. The "born on" date imprinted on Bud bottles smells of beer evangelism, an attempt to retain their heartland market - the folks who could imagine seeing John the Baptist every time they pop open a bottle of cheap St. Louis lager.

This American icon, built around the thundering hooves of Clydesdale horses roaming free across the prairie, has not been spared the global triumph of free trade. Americans, used to Soviet-style choices in beers as recently as the end of the Cold War, suddenly discovered that lager was not the whole story when it came to liver exercise. Nowadays, ales, porters, hefeweizens and stouts crowd the taps in bars. And among these usurpers, one foreign product reigns supreme: the black gold of Ireland, Guinness Stout.

It takes a bartender seconds to deliver a Bud from the tap. Before the foam has stopped frothing in the overspill tray, the Budweiser drinker has been to the toilet, twice, and is ready for more thin lager. The bartender can almost hear the bladder scream no more. Guinness, by contrast, is built, not poured. A swish of the stout floods the side of the glass, the cream head forming as the mesmerizing bubbles ascend. Then the interminable waiting begins. After what seems like centuries passing, the glass is filled to the top, and the perfect pint of Guinness, with its magnificent crown, is ready to leave white mustaches on delighted upper lips.

Paradoxically, Guinness-building stands opposed to the demanding pace of the times. In a world of instant access, lightning-speed delivery and the devouring pace of consumption, the modern Guinness customer, keen to get the heat on quickly, has to search deep to find the virtue of patience. Standing around waiting is for Communists. Bartenders have to bear the brunt of this alcoholic clash between the old world and the new.

I tended bar in a North Beach institution that once celebrated the dozing pace of beatnik stanzas. During the late '90s, the dot-com wave flooded the old neighborhood with new-money-types, a new species emerging onto land. On a mobbed Friday night, the bar rammed to the rafters, an obnoxious young man, credit card in hand, barked his order above the screech of inane blather and cell-phone chimes that filled the air. The foundations for two pints of Guinness were duly laid.

During the wait, I tended to screwdrivers, kamikazes and Salty Dogs, but soon his puncturing tone scored a direct hit on my highly tuned patience, carefully crafted over years of dealing with the madness often associated with alcohol. "Hurry up! That's been sitting there too long," he whined. "That's not how they pour Guinness in Ireland!"

The nearest this guy would ever get to Ireland was to take BART to Dublin, California. I assumed he had purchased every sanctimonious U2 album and went to see Ireland's version of the Rolling Stones when they played live. Now he felt Irish enough to dish out the bloody cheeky-bastard routine. Gathering my reserves of stoicism, the philosophy of bartenders everywhere, I ignored his abuse and diverted my simmering rage into an examination of Guinness itself, this liquid affront to the pace of the modern drinking age.

A man named Arthur Guinness brewed Ireland's black gold. He was no common Arthur, he was Sir Arthur, and for an Irishman to get a knighthood from England in the 18th century, he must have had treacherous leanings. The evidence obviously lay in the time it took to build a pint of Guinness.

"Make the beer for the Irish," said the English masters to Arthur. "But make it slow pouring. While the Irish are waiting in the pubs for the beer to settle, staring at the bubbles, we'll be outside colonizing their country."

And they did! And Arthur became Sir Arthur.

Although I cannot prove the connection between the pouring of Guinness stout and British colonialism, my theory excused the toxic new-money man waiting impatiently for his Irish charm, on this San Francisco Friday night. He could not be blamed for reacting to the liquid result of English imperialist tactics. He expected speed. He had been reared on images of Tom Cruise from "Cocktail," spinning, flipping, shaking, not standing around a beer tap Waiting for Guinness, as Samuel Beckett should have said. He would be spared a violent lunge with the wrong end of the bar spoon and his eyes would not be gouged out and replaced with maraschino cherries. He was lucky.

On hearing a front-line anecdote like this, the guardians of the King Budweiser court could open up a second front in its war against the foreign poisons. Budweiser and its speedy delivery and quick internal processing sit perfectly with the new economy, make for more beer sold, more profit and therefore, more America. No Waiting at the Budweiser tap. And boy is it cheap - cheaper than gasoline!

Alan Black is a writer and a bartender. He has written for the Christian Science Monitor and the New Statesman. He runs the Edinburgh Castle Pub in San Francisco.

Author:
Alan Black/San Francisco Chronicle