When I was a bartender, I used to make damn sure I had a select few specific dates off:

Every full moon
(everything you hear is true, people get bat shit insane)
the Illinois/Michigan football game
(gimmee-a D! gimmee-a “runkie!” What’s that spell?! speeeew!!)
Valentine’s Day
(a very depressing day to work, forget your date status)
St. Patrick’s Day
(it’s not easy……cleaning up green, oh and my name (Maggie) being yelled a billion times due to it’s good Irishness)

I can think of a none worse convergence in the realm of sport drinking than a 1) March 17th, 2) falling on a Friday, 3) during opening round of March Madness… 4) in Chicago. Sweet Baby Jeebus, peace be with you my Windy City bartending brothers and sisters. (me shuddering) I couldn’t do it. You all deserve a GD medal.

St. Patrick’s Day is actually kinda cute out here in the Northwest. There are only, what, maybe three Irish bars in the whole city of Seattle. Go ahead write in, I know you will. Though, I don’t know if you technically could be an authentic Irish bar. That would mean sawdust, the smell of old cheese, and cigarette stains thicker than a network anchor’s makeup.

So we’ll compromise and say that the following refers to the authentic Irish bar outside of Ireland and what egregious red cards would make an Irishman’s nose turn up. There are, afterall, over 40 million Irish Americans. That’s eight times the population of Ireland. There are bound to be little differences.

• You just can’t call yourself “F-in Mc So and So” and be an Irish bar.
• You must have the folllowing beers on tap: Guinness, Murphy’s, Harp–it’s mainly about stout, not ale. Though England’s Boddington’s Cream Ale is sometimes a curious exception.
• FYI, a black and tan is made with Guinness and Harp NOT Bass.
• If, say, your top beer is Bud Light, sorry. Instant disqualification.
• You also must have the holy troika: Shepard’s Pie, meat pasties, and colcannon. This is not negotiable. Irish Nachos does not a Paddy make.
• You must have a television that plays NOTHING BUT SOCCER, all the time (TiVo’s the best thing to happen to Footie). You can bring extra TVs in for the NCAA tourney, but TV A #1 Prime must display the world’s sport.
• The bartender must realize the importance of whiskey preference, asking, “Jameson’s, Tullamore Dew, or Bushmill’s?” This is a very important question.
• And you cannot, under any cicumstances, have a cocktail menu. Cosmos and Appletinis are most un-Irish. Besides, the regulars’ll get cheesed off and give you a deadner if you try to order a sissy drink. In a real Irish bar.
• Irish bars don’t have wine lists. They just don’t, OK?
• Real Irish bars don’t have fake, insta-memorabilia on the walls. Oooh, this is a sticky wicket. Irish Pub Co. and owners of the Fado chain of insta-McPubs may be owned by Guinness….but they’re still Greek to me.

Thereal Irish bar is all soccer jerseys, soccer penants, old beer signs, cheese-y old landscapes, geneology charts, picture of family (ideally the owners’, not some shit bought off ebay or photocopied), a low key atmosphere, dark wood… They’re the ones that are mildly amused, yet altogether pleased to see you. The bar should look worn, more like your old McGrandpa’s basement bar, not like Eddie Bauer threw up in shades of Mallard and Mahogany. When it comes right down to it, there’s a spirit to a real Irish bar. The Irish call it craic. No amount of focus grouping and art directing can create that. No amount of college aged whelps once a year can make or break it. And when you walk in, you know it.