No. 22: Learn to appreciate GuinnessWhen I was in Florida over the holidays, my Uncle Barry gave me a lecture during our Hanukkah dinner on The Importance of Drinking Guinness. I think it was one of Oscar Wilde’s lesser known plays.
Barry is a man who knows his drinking, working in the liquor distributing industry and making several trips each year to cities in Ireland and Germany to sample the local brews. While I trust his judgment, I was nevertheless skeptical about my ability to enjoy the thick, black drink, but told him I would do my best.
“I cannot believe you’re drinking that,” Becky shouts over the calamity of noise, as we stand in the middle of a St. Patrick’s Day celebration in one of London’s Irish pubs. I’ve ordered the drink a few times before in my quest to find something redeemable about it, but as I’ve yet to find the draught tasty, I’ve decided to use the holiday as an excuse to make a concerted effort, which I predict to mean lots and lots of falling down.
Beside me, Rebecca tells the barman that she’ll take a Guinness as well.
“I cannot believe you’re drinking that!” Becky now shouts at Rebecca.
The mood in the pub is festive as we begin sipping our sludge, Irish music playing overhead but drowned out by the chanting of the overly imbibed crowd. People are dressed for the occasion, with green top hats, faux red beards and strings of beads adorning our fellow drinkers. I’ve taken to picking up deserted costume pieces that I’ve found around the pub, and am currently wearing a glow in the dark headband and four leaf clover banner around my neck.
We walk past a lively group of lads dressed in Irish football jerseys, and a little guy with a scruffy beard grabs Rebecca’s hand and twirls her around.
“Do you know how to jig?” he yells at us, before going into a fast dance step that looks less like a jig and more like an epileptic fit. We’re trying to follow his moves and the rest of the football crew joins us, as we form a circle of Michael Flatley wannabes, sloshing our Guinness on the floor.
Rebecca goes to buy another round, and comes back excited to show me the four leaf clover the bartender has drawn into the top of her foam.
“No! Rebecca, they draw the clover when they know you’re an amateur Guinness drinker. That guy thinks he has you pegged.”
“How rude!” she exclaims, and continues to drink her pint in the way we practiced, taking care to finish the drink in ten perfect gulps, as WikiHow has instructed.
By the end of our second rounds, we’re both realizing Guinness makes one very, very happy. Becky shakes her head at us, happily sticking to her cider. We jig over to the bar and Rebecca puts in a third order while I watch Becky arguing with a guy over why she would not, in fact, like to give him her drink.
“Erica!” Rebecca squeals from beside me.”I didn’t get a clover!”
I look at the tops of our glasses and notice they are indeed without clover. Success. I look behind me to see that Becky’s argumentative gentleman has gotten the best of her and is now chugging her cider, and I dutifully put in another order.
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