Guinness, Guinness, Guinness....
the mere name evokes images of a bespectacled James Joyce meandering up O'Connell Street, the warm dark smoky ambience of an Irish country pub, raucous and lively ceilidh music, and those sweet private mid-morning lactation sessions with myself and my first-born...
How can I possibly be expected to do an objective review of Guinness!!!
To describe Guinness to one who has never tasted it, I must say that it is heavy and black with a rich mysterious roasted taste and a creamy head. As it drifts to the back of your palate, you might almost savor a hint of malty sweetness, but Guinness is by no means a sweet stout. An imperial pint of Guinness weighs in at 475 calories. Many's the time a Guinness stood me instead of a meal. There's a thickness to it, almost like, but infinitely more subtle than, a milkshake. It sticks to your innards. You probably wouldn't want one on a hot day. Guinness is best taken at about 45-50 degrees Fahrenheit. Definitely do not drink it ice cold.
Guinness hits your belly like a bowling ball. It has a cathartic effect on the bowels. Overindulgence produces a hangover like none you've ever had before.
I am a beer brewer myself. I have also toured the Guinness brewery in Dublin. I know that part of the secret of Guinness is roasting the grains until they're just shy of burnt. I do not know, however, how they get that rich creamy head that you can draw a smiley face on.
In America, Guinness is available in bottles and cans, and on tap at certain selected "Irish" pubs. The bottled Guinness is a good brew, but it can't hold a candle what comes out of the tap. One nice thing about it is the labels come off easily if you wish to recycle the bottles for your own brewing experiments. The canned has improved since its inception in the early eighties when a six pack came with a syringe to inject air into it to get a head. Although they've done away with that, you do need to air this beer out of the can before drinking. If you're lucky enough to have access to Guinness on tap, make sure it's fresh. There is nothing quite so disgusting as Guinness gone bad. It has been said that Guinness doesn't travel well, that the further away you go from Ireland, the worse it is. While this may be true to a certain extent, the technology for beer maintenance has improved in recent years, and I'd be willing to blame shelf-life for any objective diminished flavor.
There's no denying that Guinness tastes best in its natural setting. Somehow, it just doesn't fit with the menu or ambience of a midwestern church potluck, no matter how great the food or the Guinness is.
To simulate the true Guinness experience I suggest the following scenario, best carried out on a rainy wintry night: Get as many of your friends to wear damp unwashed woollens as possible. Cram them all into a small chilly damp room. Have an open fire which you have thrown a bit of dirt on to simulate the smell of turf. Light a few cigarettes. Dine on salted potatoes, cabbage and turnips--nothing subtle for Guinness!! Huddle near the fire and read aloud anything by "Myles na gCopaleen" AKA Flann O'Brien AKA Brian Nolan. Or sing obnoxious rude songs. If you have a friend who plays the fiddle, have him or her play in the background. If not, any Chieftans CD will do the trick. Then draw your pints (SLOOOOOOOOWLY!!!,) raise your glasses, and everybody say "Slainte!"
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