As several bishops have been known to issue dispensations on carnivorous abstinence when St. Patrick’s Day falls on a Friday during Lent, I feel it is my duty to toss back a pint of the brown stuff in honour of our Irish brethren, though I’ve given to alcohol abstinence these forty days. (not on the Sabbath though–I’m only human!)
EST it is now officially midnight. I crack the can and pour myself a tall glass of the delicious beverage. Good things come to those who wait (the commercial tells us so), so I patiently allow the beer to settle before taking my first sip.
Heavenly. The Irish sure know what they’re doing.
That gets me thinking; they’ve got whisky too! I pour myself a shot. Excellent. Isn’t there a cream based liqueur as well? Sure, Irish Cream! Another shot. This is turning into one hell of a Saint Patrick’s Day!
. . .
Alright, so the above was just a dramatization of how this evening could’ve played out. In truth, I have sampled all three beverages, just not tonight. Having done so, I can assure you that my reaction to their delicate and complex flavours was accurately represented.
Still, one cannot accurately speak of the festivities of this “green before the green movement” holiday without making mention of the one drink that you knew had to be coming: the Irish Car Bomb.
A combination of the three drinks, the ICB – as I will henceforth abbreviate it – is a variation of the old boilermaker “cocktail” (I use quotation marks because a shot with a beer chaser isn’t really a cocktail per se). Wikipedia says a lot of things I will not rehash; I will however say this: I do not like ICBs.
Guinness was the first beer I truly loved. I don’t know if it was the fact that I like to hate things the masses like (light beer) or if my advanced coffee-loving palate could handle the bold flavours and dark undertones of this famed brew. Regardless, until I discovered micro-brewed stouts, this was my favourite.
Whisky, on the other hand, took quite a few years to warm up to. Jameson was the first alcohol I snuck from the parent’s liquor cabinet. It was, however, inherited from their parent’s liquor cabinet, and not in the freshest state. It wasn’t until Kelly introduced me to Bushmill’s that I realized whisky could be drunk without gagging. I’ve since graduated to Scotch, but a fifth of one of the Irish whiskys is always in my stash.
Everyone likes Irish Cream. I think.
However, contrary to what one barista/bartender may write, not everyone likes ICBs. I am one of those people.
Again, I’m not exactly sure what it is. Maybe it is the curdling of the Irish Cream in the concoction. Maybe it is the fact that you have to chug it, something I loathe doing. Maybe it is the bastardisation of three very delicious single alcoholic beverages. Or it could be, again, the fact that so many people like them and that so many of them are douches. Sorry kids; Dude-bros, Kerplowskis, New Haircut Kids, less than squiriferous chaps, whatever they’re called now, they’ll never cease to enjoy their light beer and ICBs.
For the sake of research, I made an ICB just before writing this. It was an unpleasant experience. I can handle shots, despite their sole purpose being to get you as drunk as possible as quick as possible. But ICBs seem to take that to another level of ridiculous. Plus the fact that if I want to order a pint on March 18, it is almost guaranteed the Guinness is gone.
Still, I raise the remains of my pint to you. (you didn’t think I’d use the whole thing on that bloody car bomb, did you?)
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!