On a recent Friday afternoon, two 44-year-old salt-of-the-earth men found themselves in Midtown’s Foley’s Pub with a thirst to quench. Their beer of choice: Guinness.
“I don’t know if I’d hang around [a bar] if they didn’t have it,” sniffs Mike Coller, a private investigator, who mixes his Guinness with a lighter, hoppier brew.
Coller’s fireman pal, Barry Hobey, scoffs at his friend’s habit, insisting he drinks only “straight Guinness” — and “a healthy amount” at that.
Call Coller and Hobey beer snobs if you want. But it’s not recommended. These burly bruisers are working-class Guinness drinkers enjoying their blue-collar bubbly. And their ranks are growing.
American sales of the 252-year-old Irish stout are up 15 percent for the second half of 2011, and since last St. Patrick’s Day, 300 new accounts have been added in the New York area alone, according to Diageo-Guinness USA. Some of those accounts include mainstream Americana outlets like Buffalo Wild Wings and Applebee’s.
“In general, I’ve seen people getting more comfortable drinking heavy beers,” says Will Stephens, co-founder of the Brooklyn-based beermenus.com.
“In the past year or so, brewers are becoming more mature and coming around to the British style of beer like Guinness.”
Guinness brew master Fergal Murray acknowledges that the rising popularity of US craft ales has made American beer drinkers more discerning.
This and the willingness of New York bars to import more international brews has made suds drinkers more curious overall.
“With pubs that carry more than just the domestic products, there’s [a sense of] a journey,” says Murray.
But despite the increasing mass appeal of Guinness, its fans remain the most finicky of beer drinkers. They’re known to require their own glassware (the signature tulip-shaped Guinness pint), insist that the temperature is correct (38 to 42 degrees Fahrenheit) and keep a wary eye on the barkeep to ensure proper pouring technique (see below).
And then they will examine the head of the beer much the same way an oenophile tilts a wine glass to admire its hue before giving it a good swirl and a sniff.
“Guinness adorers first drink their Guinness with their eyes,” explains Murray, holding a pitch-dark Guinness with a symmetrically perfect cream topping.
On this day, Coller and Hobey are in for a treat — Murray, visiting from Dublin, has decided to jump behind the bar at Foley’s and pour a few pints. (According to Foley’s owner Shaun Clancey, his bar carries 100 beers, yet Guinness makes up 15 percent of sales; on St. Patty’s Day, he expects to sell more than 700 pints at $7 each.)
For Guinness drinkers this is like a pint being poured straight from Guinness’ own taps in Dublin. A bar manager has even asked him to sign a baseball to share a shelf with autographed balls from fellow Irishmen Bono and The Edge.
“Guinness is a [signifier] for bars,” says Murray, who claims pubs can be defined by whether or not they subscribe to the discerning, but growing, Guinness culture.
And, as with a fine Champagne, rituals abound.
“You have to get a true Irishman to pour a Guinness,” insists 33-year-old Drew Peterson, an East Village bartender spending a night off at SoHo’s Puck Fair.
“It’s my Vitamin G,” he says of his drink of choice.
“The way to make the perfect pint is knowing when to shut off the gas,” declares barkeep Tommy McCormack at Midtown’s Perfect Pint. That means completely shutting down the pouring valve that makes the foam head, and watching it settle.
So obsessed is the bar’s boss Bernie Reilly that he uses a special soap for his Guinness glasses and washes them separately from the others. Pointing at five frothy rings inside a recently emptied pint glass, he says, “When you can count the mouthfuls, you know it was a clean glass.” (This one apparently took five gulps to finish.)
Standing outside the Upper West Side’s historic Dublin House sporting a Guinness hat and jacket late Friday afternoon, Gerry Daly had clearly downed a pint or three. Coming inside, he orders another.
“We run our pints on air, not gas,” says Daly, an off-duty Dublin House bartender for 18 years. “There’s not as many bubbles that way. As far as I know, we’re the only bar that uses air.”
Claiming “Guinness is good for you,” Daly jokes that his wife drank 10 pints a day while she was pregnant, and her longest of four deliveries was 20 minutes. (A Guinness drinker rarely lets the truth get in the way of a good story.)
And while St. Patrick’s Day will see a packed crowd at Dublin House, loyal drinkers say they don’t need a special occasion for their $6 Champagne.
Daly is planning to sit Saturday out, reasoning, “The real alcoholic will take St. Pat’s Day off.”
How to pour the perfect pint
According to Guinness brew master Fergal Murray, there are six important steps in the 119.5-second process.
* “The glass has to be clean and dry,” says Murray, who insists that the tulip-shaped Guinness glass with the signature harp emblem is paramount.
* “Get into position,” explains Murray. This requires tipping the glass at a 45-degree angle, with the harp facing down, and aiming the beer at the harp itself.
* Start the pour and stop it as the beer works its way to the bottom of the harp.
* “The fourth step is ‘surge and settle,” says Murray. This means setting the glass on the bar and watching the color and shape come to life, then settle in.
* After the pint has settled, top it off with an 18 millimeter head, 2 millimeters of which should solidify just above the rim without dripping, if the barkeep is patient.
* Finally, “present it to your customer,” says Murray, emphasizing that there’s an instant bond between Guinness pourers and “adorers.”