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It’s bombs away for St. Patrick’s Day
• by Anne Earney - Photo by Terry Smith
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It’s the night before St. Patrick’s Day, and you’re going to bed early so you won’t miss a minute of the parade. No? Let’s be honest: You’re drunkenly trying to locate your running shoes, so you can win that 5-mile race in the morning, as you say you’re going to do every year, despite starting the party an entire day early.
Well, if you’re going to do things that way, you might as well enjoy the craziest of the Irish drinks, the Irish Car Bomb, after you stumble across the finish line.
Matthew Richardson, my favorite disagreeable bartender at Maggie O’Brien’s (the Irish bar nearest to the end of the St. Pat’s day race), considers the Irish Car Bomb to be one of the three most disgusting substances known to man, coming in third after eggplant and sake. Of course, this is open to argument, and I’m inclined to disagree.
Richardson first heard of the Car Bomb from “some guy who came in years ago” and ordered the drink made with Guinness Irish stout, Jameson Irish whiskey, Baileys Irish cream and Kahlúa “Irish-for-the-day” coffee liqueur. Richardson has also gotten orders for a drink by the same name but with a shorter recipe that leaves out the Kahlúa. He made the drink both ways so I could form my own opinion.
With the exception of the Kahlúa, the ingredients are all undeniably Irish. Guinness has been brewed in Ireland since 1759. Jameson, which has been around since the late 1700s, is a uniquely Irish, pure pot still whiskey, brewed with both malted and unmalted barley (as opposed to Bushmills, for example, which is brewed like a single-malt Scotch with 100 percent malted barley). It’s the unmalted barley in Jameson that gives it a spicy, Irish flavor. Baileys has only been around since the 1970s, but it was born and bred in Ireland, where it accounts for 50 percent of alcohol exports, according to the company’s Web site. And Kahlúa isn’t Irish. Let’s move on.
The Irish Car Bomb starts off peacefully enough. A pint glass is poured about a third full of Guinness, the rich, dark stout with a layer of creamy head. A shot glass is poured with a third each of Jameson, Baileys and Kahlúa. Richardson layered the shots, with the Baileys hovering over the Kahlúa, so the shot mirrored the color scheme of the beer. Without the Kahlúa, you miss out on the matching shot and beer.
When you drop the shot – shot glass and all – down into the beer, that’s where the “bomb” comes in. All semblance of order disappears and suddenly it’s an emergency. Really. You have to down the beer, now infused with the liquors, and you have to do it fast or the Baileys curdles. If you’ve never experienced curdled Baileys, do everything you can to avoid it. It’s that bad.
When the empty shot glass lands on your nose, you’re done. Now you can turn to your friends and say, all together, “That was the best Irish Car Bomb I ever had!”
Kiley Hill, another bartender at Maggie O’Brien’s, said the Irish Car Bomb is popular with college kids and at bachelor parties, in the tradition of other beer-and-liquor shots like Flaming Dr. Peppers and Root Beer Barrels.
The college/bachelor crowd isn’t exactly known for discriminating taste, but the Irish Car Bomb doesn’t taste nearly as bad as Richardson suggested. The overall experience is creamy, chocolaty and a little spicy. With the Kahlúa, it’s a tiny bit sweeter and smoother, but it’s OK without it, too.
The Irish Car Bomb makes my list of fun drinks rather than disgusting substances. So to reward yourself for finishing that race, treat yourself to one, two or however many you can stomach. Duck into Maggie O’Brien’s and let Richardson or Hill make you one, and, if you like it, you can buy the ingredients and make more at home. You don’t want your inebriated self becoming a different kind of Irish Car Bomb behind the wheel.
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