There once was a Tiki podcarst,

With a host, little cheeky bastard,

He’s endearing to some,

Till he drinks up his rum,

And falls straightaway on his arse! 

There are landmark moments in a man’s life wherein he crosses certain thresholds. As a middle aged man I’ve noticed an uptick in the frequency of these moments. I’m not talking about wedding anniversaries, purchasing a home or growing my 401K. I'm talking about those instances when something clicks in which one feels noticeably more mature in an instant. I’m referring to the momentous occasion when a man realizes he’s aged out of St. Patrick’s Day. 

It was a crisp drizzly day in Nashville. 17 March 2023. One of my closest friends was visiting and, like I’ve been doing for 30 years now, I dragged Brandon all over town trying to hold on to our partying youth. This particular folly led us to an Irish bar aptly named The Pub. Now, this establishment is awesome. The bar is wrapped in ornately carved wood and stained glass, there’s a pleasant view of the very walkable Gulch district, and they offer the best fish and chips in town. But, on St. Patrick’s Day, as one may expect, hell’s a’ poppin’! 

The bar was 3 deep trying to get a drink, the wait for a table was 2 hours, and both the food and cocktail menus were limited for the event. It was at the bar, loud music pounding in my head,  over the din and dither of day drinkers spangled in blinking green baubles and bangles, while i sipped my beer from a plastic cup, that I yelled towards Brandon, “I’m too old for this shit!”

Seriously, no longer am I willing to drink my whisky standing up in the corner of the bar just to avoid the FOMO of St Paddy’s partying. That being said, of all drinking holidays we Americans have pilfered and diluted St. Patrick’s is my favorite. I’ve always been a giant fan of pub culture. Especially the pomp and circumstance of an Irish Pub. I love the woodwork, camaraderie, and acerbic banter from the staff if they’re from Ireland. A few years ago my wife and I were in Manhattan around Christmastime and on our walk back to the hotel we decided to stop into an Irish pub. I wish I could remember the name, we may have had a few at dinner, and there are quite a few pubs in New York City. This place was amazing. Being all decked out for the holiday appealed to the Christian in me, but it was the vibe that took hold. 

We found two spots at the end of the bar where waitresses congregated to pick up tall pints of red ale. The bartender proceeded to pour the rest of a bottle of scotch into my wife’s glass as I sipped the froth off a Kilkenny draft. We sat there for hours listening to the lilting Irish accents of the bartenders taunt the cocktail girls and their sarcastic quips back. “Say that again I’ll slap your face I will!”, and we all laughed. The friendly shit talking, the way the bottles glint in low neon, The tastes of beer and whisky. It all comes together in perfect harmony to fill out the experience. Inside a pub just feels like home. Right from the inviting warm colors of the sign above the door. 

Yes, we will still be celebrating St. Patrick’s Day this year with dinner, Smithwick’s, and perhaps a couple of Irish Bombs at the Pub. But, we’ll be going the night before so we can sit at the bar and enjoy our drinks from a real glass like grown ups. And what better way to celebrate a notorious drinking holiday than with a notorious drink? Today we’re gonna get blarney stoned on Irish Coffee! 

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony, and this is Pod Tiki. 

Way before vodka/Red Bull and Four Loco there was Irish Coffee. Unlike its hooligan cousin, the Irish Car Bomb, Irish Coffee is actually not an offensive Americanized rip-off making a poor attempt at culture. I’m looking at you, Coronarita. Irish Coffee was, in fact, created in Ireland. To boot, St. Patrick’s Day is not another appropriated, kinda-made-up, drinking holiday. Well, okay. It is a drinking holiday, but we can celebrate in good faith knowing that it’s still very much a national holiday in Ireland. I think the honest tie to Christianity lends St. Paddy’s Day some legitimacy, as well. Especially since we’re talking about a Catholic saint. I ain’t no saint, but I am Catholic and we like to drink. Mix that with the Irish and, well, you better hold onto your leprechauns. 

On a personal note, as an Italian-American Catholic, I feel a certain kinship with the Irish. Both of our forebears coming through Ellis Island and disseminating along the Atlantic coast. I feel just as at home in an authentic Irish pub as I do sipping wine in an Italian restaurant. I can wax wistful all day on my love for St Patrick’s Day and Irish pubs, but, of course, mine is a watered down modern U.S. version. For the history of the original Irish Coffee we gotta float our little boats across the pond to Foynes, County Limerick, Ireland. 

There’s an unexpected tie to the tropics here. Aircraft landing in water elicits visions of low flying seaplanes carving a pastel Caribbean sky and throwing up white wings of ocean as it skims the surface. Personally, I think of seaplanes as island hoppers, not intercontinental. But, have you ever heard of a flying boat? Unlike a seaplane, which alights atop the water’s surface utilizing outriggers, a flying boat actually lands in the water. The fuselage essentially becoming the hull. It was one of these flying boats that was delayed from Foynes Pan Am Terminal one cold, rainy winter evening circa 1943. 

Foynes was the final refueling stop before crossing the ocean so these passengers were already travel weary, now wet and shivering. I imagine this bedraggled lot ambling in off the tarmac, just being told there was something wrong with the plane, it was a Boeing after all, the only reprieve from the blistering winds of the Irish coast being a bar with one man leaning blithely on his shoulder wiping the spots off a stemmed coffee glass. (p.s. I have no idea if there’s blistering winds off the Irish coast. It just sounded good.) That man was Joe Sheridan. 

It’s said that Sheridan took sympathy on the downtrodden travelers and wanted to whip them up something special to keep them warm and in good spirits. So, he added some Irish whiskey to hot coffee, stirred in brown sugar, and floated heavy cream on top. When one of the passengers asked if this was Brazilian coffee Sheridan quipped back, “It’s Irish coffee!” 

As air travel grew in popularity Foynes Port Terminal eventually gave way to Shannon Airport in County Clare a scant 35 miles from Foynes where a flying boat museum is the only remnant of a bygone era. One of the past times that did make the transition to Shannon was the serving of Sheridan’s Irish Coffee. 

It was at the Shannon Airport where travel writer Stanton Delaplane encountered the Irish Coffee. No doubt Delaplane’s writing made the drink known to America, but it was his friend Jack Koeppler who made it renowned. Koeppler ran the Buena Vista Cafe in San Francisco. For the geographically impaired San Francisco is in California. It’s still comical to me that the Irish Coffee found infamy in a place called the Buena Vista. I guess Koeppler saw an opportunity to capitalize on a good thing and using Delaplane’s recounting of Sheridan’s process and profile they eventually struck gold. Following an article penned by Delaplane touting the Buena Vista Cafe’s authentic Irish Coffee the phenomenon soon spread across the U.S. We all know a version of Irish Coffee but the Buena Vista is still a destination for mixed drink enthusiasts serving up to 2,000 Irish Coffees per day. The way they do this reminds me of how Cuban bartenders prep mojitos. Glass mugs are lined up along the bar with sugar at the bottom. When an order comes in the whiskey and coffee are added and topped with cream and voila!. Or should I say, Sláinte! 

Allright, you bonny lads and lasses. Let’s make a drink! 

Irish Coffee is a relatively simple drink in terms of ingredients and process, but the quality of said ingredients has a profound effect on the enjoyment of the finished product. The category of Irish whisky is replete with great options. I really enjoy Irish whisky dare I say almost more than American bourbon. It’s got a smooth roundness that’s almost fruity. There’s definitely a whisky bite but it’s so well softened that it adds to the flavor rather than stinging the tongue. Admittedly, I am not connoisseur, although I would like to be. I can only speak from my limited experiences and I’ve concluded for one that I do not care for Jameson. Bushmills and Proper Twelve are my runner ups, but the winner for me has got to be Slane. Such a wonderful whisky, and coming in around $27 a bottle it’s well worth the price of admission. Full flavored yet smooth with a bit more body than expected, it’s now my go-to Irish whisky. 

As mentioned a few episodes back when discussing coffee grog, my favorite local coffee is the dark roast option from Nashville’s Frothy Monkey. I’ve seen some articles suggest a medium bodied roast, but if you’re a coffee drinker you’re going to want something more, and if you’re not a coffee drinker worry not, the cream, sugar, and whisky will mitigate any unpleasant heaviness. I’m prone to dark italian roast, but, as with any gustatory indulgence, preference plays a majority part in enjoyment. So, use the coffee you like, but, my opinion is that using a fuller roast will render a richer end result. 

For sugar I’ve read everything from regular granulated to cubed, but what I’ve seen most referenced is brown sugar. Having tried a few different sugars I concur that brown sugar is the best for this. It lends to the coffee cake flavors that we’ll explore later. That extra depth is something you might not recognize when it’s there, but will miss if it’s not.   

Lastly, we need heavy whipping cream.  This is the only tricky kind of pain in the ass part. The cream must be whipped to a consistency that will float on the surface of the coffee but is not so thick that it “peaks”, as they say. That is, it should not be foamy enough that it stands on its own, forming little peaks when you pull a spoon through it. A milk frother makes it too thick, so I opted for the old fashioned way - hand whisk. It takes a few minutes of steady whipping, but the result is a perfect thick cream that when poured slowly over the back of a spoon forms that perfect distinct line of cloud white against the rich black coffee. I can’t emphasize how important this small part of the process is. It’s essentially the only thing that separates an Irish Coffee from some hapless film noir detective pouring whisky from a flask into his morning joe. Don’t rush this part lest your cream will not rest on top but descend in streaks through the coffee rendering a weird melting Dali painting of a drink. 

A final note before preparation. Don’t overdo the whisky. We have a tendency to assume 1 ½ oz of spirit is a casual pour. In the case of Irish Whisky the balance of flavor is more important that getting wasted. Remember this drink was invented to cheer folks up, not get them hammered and restless. A 1 oz pour of whisky is all it takes to blend perfectly into the palate of this libation. Any more than that and the whisky becomes the dominant flavor and kind of ruins the experience. But, fear not, as Cocktail Historian Dale DeGroff, "Delaplane and Koeppler’s recipe calls for a one-ounce shot. I know it seems stingy, but do not be put off—it’s actually good news. That liquor, along with three-and-a-half ounces of steaming-hot sweetened coffee and three-quarters of an inch of lightly whipped cream, is so delicious you’ll want to consume at least two more." 

With that, here is the recipe:

2 tsp Brown Sugar

2-4 oz Heavy Cream

4 oz Hot Black Coffee

1 oz Irish Whisky

Fill an 8 oz glass coffee mug with hot water and set aside. Whip 2-4 oz of heavy cream till it thickens. You won’t use all of it, but better too much than not enough. Empty hot water from mug and into it add sugar, whisky, and no fill with no more than 4 oz of hot coffee and stir till sugar dissolves. Take care to leave about half an inch room for cream. Finally, easy pour the cream over the back of a kitchen spoon into the mug starting low and close to the coffee then slowly raising till it just about breaches the rim. There should be a very clear line of thick white cream floating above rich dark coffee. 

That first sip is magical. The experience of feeling hot coffee cooled just so by passing through the cream is a delightful curiosity. Take heed to savor that sip for it only happens on the first one. As that sip fades a hint of sweet whisky slips in. Just enough to remind you it’s there, creepin’ in the back like, “whuzzup…”. The texture is very creamy. Overall, it tastes like coffee ice cream. Heavenly. 

I don’t really need to go too deep into flavor, you guys know what coffee and booze tastes like. The treat of this drink is it follows the style of how Europe loves their fancy coffees. Just be careful. Caffiene, plus alcohol, plus sugar, can be a dangerous combo. Mixing uppers and downers can at best create a very awake drunk and at worst, cause heart palpatations. Imagine being drunk when you lose track of how much you’ve had. If what you’re drinking is coffee, or back in the aughts, red bull, it’s going to effect you. Mind your intake and heart rate. What’s great about Irish Coffee is that it’s not meant to get wasted on, it’s a dessert, or a way to kick the night off, or a nice brunch sipper. 

As young as Irish Coffee is it’s far from the first coffee cocktail. As far back as the mid-19th century Viennese coffee houses were serving coffee based cocktails topped with whipped cream. You know when it comes to coffee the French had to get involved. They called coffee with alcohol a Gloria. But, none of those have had the lasting powering and pervasive coverage of Irish Coffee. 

With that, I think it’s time for me to commit my favorite St. Patrick’s day drinking tradition. The Irish goodbye. 

Sources: Liquor.com, Diffordsguide.com, highcampflasks.com, wikipedia. 

Keepi Tiki, and Slainte!