On the Road with Reid 'Round Ireland: Of Pub Grub and Toasteds and Cakes Made of Guinness (cont'd)

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Tired of pub grub? Little bakeries and shops like the friendly Chedean Café, in the Ring of Kerry beach resort of Waterville can serve up a pot of tea ($1.50) along with sandwiches and quiches ($3.75), plus the craggiest scones this side of an afternoon tea.

Washing It All Down
What do you call four pints of Guinness in Ireland? A square meal. It's not just a stout, not just a porter. It's Guinness, baby, the black gold of the Irish beverage industry, with a creamy thick head that remains floating on top of the brew all the way to the bottom. (A properly pulled pint takes a while; the publican first fills the glass about 3/4 full, then sets it aside to settle for two minutes or so before topping it off and handing it over.)

Guinness is as much an icon of the isle as the shamrock or a leprechaun, and the subject of illustrator John Gilroy's legendary advertising campaign featuring toucans balancing pints on their beaks claiming "Guinness is good for you!"; seals and pelicans making off with filched bottles to the agonized victims' cries of "My goodness, my Guinness!"; and the farmer pulling along his own cart in which the draft horse is sitting back to relax because, after all, "Guinness gives you strength."

The black stuff has been brewed in Dublin since 1759, when Arthur Guinness first started producing the planet's most popular porter in a plant at St. James's Gate—and what they say is true; the pint does get better the closer you get to its Dublin home (and the stuff brewed for Ireland is a foamy head and shoulders above what you get stateside). You know that that means: it's time to head to the very source. You cannot tour the brewery itself, but the old storehouse on site has been converted into an impressive museum (www.guinnessstorehouse.com), at the end of which you get to enjoy the world's greatest pint of stout for free in the Gravity Bar with a 360 panorama of the city.

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