When I was a freastailí beair working in my family’s pub in Kerry, for the longest time all empty quarter bottles of wine were kept and stored away for the project. Being a young and fruitfully minded young man, ever curious to the goings-on of the pub, I could never remove it from my thinking. That was, until one fine February evening two of these bottles returned with the labels omitted and filled to the lid with what I was told was holy water. It may well have been, smelling like caramelized diesel and tasting of malted petrol, fágadh i staid an ghrá mé I have yet to feel from my diabolically empty love life.
This was my first introduction to bootleg poitín, a name which still carries a taboo feeling and a sense of illegality for those outside the liquor industry. This is true to an extent; bootleg bathtub poitín made of sheep feed and spud peelings with an Abv pushing 88% is still prominent in the West of Ireland, but it is what I’d consider a luxury for liquor lovers. However if you walk into any public house hither or thither side of the Liffey with a spirit shelf exceeding 15 bottles and ask if they’ve any poitín, likely they have some. And not just under the counter but right there on the shelf, where everyone can see it. How can this be the case? Will they not be quartered and hung? My experience with poitín made me feel like I was in the mafia during the prohibition, what’s all this then? Rest assured this is all perfectly legal.
To understand how we got here a small bit of history is in order. When the monasteries started to dissolve in the 16th century the monks who had originally been making similar spirits hung up their copper instruments of old distillation, their finest pot stills.This left a large gap in the market. Poitín distillation began in every branching corner of Ireland’s wilds, made from starches such as meal, corn, potatoes, oats and barley, distilled in micro stills (hence the name poit-ín “small-pot”), and aged in scrap barrels made of anything from aluminum to scrap wood. Come 1661 the British government, who indeed were at it again, began to tax the spirit and eventually outlawed it in 1785 after seeing how much revenue was being lost to the spirit made in homes that was as culturally significant as a family’s knitwear pattern.They allowed only parliament whiskey, which was a taxable spirit matured in bonded barrels. This surged the market and decimated the poitín industry. The Crown in turn stripped us of yet another thing that made us distinct as a people, they took from us a drink present for generations that was as common to our tongue as the Irish language, and so they took from us our spirit, literally and figuratively. They filled newspapers with lies that the brew was poison and caused blindness or madness and that the good English parliament whiskey was safe and proper; it forced the poitín makers into hiding. Stills hidden in caves, barrels hidden underground, equipment kept in bogs and, thanks to the land’s acidic quality, it was kept sterile and safe for future use. Raids by the government were carried out for years in an attempt to destroy the trade and so the spirit retreated to an under the counter delight of punters until 300 years later in 1997 when the ban was lifted.
Moving forward to the modern day, the drink is protected, regulated and produced by a number of distilleries across Ireland. The spirit, commonly called new-make spirit due to it basically being un-aged whiskey, has the most beautiful palette that personally makes me think of home on the west coast while I’m in a dimly lit pub in The Liberties. A creamy oiliness attributed to the addition of oats in the grain mash give it similar traits to a thick red wine, while the malted flavours of biscuit and hot-honey spice will have you feeling like John B. Keane by a smoldering Listowel fire in late Autumn. White in colour, my personal favourite way to enjoy the treat of The Táin is over as much ice as I can fit in my glass. This lets the water bring out the sugars hidden beneath the alcohol. Did I mention we’re now at a much more palatable 40-46% Abv, ó beannachtaí?
The culture surrounding the beautiful spirit that once sat idly atop Sliabhnamán has grown to be colourful in character and burnt with beauty as we enter into a poitín renaissance. Many may or may not be familiar with Dublin Whiskey Live, Ireland’s foremost whiskey exhibition that takes place every year in the Royal Dublin Society (RDS). It is a three day festival for seeing all that the Irish whiskey industry has to offer for the year ahead, but did you know there now exists a similar event for poitín? Since 2022, Dave Mulligan in the aptly named Bar 1661 has hosted a yearly poitín conference and exhibition named Poitín Now. Showcasing the latest in the field of poitín by bringing together distillers from all corners of the country together in one place to discuss the mother spirit. A note on Bar 1661: Dave has crafted what has often been voted as the number one bar in the country through his love for poitín, boasting a stock of 24 different bottles of the stuff and an extensive cocktail range inspired by the history and flavours of poitín, I can’t for the life of me recommend this bar enough, a truly unforgettable experience and one everyone should indulge in if they find themselve curious of poitín.
In particular the riff on an age-old classic Irish coffee Dave has aptly named his brain child the Belfast Coffee. Truly the genesis of poitín cocktails, the Belfast Coffee substitutes the hot coffee for cold brew, swaps Irish Whiskey in favour of 30mls of poitín and is topped with fresh pouring cream which is garnished excellently with powdered nutmeg. The result? A cold, refreshing beverage perfect for a post-dinner treat or as a means to wet one’s moustache on a Wednesday. And the best part is that The Belfast Coffee is normally the cheapest item on any bar’s cocktail menu, in and around eleven euro. Poitín itself is generally on the cheaper end of shot prices in bars while still providing as enriching an experience as any twenty euro plus single malt Irish whiskey.
So finally, for all the staunch patriots who are far from budging away from the beauty of their beloved uisce órga, I want to make my claim on the difference between whiskey and poitín: identity. Forced into retreat as the Irish were, outlawed as we became, so too was poitín. There being no reliance on a foreign oak barrel, sure what oak trees had we left here? None used of our own accord but for the warships abroad, we made no barrels, we made do. Thrown into the bogs of Connemara for 300 years and now at the forefront of what it means to be Irish is not whiskey but the spirit once used as medicine, as currency and for ceremony. The water drunk at every wedding or funeral, every harvest and fair, calving and lambing day, and hidden under many a cart or car bonnett is a stór mo chroí poitín. For when I’m drinking it I can thank the generations of Irish who slept in bogland or uaimheanna cois farraige to keep the tradition of its craft, and the delightfulness of its taste alive for as long as my language rings pleasant.The joy utter joy of Inishowen, the last great bastion of thirst.
So the next time you’re in a fine public house, ask for Micil, Bán, Spirit of Dublin, Mad March Hare or any bottle of the mad devil spirit poitín. Sláinte.
