• To see full videos of the events listed below, see https://www.instagram.com/publicanenemy/
• And for the full audio-visual immersive experience, see my ‘US 1940-2024 Playlist’

In the town of Marfa, Texas (population 1401) there’s a honky tonk called the Lost Horse Saloon . A ‘honky tonk’, for the uninitiated , is a dive bar that is both honky and ideally tonky. They call it the Lost Horse because according to the Google reviews, a load of lost horses went inside to the bar, struttin’ around .We’ll come back to the Lost Horse in more detail later, but in the corner of this same small town dive bar, just by Ole Glory , underneath a stuffed Bucks head with fag end in mouth, is a painting. The painting depicts , on the right hand side , a double denim good ‘ole boy with a stetson and a brushy handlebar ‘tasche. To his left, sporting a pencil mustache , a pristine red bandana , thick rimmed specs and unscuffed boots is, what we can suppose , the modern ‘cowboy’, staring at his smartphone , hipster in his stance; all the gear n’ no idea . In modern America, as we will later learn , you got your real cowboys and hipster cowboys, and folks can be real particular about how you identify . Just as they can between Irish Irish & Irish Americans . And real Irish Pubs and plain aul shitholes. And all have their place . This is the story of four of such premises.

According to ‘sources,’ there are 6740 Irish Pubs in the world. About 4000 of these are said to be found in the nation commonly referred to as the United States of the USA of America. This time last year, when I did a short interview for Ladbible, the London Review of Books of internet lad memes, I noticed there was a recurring comment from the anonymous troll respondents. How could I realistically hope to be taken seriously on this quest of visiting every Irish pub and not dip my toe into the youthful nation of the US?

Most Irish pubs in dem there parts are primarily to be found in major cities on the eastern seaboard , but I like a challenge , so we’re fixin’ to go to the Southwestern US, beginning in the Kerry of America, California, before traversing the desert and scrub across Arizona and New Mexico , finishing in the grand plains of Texas, America’s Cork. Taking advantage of a number of felicitous coincidences, for the first time, Publican Enemy will go full Manifest Destiny and travel ‘cross the Atlantic like thousands of my kin before me. I am aware that when a much-loved series reaches a creative impasse and runs low on ideas, a quick n’ easy quirky reboot is the clichéd USA episode. But it would be remiss of me to omit the Land of Liberty/Great Satan (delete as applicable). So prepare for the Publican Enemy World Series** (* *World Series as in it’s just America!) I will record my findings as truthfully as I can, although with some Celtic exaggeration as is my wont.

Chapter 1 ; Los Angeles :

Los Angeles, or Nuestra Señora La Reina de los Angeles de Porciuncula, or L.A. as I like to call it, is a big old sprawl, easily twice as big as Limerick. Usually on these trips, my retinue of advisors and PR people put together a pretty standard plan of attack: go to historic Old Town Centre/ See the famous thing in historic Plaza~Platz where a noble victory is commemorated. Then go to the hipster up-and-coming area that’s home to a vibrant immigrant community (i.e., has a kebab shop or Vietnamese restaurant). You can’t do that here though, such is the morass of growth and neighborhoods, lacking a real traditional center.

That said, it doesn’t feel cluttered or overcrowded here. Less than 200 years ago, LA was a town of about 4000 people, until they struck gold and heaps of unvetted males poured in looking for the crypto of the 19th century- gold nuggets. As the land was so empty, and expansive , they pretty much started from scratch – so no need for small windy streets and crowded high-rise tenements. Wide open spaces are the key here, as the city developed in the era of the automobile. There’s a lot of discussion from locals about best routes and motorways have an evocative timelessness , like Sunset , or Mulholland and are mentioned with the frequency that we’d mention tube lines back home.

LA’s history as a gold rush bolt hole is important for the context of the mindset here, and the pervasive Californian attitude. The place started from a modest Mexican presidio until it filled with hucksters and prospectors trying to get rich quick and in need of basic shelter and entertainment. Realizing the locale was pretty sweet after the gold rush, the space was perfect for the nascent film industry. You also have to factor in the weather. Unlike its two great counterweights of the Anglosphere, London and NYC, LA has got a golden advantage – sun. And frickin’ long lovely beaches. I think this makes it harder to get annoyed with the fripperies of modern urban life; even being stuck in 2-mile traffic on a six-car motorway seems less depressing when you’re in your shades blastin’ the Doobie Brothers on Sunset mothaflippin’ Boulevard.

Word on the street is there are over 20 Irish pubs in the greater LA area, but they are so spread out you can’t just idly decide to wander out and stroll from pub to pub, like what i done in Rome for instance. And no one really walks anywhere here. In the Western states, pedestrianisin’ is a one way ticket to a madman situation so you best have an automobile , son . Luckily for us, we have rented a modest 7 seater behemoth that will bear us across the city to the sounds of only the finest G-funk. But remember, in addition to spitting bars, we’ll also be visitin’ ’em .

Our first port of call here will be Molly Malones, Fairfax. Despite being the 1000th Molly Malones I have visited , this one has a number of promising signs that it might be legit. It’s got no natural light , despite it being perma- sunny here, which helps massively in creating the Irish vibe. There are long wooden benches and even a demi-snug at the end , which we make for instantly. Molly Malones was founded in the 1960s, which is also usually a very good sign as it’s prior to the great commodification of ‘Orish Pubs in the 90s. According to its website, its where they recorded scenes from such iconic films as Leaving Las Vegas , Patriot Games and Leaving without Dick. Must have missed that last one. Out of all the potential options , it was my dear friend, trusted Pint Scout Tom’s suggestion to venture here , which seems a good call , as I would be loathe to drag everyone 40 minutes drive to an absolute shithole. The pints are actually pretty damn fine and I am impressed overall. I can’t remember how much they cost , ’cause you have to factor in exchange rates and also of course tips. I may be an accomplished traveller and genuine homme do monde, but I ain’t never tipped a barperson , not even if they were slinging out multiple free pints, nor if they rescued my first born child from a fire, but who am I to go against the grain and tradition of this land ? If you are gonna tip the barman for pintas though , they better be pretttttttttty decent. And luckily they are – perhaps the best in the West , you could say. A good start. Some of the local alternatives on the Sunset Strip, namely “Jameson’s Irish Pub ” and “Rock & Rileys” are described by local friends as ‘ touristy heaps of crap’.

Take me out to the ball game! One place always likely for a swift beverage is the local sports stadium, and Dodgers Stadium is no different. It’s bliss, sitting in blistering Cali sunshine, paying cursory attention to the comings and goings below , drinking absolutely massive cans of lager with a legendary Dodger Dog which is exactly like a hotdog, only more expensive. Baseball, I decree, is far and away the best sport for boozing. It goes on for hours, you can wander in and out and you wont miss too much, and in between rounds(?) the big screens have a never ending cavalcade of increasingly baffling side quests.

I’ve heard some people can be left unimpressed by LA, but having travelled with locals and been constantly chaffeured in an air conditioned , butt-heated people carrier, I found it quite pleasant. That said, we did stay just outside LA in Topanga, a Galwayesque crystals-and well-being -mecca located in the nearby hills. Across the way, we could see the house where Neil Young recorded Harvest Moon . Charles Manson hung around there too until someone figured out he was giving off bad vibes. Thanks to our fab hosts Richard and Mali who made us feel like family* (*Not in a Manson-esque family way ) .

Chapter II: Palm Springs:

Palm Springs, located some 2 hours east of Los Angeles, has a distinct Flintstones aesthetic , from its palm trees to its rounded stone bungalows to its foot powered cars with dino-heads sticking out the top . Palm Springs was playground to the rich and famous in the 1950s& 60s , a kind of hideout from LA, away from the prying eyes of reporters and today has a huge LGBTQI+ Community. And Frank Sinatra is buried around here too! In a cemetery, not just in the middle of the desert.  From our Airbnb , I read Cormac McCarthy’s seminal Western Hellscape gorefest Blood Meridian set in the self-same desert where I now lounge around on an inflatable pool unicorn, illustrating the changing fortunes of the American West over the past 100 years quite starkly. As a homage to Cormac, I will attempt to write about the Irish pub in Palm Springs in his inimitable style,

It was cresting noontime when the party arrived at the outskirts of the strip mall. They descended from their vehicle , stepping first onto the flintlock of the saddlenotch before reaching the dusty tarmac. The Celt strode forward, his eyes crusted from the drive east, his throat raw, looking like some primordial apparition not yet seen unto by man . He strode to the saloon , bracing through a patch of ocotillo, past the other stationed vehicles, past ‘Pamela’s Sushi Hut’ , through the scrub of ephadra and brittlebush, to be greeted by a labyrinthine quarters wherein stood some 4 or 5 Americans and a barman of unknown ethnicity.

With that extract, ideally this blog can now legitimately enter the pantheon of the great American novels. The pub in this case is O’Caines, located at some desert strip mall and promises both Ceol and Craic. This place is not just IRISH, it’s the Irishest pub in existence! In O’ Caines, more is more, and they have gone whole hog and packed the place with every Irish thing they could humanly affix to the walls. It even has a gift shop for Irish gifts, including Gardaì cufflinks and hundreds of plaques, posters, and even a 200-year-old statue of St Paddy. If you wanna get down, right down on the ground – O’Caines! In the corner of the cavernous bar, a boy/girl musical duo plays a mix of pop/rock hits to an unmoved and underwhelmed crowd. We move ours outside to enjoy our Carpark Strip mall Desert Guinness’s in the desert heat, rather than the air-conditioned interior. Shortly after, the aforementioned minstrels follow us out, to have a debrief and a smoke. “Hey, did you guys come out because we suck?” I admire their self-awareness, and they proceed to tell us that they do a circle of Irish pubs in the area where every 4th song has to be Irish.

” I also wear my Irish hat for those shows’ 

“Cool, cool. What’ s an Irish hat? I ask

“Oh you know, it’s like an Irish hat, but I wear it backwards.And he sometimes wears a kilt’.

Chapter III : In the desert, no one remembers their round; Joshua Tree & Tucson, Arizona

Our next leg sees us head to Joshua Tree National Park. I’ll be damned if the US doesn’t have some of the finest landscapes and parks , and the sheer beauty of this section of the country will linger long in the memory. Why yes, You 2 would greatly enjoy it here. Joshua tree is named after the eponymous chapparal found mostly in these parts, the iconic pointy bearded barbs growing freely and making everything look cool . Bono n’ Friends famously stayed here in the 1980s and made their one decent album, naming it after the park in question, which was lucky they didn’t stay in nearby Possum Gut ridge. Never have I seen a more desolate and savage desert , one that assails all life and hints at a baseness predating all civility. Not since Bray anyway.

There’s no Irish pub here alas, but a trek in the desert fuelled by the finest GORP is thoroughly recommended , and a nearby supermarket bizarrely has an Irish section in the ethnic food aisle , with Barry’s Tea, Blarney Stone Corned beef and loads of reasonably priced Guinness cans . Instead of Guinness I go for the sheer refreshment of Modelo’s , Mexico’s finest beer and I spend a happy 8 hours sinking them in the house pool, under the watchful eye of a pair of roadrunners and those solemn majestic cacti, the Saguaros of Western lore. Nearby, the vibe of the town of Joshua Tree is Grateful dead Cosmic Cowboy, as evidenced by our excellent sidequest to the Crochet Museum and its associated paraphernalia (Thanks Emma!)  

Now, we all know the Irish are one of the keystones of the American story, alongside the Germans, Brits, Indigenous populations and African-Americans , but in these parts the Chicano / Hispanic community have made the greatest impression on South Western culture . The place names, the flora and fauna, the architecture, the language and especially the food all bear the testament to the contribution both historically and up to present day. The great period of Irish immigration of course was in the 1850s , with thousands flooding in to NYC and Boston. In the West, however, the Irish influence is less pronounced but still scuttling about. And identity is a big deal here in the US.

In a diner, I overhear woman attribute her stubbornness to her mother, who “is 3/4 Swedish”. And nowhere is the Irish identity more fetishized than amongst the diaspora than the US. Yet despite this , you do get backlash from some Irish people back home regarding this Yank love affair that I find quite dispiriting. Growing up in Kerry, my parents always made extra efforts to welcome and extend hospitality to visitors , frequently Americans, and our house would regularly host random foreigners my Dad had found hitching which sounds incredibly sinister when I write it but I assure you is fine. So what if someone wants to claim a connection to a country where their forebears in many cases were driven from?

Its the same with this very pub blog; inevitably some troll will rubbish all these pubs as fake /inauthentic and a waste of time and dismiss them out of hand. Does it matter how we attribute something as arbitrary as Irishness?? Lets say I have kids who grow up in London, and who one day say to me ” Awight Daddy, you slaaaagggg, we are Proppah Oirish, innt we? ”(My imaginary children will be 40- something East end gangsters) . Am I to say , sorry kids, but an anonymous social media poster has clearly said you can’t be Irish due to unspecified criteria . Added to this , for some , even being born in Ireland isn’t enough , depending on the amount of melanin in your skin. On this particular trip, we met a whole host of fantastic , charming friendly locals, but two of the those I got on with best would both describe themselves as Irish-American, Phil from LA , and Chris from Kansas, and I was keen to hear about their experiences and their family histories . “My great grandparents came from Donegal, but my grandparents never went back until they were in their 50s. They had a Shamrock shaped pool though”. More power to them I say.

Tucson Arizona: 

Next stop Arizona. A short 7 hr jaunt brings us to Tucson , ably chauffeured by our own flying Scotsman Archie, who took on the bizarre task of driving in a straight line for over 300 miles, interestingly like driving the length of Ireland top to tip . Tucson, the second city of the state and a real desert diamond was founded by an Irish man, but not some Bostonian chancer but a Wild Goose ( not literally) called Hugh O’Connor, or Hugo Oconnor who left Ireland in the 18th Century to go fight for the Spanish Empire. Good man Hugh. Tucson was of course home to Indigenous tribes for years( the Tohono Oʼodham), then the Spanish, then Mexican , and since 1912 a US State. So for the majority of it’s modern history , it was Spanish speaking , until it was bought by the US back when you could just buy bits of countries willy nilly . And the Chimichanga was invented here !!! This Southwestern college town is a real gem and a fusion of cultures. Here, almost by accident, I come across a the roughest of rootin tootin rough Irish pub diamonds .

The Shanty on 4th Avenue didn’t actually come up when I searched for an Irish pub, and from first glance it kind of looks like a fortified RUC barracks. Outside on the wall appears to be an image of what looks like Gerard Depardieu dressed up as the fat one from Laurel & Hardy . The Shanty is verging on dive, but it very prominently advertises its Guinness , so we take a chance and promptly order. The pint , sadly is ropey, but the bar is good vibes . Signs outlaw the open carrying of hand guns, which is a first for me in an Irish Pub. Another first is that ,rather than showing some random sports game, the bar’s one TV is showing a live Dog show, on the highly contested Terrier round. We shoot some pool, and note the decor, which is a mix of dog pics, a portrait of an elderly lady who may have been the bar matriarch, and some tasteful nudes. The Shanty is the least Irish pub but is still craic central and caps a wonderful time in Tucson. Worryingly, earlier when telling Californians of our plan to stop off here, the reaction was polite bafflement – a bit like saying you’re going to Ireland to explore Dundalk or the UK to experience Leicester. That said , the Southwest is having a moment, and we delight in the tacos, enchiladas, flautas, burritos , chimichangas and tamales native to the region cresting the Mexican border . We drive through more dusty trails to New Mexico on the way to our next destination, the town of Marfa. 

Chapter IV; Texas

Texas is the largest state on mainland USA, and they certainly are a proud lot . A bit like Cork, except Texas actually rebelled . We head to the town of Marfa, in the high desert of Presidio County, mere miles from the Mexican border. Founded as a water stop, the town was named after character Marfa Strogoff from Jules Verne’s Micheal Strogoff . Yeah, me neither. But Marfa’s fame stems from one man- Donald Judd, the father of minimalism. Or as he presumably liked to be called, Don . In the 1970’s , the artist left New York to buy ex- army compound in the town, and as a result, the town has an otherworldly arty vibe . The insta-famous Prada Marfa lies here, an impenetrable art installation at the side of the road that would make an absolutely fantastic Irish Pub. But in Marfa, there’s a spot, although not Irish, that deserves mention as one of the finest watering holes I have ever had the pleasure to visit.

America has made great additions to the art of the pub, having created both the Dive bar and the Honky tonk .Both are arguably the only type of bar that can compete with the conviviality of the Public House, and in many cases , exceeding it. Take for example, the Lost Horse Saloon. The Lost Horse is indeed rootin’ and tootin, but mercifully not high falutin’. Canines of all varieties run wild through its halls. On stage, a man plays a pedal steel guitar , the greatest sound on earth. An older bigger, shapeless dog sits slumped high on a barstool. A full band strikes up, playing both lose and tight, which is some feat. The bar is full of cowboys , both real and hipster. The coolest man ever drinks alone, a cowpoke with a leopard skin shirt AND a mullet and walks bow legged to the latrine. A try-hard in a pristine stetson proceeds to remove his Western Shirt to reveal an immaculate white vest while playing pool. Too clean to be a real cowpoke. Although apparently almost all cowboys were of Hispanic origin , but that of course didn’t fit with Hollywood. A blonde gal from the band steps down to waltz with an elderly patron and a man almost drives his Harley Davidson in through the front door. They actually have bottles of Guinness as well, but I’ve hit upon a neat trick whereon it is clinically impossible to get hungover by drinking my fav Modelos, Mexico’s primera cerveza .Or double your fun by making it a Michelada – a beer with lime, spices , pepper that is greatest pimping of a Beer since the Nigerians got hold of regular Guinness For full disclosure this post is not actually sponsored by Modelo, ( which is miles ahead of Lone Star, the Texan fizzy water that passes for beer ). Marfa and The Lost Horse is an absolute smash and if you ever randomly find yourself here, prepare to have a real good time. Texas is a vibe for sure, and Cowboy chic is a winner . 

(Side Note: While in Marfa, as the sole Irishman travelling with my British compadres, there exists an interesting cultural switcheroo. Just as the British look on the Irish with a semi patronising affection, mimicking our speech and inflections, so it is that the roles are reversed here with the Brits becoming the plucky, charming underdogs in the eyes of the Americans. Voices get ramped up for comical effect , sentences get repeated, in an affectionate way, which is quite novel for Brits as they don’t usually feel the love abroad. One very very drunk and extremely high Texan said to me , whispering in my ear so as not to be heard, ” hey brother, imagine your banging this British chick and then she says to you cHeEriO mAtE.“)

Austin

Our final leg is Austin , the Texan capital , renowned for being a music hub, its sweeeeeeett bbq meats and more recently it’s rampant gentrification due to tech bros, making it one of the fastest growing cities in the US and endangering the Keep Austin Weird ethos that was the city’s unofficial motto . Top tips for Austin include Barton Springs , where you can get out of the stifling Austin heat, Allen’s Boots for all your cowboy accoutrement , and Terry Blacks BBQ where we get half a cow with a side of meat.

Our stop here is Kelly’s Irish pub, a low rise building on a strip mall, but step inside and it’s the real McCoy. The bar is fashioned as kind of a thatched cottage, which is whimsical , but not the main draw here. Firstly, its super busy on a Tuesday , which is great. But its the attention to detail that makes Kelly’s work. Floating behind the barman , on a board of purest joy , are bags of cheese and onion Taytos, the touchstone of any true Irish pub. “The owner flies home and gets them” our server says, which explains why the bags are all wrinkly and shrunk like after an 8 hour flight. I imagine the owner strapping hundreds of Taytos to their person in a big coat before boarding , a commendable effort toward creating that perfect ambiance. But the piece de resistance is the menu. After several days of Tex-Mex , my attention is caught by the Irish culinary fusion dish- The Spice Bag!! As we have a level of disclosure in our relationship, I must admit I have never had a Spice bag, seeing as I left Ireland in 2005, before it became exotic, but those who know me will know I am a gastronomic gambler, ( see sheep’s head dish , Iceland) I go for it.

And it is a banger, thus breaking my prejudices against eating in an Irish Pub abroad. Bella , perhaps longing for a taste of sweet Britannia, goes for the fish and chips. It’s funny how i had to travel 4000 miles to Texas to try Ireland’s culinary gift to the world, our Tex Mex if you will. Just as Mexico has bequeathed the Southwest with a national cuisine, (as India and Pakistan have done for the UK), it’s the Chinese that Irish people love. The Spice bag is a curate’s egg of a dish , – Chips, chicken , onions and curry sauce from a Chinese, a sentence that should make no sense but does. Simultaneously completely Un-Irish and nothing-more -authentically -Irish. Schrodinger’s Spice Bag, if you will . Don’t worry, I’m not going to go into Spice bag discourse, as there a plethora of Gen Z tiktokkers who will do that for you. Kelly’s also has won the Best Guinness in Texas Award , not to be sniffed at when you consider Texas is 10 times the size of Ireland in both land and population.

Epilogue:

As such a youthful nation, its no surprise that identity features prominently in America’s story. The waves of immigration from its inception till today continue to define it , regardless of origin. The particular nature of Irish-American emigration , seeing as most Irish people didnt leave for a gap-year jolly or in the pursuit of an excellent timeshare sales opportunity, perhaps explains the persistent connection .Such were the connotations of Top O’ the Morning, Step into the Parlour, Faith N’ Begorrah Irish-Americanism, I was filled with trepidation on testing the local waters. But I needn’t have worried. The American identity , as is the continent itself, is vast and varied. The one great mistake prior to arriving is to underestimate this. (Having been there on holiday for 3 weeks , I am now something of an expert, yeah? ) Looking back on the trip , I could finish on a lovely , Leaving Cert essay conclusion like ‘In conclusion, America is a land of contrasts’. But it is hard to generalise things in America. It’s like talking about Europe as a generalised concept – are you talking about Letterkenny or Estonia, as they are quite different . Such is my affection for the place, coming home is a real comedown. Usually after 3 weeks travel, one should be weary , but it’s with reluctance I return to Ye olde Europe, and I source Old El Paso Taco meal kits from Tesco in an attempt to fill the void. Finally, I can say to the trolls I have explored the New World , and after much deliberation, am even the proud owner of my very own Western Cowboy shirt from Allen’s Boots , Austin. Can I really pull it off though ? Hell yeah I can . I am a cowboy. Like a Limestone Cowboy. And any varmint who thinks otherwise knows where to find me. Round back of The Lost Horse Saloon, Marfa, Texas .

As people like lists , lets do that;

Best Pint ; Molly Mallones

Best non Guinness Pint: The Modelo Michelada- not just a party in a glass, but an entire 3 day Wedding of taste, spice and weak beer.

Most authentic pub ; Kellys , Austin

Most divey; The Shanty , Tucson

Best Meal: Oy Restaturant in LA, or Terry Black’s BBQ , Austin

Worst meal: Biscuits n Gravy, The Black Bear Diner How , and why?

Best Museum: The Tucson Museum of Art- amazing range of Art and History

Best Critter: The Tuscon Road Hog, or the Palm Springs Roadrunner

Most ridiculous shop item: Bitchin’ Sauce/ Pub Cheese / Blarney Stone Corned Beef /

Thank you to loads of people; to my good friends & folks who made this trip possible by helping get me the tickets for my bday; to all the Desert Fish ; to those lovely people we met, like Brook & Phil, Casey & Nick, and my fav of all Arabella