I did not drink on Saint Patrick’s Day. I do not intend to snub mid-week drinking—I’ve had better times over a few drinks on a Tuesday than I have on many Friday nights on the town; I had a midterm Wednesday morning. Eddie, a friend of mine who is also in the class, chose to celebrate St. Patty’s Day with what seemed like the rest of Georgetown: during our brief evening studying session, he sipped from a glass of straight Bailey’s (the only worthwhile way to drink it), and I ran into him again at 1 a.m.—I was leaving the library, and he was stumbling home from Philly P’s. (Incidentally, after briefly comparing notes, it looks like we fared about the same on our exam.)
Frankly, I was surprised by how many students went out on Tuesday night. I get it: Georgetown is a Catholic university, many Catholics are Irish, and the Irish drink. (Fun fact: Georgetown kids also occasionally stereotype.) The upcoming weekend seems close enough, after all, though one of my friends claimed that it was “cheating” to celebrate on any day besides Tuesday. But if we’re going to borrow the Irish drinking culture for just one day—and only sort of, at that—I see no reason to suddenly claim authenticity.
America does not have much of a drinking culture of its own. We instead prefer to appropriate our ancestors’ traditions and “Americanize” them, often bastardizing them in the process. The Russians’ vodka shots immediately spring to mind.
Typically 3.3 ounces and always containing a crystal-clear spirit made in the Motherland (read: better than Burnett’s or Smirnoff), Russian vodka shots are never imbibed just for the hell of it. Vodka is respected: Voice Editor Chelsea Paige, who lived in St. Petersburg last spring, was once playing pool with a few Russian guys when she suggested that they get shots. They looked at her strangely, then asked, “Why would we drink vodka? We’re just playing pool.” Russians take shots only on toast-worthy occasions, and their vodka is never, ever diluted.
The Japanese have something called a “drinking meeting,” during which even the quietest of sippers must sing. At specific times during the song, everyone takes a drink, then continues to sing. How lovely. Not surprisingly, a friend’s Japanese boyfriend, Take (pronounced tah-kay), has never heard of the sake bomb; he became confused at work when colleagues called him Takebomb, thinking they were making a bad joke about America’s atomic bombing of his country.
I’m not really going to take issue with the famed Irish car bomb. Politically incorrect name aside, several “genuine” Irish pubs refuse to serve the drink due to its less-than-authentic origins. (The drink was created in Connecticut in 1979, according to Irishcarbomb.com.) However, the drink’s elements—Guinness, Bailey’s, and Jameson’s whiskey—comprise the trinity of Irish libations. In typical American fashion, of course, there are many cases in which the whiskey is excised so that just a shot of Bailey’s is dropped into a pint of Guinness. Really, the only un-American part of an Irish car bomb is the amount of effort it takes to drink one.
Show Kate 3.3 ounces of a crystal-clear spirit made in your Motherland at kmays@staff.georgetownvoice.com
