"The pint of plain is not what it used to be." A sentiment that you would imagine hearing from "the brother" of Flann O'Brien fame, and one, accordingly, to be treated with a certain scepticism. But I found myself expressing this thought recently, and although the lager-drinking company took on that glazed look associated with boring conversation, it was time to investigate further: there was more to my chilly pint than a few degrees difference in how it should be served. In fact, a revolution in the national drinking habit is taking place, and all under our noses. Amid the glitzy advertising, marketing ploys and web site razzmatazz, the pint has been hijacked. Guinness has been quietly bringing in the "cold flow" system in its draught pumps. Introduced a year ago to woo younger drinkers, it has been infiltrating once-reputable taverns, reducing their stout to a freezing liquid.
The "cold flow"
A spokesman at Guinness said the "cold flow", a "double-chilled" brew, is part of "an evolutionary path" taken in the 1970s when the stout was still served at room temperature. Young tastes today are formed by the near-zero temperatures of the cold-filtered fizz which passes for lager. Stout must follow suit, it seems, to make an impression.
I am assured that teams of specially-employed tasters have approved the move. Gone is the light, creamy head, to be replaced by a thicker substance which no longer leaves the distinctive concentric marks representing each mouthful. Gone are the subtleties of taste and gone, or at least delayed, is the nasty yellow head when you dally too long. Gone too is any semblance of skill in pouring a pint. It won't froth up; its eccentricities are under control.
I wonder what Flann O'Brien would have made of it all. His ode, "A Pint Of Plain Is Your Only Man", spoke of a warmer companion entirely. Perhaps if today he were in one of his surviving haunts, the Palace on Fleet Street, he might have reached for a pint of D'Arcy's, a stout being produced at a micro-brewery in Smithfield, across the Liffey from its gigantic neighbour. I toast its success. Yet there is hope in the last bastion of change, the rural pubs, one such being Crotty's of Kilrush, Co Clare, where the Guinness is still sweet. Unchanged in style since the 1920s, Crotty's showpiece Smithwick's Barley Wine mirror greets the newcomer with an expansive feel while its well-worn tiles bear testimony to the dancing which accompanied the concertina playing of its famous co-founder, Elizabeth Markham (1885-1960).
Kitchen sessions
She was born outside the nearby village of Cooraclare, and moved to the town when she married a neighbour, Miko Crotty, in 1914. With savings from time spent in the US, he bought a house on the square, converting it to a pub complete with a snug for female clients. Elizabeth Markham will always be remembered as simply Mrs Crotty, an accomplished player of the tiny hexagonal box instrument. Her kitchen sessions - the pub area providing a safe buffer against any prying garda - were renowned. Her mother had played the violin, reputedly taught by the blind fiddler, Schooner Breen, who came from Kilmacduane, also in West Clare.
The concertina was patented in 1829 by a member of a London family of instrument makers, Wheatstones. Originally it was seen as an improvement on its relative, the button accordeon, but it was overshadowed early this century by the piano accordeon. In its heyday the concertina was a popular chamber music instrument, and had concertos and sonatas written for it. Because of its size, it was always popular among women (for its manageability) and sailors (the other for its compactness in cramped quarters).
The concertina's most famous contemporary exponent is Sharon Shannon, herself a Clare woman, who has shown a new generation the instrument's dexterity. But Mrs Crotty achieved fame when her only stage was her kitchen. She was a supporter of Comhaltas Ceoltoir i Eireann and was elected its first president in Clare, a position she held until her death. She regularly attended the Oireachtas music competitions in Dublin, but never competed. She was an enthusiastic teacher; one of her famous pupils was Michael Tubridy, formerly of the Chieftains.
Whit weekend
After Mrs Crotty's death, the late John Healy remembered how she had played for over eight hours during a Whit weekend, her concertina "a catalyst by which all the great music she had coursing through her was expresse. . .Her unobtrusiveness and her friendliness came to dominate the scene so that everybody - men and women full of old airs, no less than teenagers, avid jazz fans - would seek her out and quietly sit entranced as she played the concertina." There are few recorded examples of Mrs Crotty's playing, but the RTE broadcaster Ciaran Mac Mathuna immortalised her music in The Job of Journey Work, recorded in her home in the 1950s. Along with Michael Tubridy, Ciaran Mac Mathuna has been invited to attend the Eigse Mrs Crotty Traditional Music Festival from August 15th to 17th, where he will carry out the official opening at Kilrush Library. A weekend of remembrance, sessions and celebration will follow, with concertinas from all over in evidence. Classes for beginner, intermediate and master levels will be held.
Dr Gearoid O hAllmhurain of the University of San Francisco will gives this year's Mrs Elizabeth Crotty Memorial Lecture on "The Great Famine in Co Clare: the grim requiem of the music maker".