The cures of the Irish is what ales you.

Before Fray Editor heads out for his own Saint Patrick's Day tipple at Maloney's—Westwood's faux Irish experience for the skeevy undergraduate—he invites you to consider the Fray's discussion of Irish authenticity in the international pub, sparked by Austin Kelley's article on Ireland's "Crack" Habit.

Fray Editor relates most strongly to morganja's celebration of the universal authenticity of good times with good company and good brew:

[...] I loved Ireland and the pubs. When in France, I took a much-needed break from the wine bars to sit down in an Irish Pub, drink a Smithwicks or five, and listen to live Celtic music, an incredibly talented fiddle player from Britiany. I don't go to a pub looking for a historical reproduction, I go looking for the same things that pubs in Ireland seemed to have perfected. Crowded, friendly, fiddle music and beer, it sure seemed real to me.

In an amusing display of American solipsism's reverse polarity, Ex-Pat finds nothing Irish in IPCo's export commodity:

These places were designed for a very particular market, namely, Americans. Americans like things to be the way they expect them to be. If they go to an Irish pub they want their childish and simple-minded perception of what an Irish pub is to go unchallenged. To seek out truths and realities about other cultures takes too much effort. [...]

The ostensibly (and plausibly) Irish TeaHag finds that the accouterments may vary, but mostly just in levels of hygiene:

My husband and I will happily drink in any Irish pub, no matter the extent to which it has been pre-fabricated.  We're both born and raised Irish, and now live a heck of a long way from [...] the zillion pubs that made up our social life during our college years. So, we won't care how artificial the environment, in much the same way that we were indifferent to the poor level of hygiene in Irish bathrooms, or the ripped up seats, or the vomit outside the back door. It's nearly always about the beer and the company.

GreenwichJ discovers a more distinct cultural advantage of the Irish pub, faux or not:

In Bratislava recently it dawned on me why pubs, and Irish pubs in particular, have become so commonplace in non-English-speaking cities. Basically, if you want a beer in most European bars you have to sit down and wait for table service. When you want to leave you have to wait for the waiter to get your bill. This gets to be a pain, and, just as sometimes one just craves a quick burger from MacDonalds, you sometimes just want to buy a quick pint at the bar and then leave.

Slate's saturation coverage of all things Irish on Saint Patrick's Day sparks several other wonderful conversations. The Foreigners Fray sports several erudite essays on the state of Ulster in response to Ron DePasquale's article Fantasy Ireland.

Daniel Engber's recent Explainer on local dispensations from Lent leads Pine to lightheartedly question whether the Irish are the "super-equals" of the Catholic world:

OK, I'm Irish on Saint Patrick's Day. So I can eat corned beef and cabbage on Friday !

Does the dispensation also mean that Italians can eat beef ravoli ? or Polish can eat pork perogies?  Can Latinos eat chorizo ?

If I want filet a minion instead of corned beef, is that OK ?  Or if I eat lobster newberg, am I keeping the fast?

If I gave up drinking for Lent, can I extend the dispensation to having a few Guinneses on St. Pats? A shot of Bushmills?

Or are The Irish some sort of more-than-equal Catholic who can eat corned beef while my Italian and Polish brethern have to fast? [...]

Happy St. Patricks everybody, laugh a little.