Paris Notes April 2001

PARIS NOTES

April 2001

Volume 10 Issue 3

"An Irish pub in Paris is an ecosystem," says Owen Lucey, the gray-maned, green-vested proprietor of The Quiet Man. "Like the Amazon jungle, it has a life span. You have to handle it carefully." Lucey believes a pub is only as alive as the bartender, laughing with customers and pouring endless pints of Guinness. "You don't have to be here very long to see I'm not in it for the money," says Lucey, a musician whose pub combines his love for live performance and modest Paris living. "Unlike a French brasserie, a pub has a soul."

Lucey’s The Quiet Man is tucked away on quiet Rue des Haudriettes in the Marais (3rd), right around the corner from the Pompidou Center, but you couldn’t accuse it of being a tourist trap. Its 40-square-meter room and cramped basement host a mixed clientele, some Irish and other English-speakers but also plenty of French. You can hear the Irish fiddle, pipes, flute, accordion and bouzouki, Lucey’s mandolin-like instrument of choice, every night. Serving both beer and coffee, Lucey switches between French and English while sneaking peanuts and sugar cubes to his young Irish-American daughter behind the bar.

At last count, 62 pubs in Paris called themselves "Irish," and the number grows each year. Parisians have truly taken the pub philosophy and turned it into a phenomenon. Some pubs are owned and operated by Irish—the criterion purists require before a pub can don the "authentic" label. Others, run by Irish chains or enterprising French, have capitalized on the fad, enlisting the help of big breweries to import a prefab package. Guinness' "Irish Pub Concept" division will send over an interior designer to install every fixture and decoration down to the last mirror and hire a young lad behind the bar on a six-month contract. A free Irish Paris map distributed by the beer giant guides pilgrims from one holy site to the next.

While investors leverage the latest drinking trends for maximum profit, the genuine pubs gently survive. The Quiet Man is typical of the half-dozen "old-wave" Irish pubs that first hit Paris in the 1980s. Combining real Irish music, darts, rugby, great beer and the justly famous Irish hospitality, the best pubs seem to fill a void that typical French cafés can't meet. Women can drink without being preyed upon by men, and families with children are welcome. Big nightclubs let customers drink anonymously, but in the more intimate Irish pubs, you're likely to be drawn into your neighbor's conversation, precisely why such pubs have found their niche in socially strict Paris, which sometimes seems starved for relaxed interaction.

John Kliphan, an American expat who has lived in Paris since 1987, says he was surprised to find himself drawn to Irish pubs. "I discovered I didn't care for French or American bars," he says. "The Irish are warm and open and have a tradition of welcoming literature." Kliphan, who organizes a reading series called the Live Poets Society, agrees that any bar can't just slap up a Guinness sign and call itself Irish; when this faux formula fails, many transform back into typical French bars. Poetry fans can find Kliphan's monthly readings at The Flann O'Brien, another original pub that draws rugby and soccer crowds to its Louvre quartier location.

Paris’ Irish pub legacy began in January 1980 with pioneer Tony Prett opening The Silver Goblet, a blood-red, former Les Halles brothel once featured in Zola’s fiction. In 1983, Prett also founded the French-sounding Au Caveau Montpensier near the Palais Royale, a warren of wonderfully arched stone chambers that served as stables in the 12th century. The once popular Tigh Johnny on Rue Montmartre arrived two years later. Johnny’s and Le Gobelet d’Argent have since become other bars, but many say their record-breaking Guinness sales helped popularize the pub idea throughout Paris.

"I never expected the idea would take off," recalls Prett. For the past 10 years, he has headed The Molly Malone near Place de la Madeleine, now an amiable candlelit den whose sketchy pre-pub past includes gunfights. Prett is busy making plans to reopen his beloved Silver Goblet, slated this spring to shine green again after years slumming as a nightclub, just in time for Saint Patrick's Day.

History reveals that Franco-Irish relations run much deeper than the frothy head on a fresh pint of stout. Denied an education in their homeland, Irish first arrived in the 16th century to found what was to become the Irish College in Paris on the present Rue des Irlandais. (No longer graduating students, the College will reopen this fall as the Irish Cultural Center.) The Irish Brigade fought for the French army against the British, and in the 18th century, an Irishman served as rector of the Sorbonne. Authors such as James Joyce, Samuel Beckett and Oscar Wilde have made Paris their home.

"Today, as unemployment in Ireland has dropped from 17 to 4 percent, many immigrants have repatriated themselves," says Conall Carr, owner of Carr's Restaurant, located just above the Tuileries. Known for its fireside pub adorned with hat-shaped lamps and its basement, which hosts music, poetry and theater, Carr's is another busy first waver that combines fine food and drink.

Carr says that an authentic experience is important to the French, whose fondness for all things Irish accounts for pubs' phenomenal success. "They'd be disappointed if there were no ‘locals,' no Irish," he says. Parisian pub-goers often get their first taste on vacations in Kerry, Dublin, Galway or Donegal; when they return, their neighborhood watering hole helps rekindle the original attraction. The city's free Irish Eyes magazine keeps Parisians abreast of Irish-themed community events, while the Irish Cultural Association, led by Owen Lucey, offers traditional music, singing and dance lessons.

When Liam Connolly opened Connolly's Corner off Rue Mouffetard in October 1988, it was the only Left-Bank pub around. People thought he was crazy to locate so far from the tourist action. But his crowded establishment has worked hard to maintain a quirky neighborhood look and feel, down to the Jameson Irish Whiskey casks for tables and the hundreds of severed ties decorating the walls. "I wore a tie for 25 years and it was choking me. My first Paddy's Day, my cousin came in all dressed up and I said to myself, ‘I have to do something about that ugly tie,'" explains Connolly. "I usually give the scissors to a good-looking lady. You lose your tie but get a free drink."

Connolly continues, "The popularity of pubs is both good and bad for the industry." As president of the Irish Pub Association of France, he stays in touch with the other 200 countrywide proprietors to encourage tradition rather than flashy modernization. "The Association does its best to keep up the quality of beer and personnel, but it doesn't always work," he shrugs.

That's why visitors or natives should seek out family-run pubs that offer a custom—not corporate—ambiance. On Sunday afternoons, Connolly's Corner is bustling with kids—try to get away with that at the typical Parisian café. "Irish pubs serve up nostalgia, too," Connolly concludes. "They make people feel at home." Wherever their home may be.