Irish Car Bombs raise ire

Today, when you're wearing your green, crawling through pubs and downing an Irish Car Bomb cocktail or two, here's something to keep in mind:

That drink will make some heads explode. And probably not yours.

The 31-year-old concoction made up of Guinness stout, Bailey's Irish Cream and Irish whiskey makes many traditional Irish-Americans crazy. They hate all it stands for: The name makes light of serious historical and current events, and the potent cocktail glorifies drinking on a holiday they say has somber significance.

St. Patrick's Day drinks described as Irish Car Bombs are “tasteless” and “culturally insensitive,” said Chuck Real of the Irish American Cultural Institute in Omaha. He was shocked that such a cocktail existed in Irish-American pubs. He also isn't happy that people make Irish Car Bomb cupcakes and cakes such as those featured on today's Living cover.

To Real, the name conjures up memories of unrest in Northern Ireland. Car bombs sometimes were the weapon of choice, and many believe that the Provisional Irish Republican Army was responsible. Bombings still occasionally happen Real cited three bomb threats in the past five years. They aren't funny, he said. They're lethal.

“St. Patrick's Day to the older generations and to those in Ireland has always been a day of obligation,” Real said.

But it's also a time to celebrate.

“You know why it's called a car bomb,” joked Jim Cavanaugh, an Omaha attorney of Irish descent. “It'll wreck your head.”

And defusing the Irish Car Bomb, pub owners say, is not likely, although one Omaha restaurateur changed the name of the drink after receiving several complaints following a reference in the World-Herald last week.

The Irish Car Bomb categorized as a boilermaker is often ordered in bars, including the Brazen Head, Kennedy's Irish Pub, O'Connor's Irish Pub and Old Chicago, to name a few in Omaha.

It was created on St. Patrick's Day in 1979 at Wilson's Saloon in Norwich, Conn.

Multiple sources say that Charles Burke Cronin Oat invented the cocktail after trying an Irish cream and coffee liqueur mixture. He felt something was missing. So he added Irish whiskey and later Guinness, then joked that “the IRA just showed up” because the drink started to foam over like a little explosion.

The drink curdles quickly, so people typically chug fast.

“That why I heard it messes with your head,” Cavanaugh said.

Like Real, Cavanaugh has deep Irish roots. He tries to visit the country once a year. His grandparents were among the first Irish immigrants to settle in Omaha, and his daughter was born on St. Patrick's Day.

The name of the drink doesn't offend him, though he isn't fond of the holiday's drunken debauchery.

“Irish Car Bombs ... that's an Irish-American concoction,” Cavanaugh said. “Just like corned beef and cabbage. It's not something that has any political resonance or cultural significance.”

But that's the hallmark of America, he said. “We brought a lot of different cultures, put them in the blender or pint glass and stirred them all up.”

And once they're stirred up, they lose more and more of their heritage. Real said he thinks younger Irish-Americans those whose families have been here for generations are far enough removed from Ireland that they don't see Irish Car Bombs as slurs.

After last week's reference to the drink, Real received a handful of calls and e-mails from members of his group. Kathleen McEvoy became so upset and short of breath that she had to use her oxygen tank to finish her conversation, he said.

“Don't you know that this could hurt people's feelings,” McEvoy, 80, later told The World-Herald. “It makes it seem that all Irish people were terrorists.”

What if cocktails were called “The 9-11” or “Afghan bomber,” she asked. “How would people feel then?”

In fact, the Irish aren't the only ones to take shots from drink names. Some other drinks available at various Nebraska bars: the Polish Car Bomb, the Sake Bomb, Kamikaze and the Abortion Shot.

Petrow's Restaurant had planned to serve Irish Car Bombs today, but now it's selling Guinness Floats.

Nick Petrow, owner of the longtime eatery at 5914 Center St., said he apologized to a handful of callers and e-mailers who were offended.

“We absolutely had no idea,” Petrow said. “The Irish community is the most celebrated ethnic community in the country. We wanted to dedicate a float to being Irish. I'm uneducated to the problems in Ireland, no matter how many years ago. We didn't mean to offend anyone, so we changed the name.”

Omaha's popular Irish bars, however, plan to go on as usual today. They will raise beer garden tents, bring in Irish bands, stock gallons of Guinness and sell more than a few Irish Car Bombs.

You'll find them at the Dubliner, a 30-year-old downtown Omaha landmark. For proprietor Frank Vance, it's a practical matter.

“We've sold them as long as I've owned the place 11 years,” he said. “I myself don't like the name. I don't like anything about it. But that's what it's called. You call a Kleenex a Kleenex, not a Scott's tissue.”

Real a history professor at Metropolitan Community College said there's nothing new about the controversy.

“The Irish have been picked on for hundreds of years.”

Contact the writer: 444-1075, j.loza@owh.com

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