Krugers Bar

Just what Kenmare needed - another pub claiming to be Ireland's hidden gem. Krugers Bar has been drawing tourists and locals alike with promises of "authentic atmosphere" and "perfect pints." I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly got stuck when my editor assigned me this review, but sometimes (and it pains me to admit this) the hype isn't entirely unfounded.

Let's address the elephant in the room - Krugers Bar in Kenmare isn't exactly a secret anymore. With tour buses regularly disgorging their cargo of camera-wielding visitors, you might expect it to have succumbed to the dreaded tourist-trap syndrome that plagues so many Irish pubs. And yet...

I found myself lingering longer than professionally necessary, nursing a perfectly poured Guinness while watching the afternoon light paint the room in honey-gold hues. The bastards actually know what they're doing here. The pub has managed that rare feat of remaining genuine despite its popularity - like that one friend who became famous but didn't turn into a complete tool.

The interior is what every fake Irish pub in America desperately wishes it could be. Instead of shamrocks plastered on every surface and leprechaun merchandise haunting your peripheral vision, Krugers Bar in Kenmare offers an authentic accumulation of history that money can't buy. The vintage memorabilia adorning the walls hasn't been carefully curated by some interior designer from Dublin - it's been collecting naturally since 1936, like rings in a tree trunk.

The prices are what you'd expect for a place that knows its worth without being insufferable about it. You're not being robbed blind, but neither is this a budget-friendly diving spot. The pints cost what pints should cost in 2025, and the satisfaction-to-price ratio is surprisingly favorable.

Live music, when it's on, manages to avoid the usual "Danny Boy" tourist trap repertoire. Instead, you might catch anything from traditional sessions to contemporary Irish musicians who haven't sold their souls to the gift shop circuit. The acoustics work with the stone walls rather than against them, creating an atmosphere that makes you want to settle in for the evening, even if you'd planned just one quick drink.

The staff deserve particular mention, if only because they've mastered the art of being simultaneously efficient and unhurried - a skill set rarer than a quiet day on the Ring of Kerry. They'll serve you promptly but won't make you feel like you're on a conveyor belt, even when coach parties descend like locusts on a wheat field.

Speaking of crowds, here's a pro tip: mid-afternoon on weekdays is your sweet spot. The tour buses have usually moved on, the locals are starting to drift in, and you can actually hear yourself think. The outdoor seating area, weather permitting (which in Kerry means "if it's not actively flooding"), offers views that make you understand why people cross oceans to visit this corner of Ireland.

The amenities are thoroughly modern without being intrusive - yes, they take cards, and no, you won't have to trek to an outdoor facility that hasn't been updated since the Emergency. The bathrooms are clean enough to make you question if you're still in a pub, and the parking situation is remarkably un-anxiety-inducing for a popular spot in Kenmare.

For those interested in more than just liquid sustenance, the food offering is... present. It's pub grub that knows its lane and stays in it. You won't be writing home about the culinary innovation, but neither will you be writing to your lawyer about food poisoning. It's honest fare that does its job of soaking up the Guinness.

Look, I wanted to be cynical about Krugers Bar. I really did. It would have made for an easier review - something scathing about tourist traps and the commodification of Irish pub culture. But the truth is, despite the tour buses, despite the TripAdvisor stickers, despite my professional obligation to find fault, this place is actually... good. Really good.

So here's my grudging recommendation: Go to Krugers Bar in Kenmare. Go when the sun is low and golden, when the music is starting to warm up, when the locals are mixing with the visitors in that peculiarly Irish way that makes everyone feel like they belong. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.