Matt Molloy's

Just what the world needed - another "authentic" Irish pub. Matt Molloy's in Westport had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. Sure, it's owned by the flautist from The Chieftains, but that seemed like just another tourist trap selling overpriced pints to Americans desperately seeking their Irish roots between bites of mediocre shepherd's pie.

I've been burned before by these supposedly legendary Irish music venues. They promise tradition and deliver T-shirt shops. But something different happened at Matt Molloy's Westport location that forced me to swallow my cynicism along with my perfectly poured Guinness.

First, there's the complete absence of leprechaun merchandise. No shamrock-covered shot glasses. No "Kiss Me I'm Irish" aprons. Just weathered wooden floors that have absorbed decades of spilled stout, walls decorated with instruments that have actually been played, and bartenders who seem more interested in pulling proper pints than selling you a themed bottle opener.

The music, when it starts, isn't the "Danny Boy" greatest hits collection you'd expect. These are serious musicians who just happen to be sitting in the corner of a pub, playing as if they're in their own living room. Some nights you'll find yourself squeezed between a local farmer and a visiting virtuoso, both adding their own flourishes to centuries-old reels. The standard is almost annoyingly high - good luck joining in unless you've got serious chops.

Yes, it gets crowded. Impossibly, suffocatingly crowded. You might find yourself pressed against the ancient bar, desperately protecting your pint from the endless stream of bodies squeezing past. But here's the thing - that crush of humanity is part of the charm. It forces conversation. It creates the kind of communal experience that most "traditional" pubs try and fail to manufacture.

The drink selection won't impress cocktail connoisseurs - and thank god for that. This is a place for proper pints and maybe a whiskey if you're feeling fancy. The Guinness is exemplary, poured with the kind of care that makes you realize how many bad pints you've suffered through elsewhere. The prices are reasonable by Irish pub standards, though you might wince if you're comparing them to your local back home.

The back room, with its slightly more contemporary vibe, offers a different musical experience altogether. Here you might find younger musicians playing everything from traditional sets to original compositions. It's like getting two venues for the price of one, though good luck finding a seat in either space after 8 PM.

The outdoor seating area - a recent concession to changing times - somehow manages to maintain the pub's character while offering relief from the indoor crowds. Dogs are welcome, adding to the homey atmosphere that so many other establishments try desperately to recreate with vintage signs and fake book collections.

Let's address the elephant in the room: yes, there are tourists. Lots of them. But unlike many popular pubs in Ireland, Matt Molloy's in Westport has managed to maintain its soul despite the international attention. The locals haven't abandoned ship, and the musicians haven't devolved into performing trained-seal versions of Irish standards.

The payment system has been modernized (they accept cards, hallelujah), but everything else about the place feels genuinely, stubbornly authentic. It's the kind of pub that makes you understand why people write songs about pubs in the first place.

So here I am, eating my words along with a bag of crisps, admitting that Matt Molloy's deserves its reputation. If you're in Westport and you don't visit, you're missing out on something special. Just don't expect me to be happy about having to acknowledge that a famous pub actually lives up to its hype. And for God's sake, arrive early if you want any hope of finding a place to rest your pint.