Tigh Joe Mac

Just what the world needs - another Irish pub in Cornamona. Tigh Joe Mac sits there, unassuming and decidedly local, like it's been perched near Kilronan Pier since time immemorial, serving pints to both wandering souls and weathered regulars with equal measure of indifference. I arrived determined to find fault, armed with years of cynicism about tourist-trap pubs and watered-down expectations.

Let's be honest - we've all been to those "authentic" Irish pubs that are about as genuine as a leprechaun's LinkedIn profile. So when I pushed open the door to Tigh Joe Mac, I was ready with a arsenal of witty criticisms. The problem is, they all died on my lips faster than a poorly-poured Guinness.

First, there's the view from the beer garden. Curse them for actually having one of the most perfectly positioned vantage points over the harbor. It's the kind of view that makes you forget you're holding your phone up for an Instagram story, which, let's face it, is saying something in our perpetually documented age. The sunset over the water does this thing - this annoyingly magical thing - that makes you understand why poets never shut up about golden hours.

And then there's the Guinness. Oh, how I wanted to find fault with it. But Tigh Joe Mac pours what might be the most begrudgingly perfect pint I've had outside of Dublin. The kind of pint that makes you wish you could time travel just to watch it settle again. It's served with zero pretense, just quiet confidence that comes from decades of knowing exactly what they're doing. The type of pour that would make your Dublin-born grandfather nod in silent approval.

The toasties - and yes, I'm actually going to write about a toasted sandwich - are a testament to the power of simplicity. They're not attempting to reinvent the wheel here; they're just serving proper pub toasties that taste exactly like they should when you're two pints in and wondering why you didn't eat dinner earlier. They're the kind of simple comfort food that makes you question all those fancy small plates you've been pretending to enjoy at gastropubs.

The locals, unfortunately for my cynical narrative, are actually welcoming rather than merely tolerating tourists. There's none of that artificial "top o' the morning" nonsense here - just genuine conversation if you want it, or blessed silence if you don't. The regulars treat Tigh Joe Mac like an extension of their living room, which it essentially is, and they're surprisingly willing to let you feel at home too.

Sports fans will find themselves well-served here, with matches shown without the over-the-top sports bar atmosphere that makes you want to flee to a library. Instead, you'll find yourself naturally drawn into conversations about the game, even if you couldn't care less about who's playing. It's that kind of place.

The Irish coffee - and I ordered one fully preparing to mock it - is actually gorgeous. Not the sad, over-sweetened attempt you get at most places, but a proper, carefully constructed balance of coffee, whiskey, and cream that makes you understand why someone thought to combine these ingredients in the first place.

Let's talk practicalities: The payment system has dragged itself into the 21st century, accepting cards and contactless payments alongside cash, which is more than you can say for some supposedly more sophisticated establishments. There's actual functioning WiFi, though you'll probably be too engaged with your surroundings to use it. And yes, there's a proper restroom, which shouldn't be noteworthy but somehow still is.

Look, I didn't want to like Tigh Joe Mac in Cornamona. I really didn't. But somewhere between that first perfect pint and the last reluctant sip of Irish coffee, I had to admit defeat. This is exactly what a pub should be - unpretentious, welcoming, and somehow both timeless and perfectly in tune with what people actually want. If you're waiting for the ferry or just finding yourself in this corner of the world, do yourself a favor and stop in. Just don't blame me when you miss your boat because "just one more pint" turned into three.