The Silver Spring Penguin

It was noon on a sunny St Patrick’s Day, and no one in downtown Silver Spring was drunk. No one.

A lunch-hour trip to two downtown bars — The Quarry House Tavern and McGinty’s Public House — found few drinkers despite the traditionally raucous holiday. Penguin editor Jennifer Deseo took notes:

12:30 p.m. — The Quarry House

Quiet. Did I miss the party? The only people here are four older dudes talking shop over burgers and tater tots, and a solo diner memorizing the menu. The bartender — a tall guy wearing a blue knit hat — busies himself with chores.

But even without a crowd, I can tell this dump is a real bar, a true drinker’s dive. The only thing missing is the cigarette smoke, the smell of stale beer and vomit, and the obligatory bar fly.

And the crowds will be there later, around 4:00 p.m., the bartender promises. He’s already taken “reservations” (which the bar doesn’t usually accept) for two groups of at least 20 people.

12:35 p.m. — The Quarry House

I’m impressed: They have Hoegaarden on tap. That’s the “original Belgian white beer,” according to words on the tap’s handle. And by “white”, they mean wheat.

Traditionally, beer is made with malted barley, hops and water. On the other hand, witbier contains wheat plus some orange and coriander for flavor. The beer gets its white color from proteins that precipitate during the fermentation process. That stuff is usually filtered out of the drink, but witbiers keep it in the mix.

I wonder if Hoegaarden is as dry and crisp as my Beck’s non-alcoholic brew.

1:00 p.m. — The Quarry House

The bartender shakes a gallon jar of brown sludge. Says it’s bitters, a concoction of ginger, star anise and other exotic spices in rye whiskey. Smells sweet and strong, like gingerbread spice in turpentine.

It’s at least a two-month process to go from sludge to potent potable, with infusing, decanting, straining and boiling in between. In the end, one gets strong medicine for flavoring cocktails.

The house is also making its own maraschino cherries, minus the maraschino liqueur traditionally used to preserve the fruit. The bartender says the booze had to go because the cherries are sometimes used to top Shirley Temples for visiting kiddies.

It’s a sign of the times when a dingy dive bar has to cater to kiddies, instead of whom the bartender describes as the bar’s traditional “gristled, old white guys”.

1:30 p.m. — McGinty’s

Apparently, the place to be (for lunch, anyway) is McGinty’s. The second-floor dining room is nearly full, and there are plenty of people in the bar. On top of that, a trio of fiddlers stand onstage making a screeching racket.

So far, the waiter hasn’t noticed me sitting at a table beneath one of the wall-mounted plasma-screen TVs. That could mean that I sit here all afternoon soaking up the ambiance without running a tab.

1:31 p.m. — McGinty’s

I spoke too soon. An exasperated waiter has just handed me a menu. I go for the corned beef and cabbage.

1:55 p.m. –McGinty’s

I’m not sold on McGinty’s being a true Irish bar. The place is cavernous, with ample light and direct access to the City Place mall — like Ruby Tuesday’s or TGI Friday’s. It doesn’t fit.

And what’s up with corned beef and cabbage served on a Styrofoam plate? Hope my plastic utensils can handle it.

Penguin editor Deseo called it quits after that.

Photos: (top) The Quarry House stocks stuff you’ve never even heard of; (left) Fiddlers make a racket at McGinty’s. Credits: J. Deseo/SSP.