J.C. Wooloughan’s
There are plenty of places in the vicinity of Rampart and Charleston boulevards to get an after-work drink. Just doing a quick mental survey, I came up with Gordon Biersch, Kona Grill, Roy’s Restaurant, Fleming’s Prime Steakhouse and Wine Bar, Carrabba’s Italian Grille, Claim Jumper, Nora’s Osteria and Wine Bar, and the Vintner Grill.
All of them have easy parking (in most cases, right at the door), and the bars are generally located right inside the front doors. Why, then, would crowds of people — and there definitely were crowds — park at the J.W. Marriott and walk all the way through the casino to get to J.C. Wooloughan’s Irish Pub? I’m thinking the bar’s happy-hour food pricing has a lot to do with it.
Well, there’s a lot of charm there, too. J.C. Wooloughan’s is one of those created-in-Ireland-and-shipped-to-the-colonies kind of places. There’s also a pretty large seating area outside the pub, overlooking the resort’s "restaurant row," which is prime people-watching territory. Together, they make it feel like a true escape — something particularly attractive after a long day at the office.
During happy hour of 3 to 7 p.m. weekdays, all appetizers and a rotating list of beverages are $5 at J.C. Wooloughan’s, which means you can eat pretty well for not a lot of money.
The specialty cocktails were kind of interesting. I wouldn’t try to figure out the origin of the Obama Mahama, but it was sweet and refreshing, a tropical concoction reminiscent of a pina colada that combined Bacardi Coco rum, banana liqueur, pineapple juice and Sierra Mist.
But what’s happy hour in an Irish pub without an Irish beer? The menu promised that Murphy’s Irish Stout ($4.75) was just a tad lighter than Guinness. That was indeed the case, and it seemed a little more refreshing because of it.
Sticking with the Irish-pub-in-the-desert theme, we settled on one dish that was fairly authentically Irish and two that weren’t — the Irish sausage rolls, soft pretzels and deep-fried pickles.
Our favorite was probably the pretzels, which I think surprised us both. These weren’t exactly the mahogany-brown, firm-crusted, tough-textured pretzels you’d get from a street cart in Munich, but a softer version. What made them particularly appealing was the horseradish-mustard sauce served on the side, which really, really tasted of horseradish — a delightfully pungent concoction with more personality than Kelly Ripa.
Biting through the crisp crust of the deep-fried pickles prompted an explosion of briny, vinegary goodness, for lots of textural and flavor contrast. And for some reason, they only charged us $2.75 for them, though I’m not complaining.
And the Irish sausage rolls were classic, tasting pretty much like every Irish sausage roll I’ve had here or across the pond. The sausages were appropriately on the soft side, the puff pastry appropriately on the rich side. They were served with whole-grain mustard and were good with that, even better dipped into some of the horseradish sauce.
You’ll notice that we didn’t do really well nutritionally, although we could’ve split a salad or something if we were concerned about that. We weren’t. This was a once-in-awhile thing, and we left satisfied. Maybe we wouldn’t get our five-a-day that day, but we were happy after happy hour.
Las Vegas Review-Journal reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0474 or e-mail her at hrinella@ reviewjournal.com.