First time I ever went to Boston (Macworld, 1993), me and my coworkers stumbled upon this Irish pub in some back alley (couldn't even begin to tell you where it was). They had two beers: Harp and Guinness. Place was standing room only, but men were standing on tables belting out old Irish poetry, and it was the most glorious thing my 22 year old self had ever seen. We spent hours there, and the poetry never stopped, it only got more raucous. I wish I remembered where it was...
@ElleGray Tana French can do no wrong. Perhaps her mystery plots are (sometimes) a wee thin, but her ability to convey emotions and paint masterpieces with words more than make up for it.