The St. James’s Gate Brewery, Dublin, Ireland.
[T]hey’ve spent years now building a brand that’s in complete opposition to cheap lagers, session drinking and crowds of young men boozing in bars. They’ve worked very hard to help Guinness drinkers picture themselves as twinkly-eyed, Byronic bar-room intellectuals, sitting quietly with a pint and dreaming of poetry and impossibly lovely redheads running barefoot across the peat. You have a pint or two of Guinness with a slim volume of Yeats, not eight mates and a 19 pint bender which ends in tattoos, A&E and herpes from a hen party.
— Tim Hayward, The Guardian (London), 17 September 2009.