When Antóin finally opened Éire in June, his vision was to create a modern yet authentic Irish bar in downtown Saigon. Éire, which translates to “Ireland” in Gaelic, was his means to do so. To stand above the other Irish bars in the city, he and the team at Éire focus on a few key elements: location, product, and service. Éire calls Tôn Thất Đạm Street home, putting it within just a few minutes' walk of the metro, Nguyễn Huệ Walking Street, Bitexco Tower, and the Saigon Opera House—making it the ideal final stop on any night out downtown. Wherever you’re coming from, you won’t miss it.
The bar’s storefront is washed in dual shades of green, lettered in gold, with a tree twisting above the street from the upstairs level, leafy enough to be spotted from the pavement below, commanding enough that you’d think the whole building had been constructed around it. Downstairs, an exposed-brick patio and dark wooden seating pull you in, and on the wall hangs the Guinness sign, that world-renowned harp, announcing that this is the only bar in downtown Saigon pouring the mighty classic on draught. “For Vietnamese coming to experience [it], they should feel something unique and a clear taste of Ireland,” Antóin explained of the design. “For Irish, or those familiar with an Irish bar, they should feel like we are a modern, premium take on the classic.”
From the moment you enter Éire and make your way down the hall to the bar area, the service revolves around the phrase Céad míle fáilte, a famous Irish saying that translates to “one hundred thousand welcomes.” “This is our mission, and our first priority as hosts,” Antóin noted. “People often say you’re in the F&B business. I say we are not. We are in the hospitality business.”
As the District 0 team and I sit down at the bar, the staff warmly welcomes us, hands us our menu, and assures us we can take our time ordering. Despite their friendly, homey demeanors, they dress like professionals at a 5-star hotel: crisp white shirts under green vests, tucked into black pants, with green and white ties knotted neatly around their necks. One staff member is making a highball, taking a bottle of Irish whiskey from the back shelves before pouring it into a glass. I take a look around. “Opening Time is Guinness Time,” one sign reads. “Guinness for Strength. Horse and Chariot,” another proclaims. A bright neon green Guinness sign is stationed in front of us on the bar top. Beside us, a fellow guest has committed to one of the bar’s attractions, gulping down a tall, black pint.
If you’ve ever watched a Guinness being poured, you’ll understand how much etiquette is involved. The ritual starts with the pour: the bartender fills the glass three-quarters of the way and lets it settle until the milky drink clears into an obsidian black. Finally, a top-off. Then comes the challenge: one chance to take a gulp and see if you can drink just enough that the stout’s level lands in the middle of the G printed on the glass. At Éire, a successful split means another Guinness on the house. The last time I tried to split the G, I was touring around Dublin with my older brother a decade ago. Our luck was as good as it ever was on the road then. All these years later, I wonder if it still holds.
The bartender places my pint in front of me. The green neon reflects off the glass filled with black Guinness: a meeting of two Irish worlds. I remember what Antóin messaged me before I stopped by. I wondered what it took behind the scenes—logistically, equipment-wise, and in line maintenance—to become one of the few bars to serve Guinness on tap in Saigon. He joked that a three-part documentary series would be required to explain the journey. Simplified, he said the equipment to pour Guinness is entirely different from that of every other beer in Saigon. Even the gas, a unique blend of nitrogen and CO2, is what calls for the famous two-part pour and gives the stout that lovely, creamy finish.
It’s time. “How many sips?” I ask the person next to me. “Two and a half to be safe,” he says. The black line runs just above the bottom of the G on his glass, and I figure I’d be wise to follow his advice. I take a breath and take my chances. I hold my glass up to the light, and the bartenders check the result. Once again, close, but not close enough. I suppose I used up all my Irish luck back with my brother in Dublin. No matter, my failure is a good excuse to try some other drinks on the menu. Before ordering another, I sauntered upstairs to see the rest of Éire.
The walls were covered in portraits of famous Irish people, including titans of the acting industry: Peaky Blinders’ Cilian Murphy, the former James Bond Pierce Brosnan, and Liam Neeson, who requires no further introduction. Below their pictures, an aphorism in cursive read, “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.” Antóin noted the hidden details throughout the bar, that every picture and sign has a story, every feature a purpose. Instead of spelling out the significance, I’ll follow his wishes and warning: “I’d rather people see it for themselves, or are curious to know and ask, but be careful, we Irish like to talk and could talk all day about the stories behind all the detail.”
Back downstairs, I think about another of Antóin’s comments about how positively local Vietnamese and expats have responded to Éire. “We attract a real mix of customers: Sunday roast has a strong Western following, while many of our Vietnamese regulars come for the seafood and cocktails,” he said. “What I love hearing most is that guests come in expecting Guinness and leave telling us our food, cocktails, and wine can comfortably hold their own against their favourite restaurants and bars in town.”
Éire’s approach to food is to capture the soul of Irish cooking: simple, humble, and comforting. Sourcing the ingredients Ireland is famous for can be a challenge in Saigon, and importing them would make it harder to offer the value Antóin wants every guest to be able to afford. That’s why the cooking pairs an Irish spirit with a Vietnamese touch. The menu includes beef and Guinness stew, fresh oysters, mussels, and chowder, and, coming soon, an iconic Irish dish: the Spice Bag, crispy chicken and chips tossed with peppers, onions, and spice seasoning, served in a paper bag. We order a plate of Boxty Fingers (crisp potato fingers brushed with herb butter) as well as a plate of Emerald Crunch (potato, smoked bacon, and cabbage croquettes with parmesan and chive crème fraîche). Both are scrumptious, but now the time has come to explore what I’m most curious to try: Éire’s Irish Coffee, Saigon Style.
While traveling around Ireland years ago, I made Irish coffee my favorite drink—no matter the hour, it always hit the spot. The cocktail consists of Irish whiskey, coffee, and a hefty layer of heavy cream on top. The difference in Saigon is the heat: iced coffee reigns supreme here, so the drink is served over ice instead of piping hot. I drink fast. The espresso’s bitterness, the whiskey’s kick, and the layer of cream to balance it all out make it hard to pace myself.
As we head out, the night is just getting started. Adam, Steve, and Calum, who play together as Gobsmacked Ivory Salesman, start to set up in the middle of Éire. They are just one of the many bands Éire welcomes to play. Antóin says they currently book a variety of local and international talent that fits their vibe and can play a few traditional Irish songs. Down the line, they aim to host a proper Seisiún Ceoil (music session) where any and all musicians can come and jam. Another aspect he’s careful with when it comes to the music is that it should never take over the room. Rather, the sounds should be loud enough to hear, but not so overpowering that conversation becomes impossible.
Looking ahead, Antóin wants to keep listening to guests and learning what they love so he can evolve. Ultimately, anything’s possible so long as the heart stays the same: offering a warm Irish welcome, looking after people properly, and giving them a really good night. That’s all that matters to Antóin and the Éire team: seeing guests smile as they leave, thinking, “Do you know what? That was a really good night.” I don’t stay until closing, and I stop well short of one too many pints, but I feel welcome. I feel the warmth of Céad míle fáilte, and because of that, I’m already looking forward to my next visit to Éire. My bet is my luck will improve the more I return.
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