And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

~ From The Ballad of John Barleycorn by Robert Burns circa 1782

Barrespondent-in-training Nico believes that taking out your bloodlust on an ancient spirit whose only crime is ending up in a glass on the end of the bar is a bit atrocious. But who are we to get in the way of a good metaphor?

According to the 18th century poem (not to be confused with the 1913 Jack London novel of the same name or the catchy Traffic tune of the 70’s) a pagan spirit named John Barleycorn would get systematically pummeled so that a thirsty public could end up getting drunk on his very lifeblood. From what we gather Barleycorn, the Corn-God, after being worshipped for a year gets butchered by the same crazy Elizabethan farmers who once knelt before him, then his body is dragged through the fields and his blood is used to fertilize their crops. Good luck with that. But then of course they’d all go back to town and get knackered after a long day of fulfilling their farming destinies.

Today this hoary ritual lives on at John Barleycorn at 1415 Larkin (at California). On the pleasant slopes of Nob Hill, this little Irish whiskey bar may be the perfect destination when the see-and-be-seen scene wears itself thin. With plenty of charm (and an actual fireside!) we felt great just hanging out and logging in our mandatory bar time. You can’t ask for a better atmosphere, especially while using a 12 year old Glenfiddich to soothe those nasty summer blisters.

SFist Nico, contributing