The Irish Rover

Vimmelskaftet 49, 1161 København K, Denmark

We saw an Irish bar in Copenhagen‘s city center. Auspicious beginnings for what would be a really great trip, my first international jaunt since I was a tween. After a stressful flight, though, it was all we could do to calm our nerves by walking Copenhagen’s main carfree shopping drag, Strøget. After seeing some pleasantly empty alfresco seats outside of the Irish Rover pub (it was November in Scandinavia, after all), we decided to rest our legs for a bite and a pint. What we saw instead was the Fisherman’s shots, billed as a Danish favorite. Deciding to don the tourist hat for just a few hours, my companions and I agreed to indulge. Smelling not unlike Jägermeister, the Fisherman’s shots were not as syrupy. The hint of licorice in the vodka-based liquor was bright and not too sweet, and like a Danish lozenge of the same name, tasted of strong, fragrant menthol. Sitting out in the shadows of the Strøget’s quaint, dollhouse architecture, with the Scandinavian sun slowly setting and deepening the same shadows, the easy-drinking dram was enough to warm the chest and remind us that we were travelers: it was time to keep moving.

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Sore throat? Take a Lozenge. International Flight? Shoot some Fisherman's.

We saw an Irish bar in Copenhagen‘s city center. Auspicious beginnings for what would be a really great trip, my first international jaunt since I was a tween. After a stressful flight, though, it was all we could do to calm our nerves by walking Copenhagen’s main carfree shopping drag, Strøget. After seeing some pleasantly empty alfresco seats outside of the Irish Rover pub (it was November in Scandinavia, after all), we decided to rest our legs for a bite and a pint. What we saw instead was the Fisherman’s shots, billed as a Danish favorite. Deciding to don the tourist hat for just a few hours, my companions and I agreed to indulge. Smelling not unlike Jägermeister, the Fisherman’s shots were not as syrupy. The hint of licorice in the vodka-based liquor was bright and not too sweet, and like a Danish lozenge of the same name, tasted of strong, fragrant menthol. Sitting out in the shadows of the Strøget’s quaint, dollhouse architecture, with the Scandinavian sun slowly setting and deepening the same shadows, the easy-drinking dram was enough to warm the chest and remind us that we were travelers: it was time to keep moving.

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