This Hearty Irish Stew Is a Best-Seller at My Family’s Pub. Here’s How to Make It at Home.

In my family, Irish stew is the culinary equivalent of a warm hug. Some years back — when my dad bought a run-down bar in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, and transformed it into a charming Irish-style pub — I set about developing a signature stew that was reminiscent of what my Irish-American grandmother used to make. Her stew had a deep meaty flavor, glistening gravy-like broth, and tender chunks of lamb, carrots, and potatoes. Like many grandmothers, she never wrote the recipe down, because there wasn’t one. She made do with what she had and what was available — a lesson I took to heart.

I tinkered and tested, and eventually arrived at a recipe we all agree is pretty darn close. For the benefit of future generations and pub cooks, I wrote the recipe down and it’s been on the menu at Manning’s Irish Pub ever since. On St. Patrick’s Day, they sell hundreds of bowls of the stuff. The recipe specifics have changed a bit over the years depending on who is helming the kitchen, but that’s what makes Irish stew so great: It’s a frugal, simple dish that’s open to interpretation. Here’s how you can make it at home.

Since the slightly gamey flavor of lamb isn’t for everyone, I opted for a mix of lamb and beef chuck for the pub, and it’s what I use at home now, too. Leg of lamb is my favorite cut because it’s tender and readily available in grocery stores. It’s also fairly lean, so there’s less trimming and less skimming. If there are bone-in shoulder lamb chops available, I’ll add one of those; the bones and connective tissue add collagen and flavor to the stew. I never buy pre-cut lamb stew meat because the cubes can be from a variety of cuts, some of which are more tender than others.

To get a good, savory base, I brown the meat in a smoking-hot Dutch oven. (Pro tip: Turn on the exhaust fan before you start cooking the meat.) Cook the meat in batches, leaving enough space between the pieces so it doesn’t steam in its own juices.

The onions: Next, I sauté sliced yellow onions in the same pot until they’re tender. They’ll pick up all the browned bits on the bottom of the pan, so be patient and let them soften fully. Grandma appointed me the “chief stirrer” for this step when I was a kid, and I took my post on her yellow step stool pulled up to the stove very seriously. Rush this step and your stew will taste of raw onion and lack the sweetness that tempers the slightly bitter flavor of the stout.

The beer: I deglaze with Guinness. I know it’s a contentious addition and my brother has pointed out that our grandmother wouldn’t have wasted perfectly good stout on stew, but at the pub we have barrels of the stuff. The dark, chocolatey flavor marries so well with the other ingredients that I can’t imagine making Irish stew without it now.

The carrots: I purposely buy large, thick carrots for this stew. My grandmother called them “horse carrots,” because it’s what they fed the horses at her childhood farm. Cut into thick slices, they become sweet and fork-tender after the hours of simmering. I personally love the nutty flavor of parsnips in this stew, although they’re optional. Don’t go overboard: Just one is enough. “Any more vegetables in there and people might think we’re running a vegetarian joint,” my dad once quipped.

The potatoes: The stew requires two kinds of potatoes. I thinly slice floury Russets to line the base of the Dutch oven, where they melt into the beer and broth, giving the stew a velvety texture. I put chopped waxy potatoes on top toward the end of cooking so they keep their shape.

The liquid: For liquid, I use whatever homemade lamb or beef broth I have kicking around in my chest freezer. Failing that, there’s always canned beef broth, but I recommend using a good-quality, low-sodium option. Don’t use water: It will give you a thinner, less soulful bowl of stew. I throw in a bay leaf and a few sprigs of fresh thyme, but that’s just my cooking-school education showing; Grandma never bothered with such frippery.

Lamb benefits from a slow-and-low simmer, so I pop my stew in the oven and bake it until the lamb is just starting to get tender, about an hour-and-a-half. Then I check it, breathe in the delicious steam, and skim off any fat that floats to the surface. I sprinkle in the waxy potatoes, then put the pot back in the oven with the lid askew to let some of the moisture escape, which thickens the stew. The meat is done when a fork twists easily when inserted into the shoulder chop. That’s usually around 30 to 40 minutes, but it depends on the quality and age of the lamb. Don’t rush it. 

To finish the stew, I give it a final and careful skim. This is important, because if you bought decent marbled meat, some of that fat will float on top of your stew and make it greasy. My grandmother used a big soup spoon bent at a right angle specifically for this purpose, and I do the same. Then I taste it. I’ll add a few dashes of Worcestershire sauce to round out the flavors and add a bit more salt, if it needs it. It usually doesn’t. 

The only thing left to do is cut yourself a thick slab of soda bread, pour yourself a Guinness, and pretend you’re at a cozy, rollicking Irish pub like ours. Slainte!

At Kitchn, our editors develop and debut brand-new recipes on the site every single week. But at home, we also have our own tried-and-true dishes that we make over and over again — because quite simply? We love them. Kitchn Love Letters is a series that shares our favorite, over-and-over recipes.