The ad that drew Leo and Sharon Mooney Malinowski to what would become their Irish restaurant and pub said the building was ready to open.
They're not just off the boat from County Doofus, so they quickly understood that the claim was a tad optimistic. Pots were scattered across the floor, for instance, to catch drips from the ceiling. And their building inspector nearly fell through the roof.
Still, they bought the place, an abandoned sports bar at Bagley and Trumbull in Corktown. With a lot of work and a little luck, they figured they could open in September.
September of 2003.
The actual opening of Baile Corcaigh is Friday, a mere two years and 10 months after they pocketed the keys.
Blame the contractors. Blame their own attention to detail. Blame red tape and the usual frustrations of dealing with the city of Detroit, though they'll tell you they've also had plenty of valuable help.
"It's like 'Apocalypse Now,'" says Sharon, who remembers waiting and then waiting some more for the release of the movie. "By the time it showed up in theaters, it was 'Apocalypse Finally.'"
And maybe Francis Ford Coppola found a message board back in 1979 and wrote what somebody did just inside the kitchen doors when the health department stamped the final papers last Friday:
"We made it!"
Tap the keg of Smithwicks -- pronounced, more or less, Smithex. Pour a shot of Dr. McGillicuddy's Fireball whiskey, pronounced any way you like as long as you get to say it out loud. Raise a glass to Baile Corcaigh, pronounced Ballia Corkeh or the more Anglicized Bally Cork.
The name means "town of Cork," and best of luck spelling it for the directory assistance operator. Better to jot down the number now -- it's (313) 963-4546 -- and forget everything you think you know about Irish taverns.
"We're not a leprechauns and shamrocks and green beer kind of place," says assistant manager Marcia Pilliciotti, a friend and neighbor of the Malinowskis from the Boston-Edison area. Most days, in fact, Baile Corcaigh won't even serve corned beef.
It offers bangers and mash, rosemary and garlic lamb chops and décor so authentic that Sharon, whose ancestors ventured this way from Galway and Donegal, found a stone from each of Ireland's 32 counties to mount above the dining room fireplace.
She took a buyout from Gale Research to become a restaurateur.
He's a retired General Motors engineer who once worked with John DeLorean on a concept car with the same gull wings DeLorean later used on his own vehicles -- which were, come to think of it, made in Ireland.
They've been slowly leaking money, waiting for the go-ahead to open the doors and start paying off the milled wood paneling, heavy Irish furniture and granite-topped bar.
"We thought we were close a couple of times," Sharon says, shrugging. "It's just the city bureaucracy."
On an individual basis, the Malinowskis emphasize, people were helpful. Councilwoman Sharon McPhail's office was particularly attentive.
But there was always another form to file or a different way to fill it out or another number to call to find someone to acknowledge the information they'd supplied two months ago.
In short, it was lack-of-business as usual.
Leo says he knows someone who grew tired of haggling with Detroit, gave up a few months ago and took his restaurant proposal to Denver, where the mayor used to own a brew pub and staffers are assigned to shepherd small business owners through the tangle of regulations. His friend's restaurant opened Tuesday.
"It's just the system itself," Leo says. "They need to streamline it, to help you understand exactly what you need to do."
But that's all Smithwicks under the bridge.
Kegs were rolling off the trucks Tuesday, Pilliciotti was interviewing a last few prospective workers, and all the eyes were smiling, Irish or not.
Neal Rubin appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Reach him at (313) 222-1874, nrubin@detnews.com, or 615 W. Lafayette, Detroit, MI 48226.