Excerpt from a review by Chris Thompson; “Inside that trailer, arse on the mahogany bench, one part pissed on the Guinness that flows freely from a tap mounted on the wall at the head of the table, looking out at the blue sky on the other side of the concrete wall on the other side of the potted palms lining the inside of the cargo doors, listening to wistful classics from INXS, Sinead O’Connor, and Quiet Riot, it’s not hard to imagine a world worth living in. The only feature that punctures the perfection of the illusion is the fact that you can pour your own stout — or, one must not fail to note, fill your own glass with Jameson — without having to approach a bar, ever. While this detracts from the work’s seamless replication of the sort of authentic Irish experience available in any number of cities in the Western world, it enhances the drinking experience immeasurably. On top of it, one never has to pay a penny for one’s pleasures — there’s a bottomless keg clamped to the trailer hitch and it’s piped into the pub as surely as the Liffey flows to the sea. I sit, dregs of a head of Guinness a puddle in my pint glass. Table top’s slick and sticky from spills and a month of warm skin on its unwashed surface. Oak trims the forest green walls. “Knights in White Satin” cues up. What more, besides an entry in Janson’s Art History, Van Aken would need in order to clinch his place amongst the great masters is beyond my capacity to imagine.”