[Telegrams from the Street by Wilfrid: June 1, 2010]
The timeless beauty of simple old bars. Here are a few survivors.
The name alone... It's on Metropolitan Avenue near the Lorimer Street L stop. I found it when I started out in the wrong direction for Fette Sau recently.
A big old barn of an Irish pub, no home comforts but plenty of beer and Powers.
The linoleum floor slopes up and down, the bar itself is endless; but standing room only after a hockey game at the Garden. West 33rd between Sixth and Seventh.
And right next door...
Food and drink both certified "good," and prices "low low." There are very few Blarney Stones left (the one on Sixth Avenue near the Garden retains the name but is just an anonymous modern sports bar). We have a Blarney Cove on 14th Street, and here's a Blarney Rock.
Smith's has already been fancied-up inside, with a new menu and even women bar-tenders. I thought I should capture the neon before it is consigned to history's dustbin. This used to be a remarkable place.
And finally, on Fulton Street, across the road from the Smoke Joint: