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So, it ain't the Plaza.
Actually, it's barely some place you'd think about consuming foodstuffs.
The dust alone could choke a horse. This cramped, old school pub is
nothing more than a burger joint with three or four beers on tap.
Run with an iron fist by the pub's owner, you are told exactly where
to sit, how to sit and where to stand--and don't you dare cross him.
It's as if the soup nazi opened a run-down Irish joint. Don't get
us wrong, the burgers are pretty good, the Coors Light extremely light
and there's no smoking allowed (a huge plus in our book). Despite
all this, the cottage fries have the constancy of paint chips and
parties of more than four aren't welcome. Rumor has it that the owner
is Dylan McDermott's dad--poor bastard. [MF]
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