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It's so nice that the
old, neighborhood alcoholics have somewhere to go. Shunned by the
yuppies and the hippies and the preppies (and all the other "ies"),
these dinosaurs have congregated in a place that still values traditional
Irish music, dark wood and a good pint of Guinness. Is that the creak
of boredom I hear? You bet your Irish bar wench it is! We stood in
a corner watching basketball and drinking sporadically. The locals
gabbed and guffawed about god-knows-what while feeding their emphysema
and nicotine addictions (this was back when you could still smoke
in NYC bars.) This couldn't be further from the typical Palate King
crowd, but for the middle-aged, hair-in-a-bun-type, this may be your
Irish pub of choice. There's nothing wrong with being ordinary, but
we demand a step above for a positive review and a step below to get
absolutely destroyed by sarcasm and vitriol. Nice job, McCormack's,
you've survived to live another dull day. [MF]
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