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I imagine that it's
the exact language that this place trades on that ruins its chances
to be a serious destination for pub-seeking Americans. With a city
full of names like McSorley's,
Kinsale,
O'Flanagan's
and Paddy
Maguires, why is someone going to risk phoning up his buddies
and telling them to meet at Slaint? It's just easier to skip it. It's
like being a teacher with that Siobhan girl in your class; no matter
how many times you see her name on the attendance sheet, you're going
to just call her Miss O'Connell or whatever because the letters make
about as much sense as Krzyzewski. And, yes, I know what Gaelic is,
so shut up. That said, I'm glad I risked embarrassment by suggesting
the place, as everything it lacked in name recognition it made up
for in cheeseburger. Granted, I could have eaten the gum off the underside
of a toilet seat at a leather club by the time I sat down in this
cavernous, non-traditional Irish pub. Not that I had any great desire
to ingest a communicable disease, but I was just that hungry--and
hungry specifically for a burger. I was a little too fixated on my
meat to get a great sense of the place, but it certainly seemed more
adult than most of the joints in the neighborhood. It could have been
the early bird-ish hour we were there, but it certainly seemed, judging
by the higher end decor (and by higher end I mean sans teeth marks
and splash stains), dim lighting, and friendly service (read: waitress
with an amazingly abundant amount of heaving cleavage), that they
were making the attempt that other kiddie bars, or old, slobbering
drunk guy pubs don't seem to put forth. It's not as if I work anywhere
near this neighborhood, but I could see it as one of those good after
work places that has lots of beer, a good amount of room and burgers
worth writing irritating reviews over. Too bad I'll never suggest
it out loud. [MF]
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