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Welcome to all the
blah the UWS has to offer. It's no wonder this neighborhood has garnered
a vanilla image and squeaky-clean, prepster attitude. Places like
this just add to the ho-hum, with its rather typical interior and
chino-wearing, hands in pleated pocket crowd. None of the homemade
brews stick out in our minds, but a raspberry beer went over with
mostly male crowd about as well as an albino outing to the Sudan.
It's unoffensive (unless the J. Crew catalog circa 1998 makes you
puke) and somewhat inviting, but, like a Michael Mann movie, it soon
fades from memory, leaving only the semi-hoppy taste of microbrew
in your mouth. [MF]
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