Thursday, September 29, 2011

Third Floor Cafe

One day you walk into a jewelry shop in K-town. Time to buy that ring. Let's think this through though. Nobody is dreaming of the ring you can afford. And she's kind of mean. Like really mean. Bad bad Leroy Brown mean. Badder than old King Kong. Meaner than a junkyard dog. You think she might have cheated on you but you can't prove it. Seriously if you do this your family will disown you so fast you won't even have time to stop at the house to get your old Nintendo. So you decide to sleep on it. At your mom's place. You can't go home tonight. You'll soon realize there is no such thing as love. She will never love you. You're floating in the ocean. Alone. Waiting for a cruise ship full of partying singles to come ripping through your about to capsize inflatable raft. The Rum Ham fell overboard hours ago anyway. What's left? What's the point? Take me to your dark and murky bosom mighty Poseidon I brokenly concede. I mean take you. You are taken. Not me. I'm fine. 

One day you walk into a jewelry shop in K-town and none of that happens. Whew. What a relief. So now you really are in a jewelry shop. Why are you in a jewelry shop? This is silly. You go to walk out and see an elevator. Just a random elevator. No idea where it goes. You get in. This also really happens. People are in there. Drunk people. They bring you up to the third floor. Congratulations. You have made it to the Third Floor Cafe. 

First thing you'll notice is you aren't Korean. Unless you are. Then you'll fit right in. Nice. Hee-seop Choi still sucked. It's well decorated with blah blah. I don't know. It looked nice. Don't make me break into my Design Star vocabulary to describe it. 

It's a Korean place so along with all the Korean people and servers the food is Korean. They have chicken tonkatsu. It's a fried chicken that wikipedia is telling me is Japanese. Please don't tell me everything here is Japanese. Jesus am I a racist? Yelp says this place is KOREAN. Thank god. I didn't keep one black friend my whole life just to blow it on a blog entry. I'd tear this mother down first. They also have a pork dish. 

If you aren't interested in new cultures or secret bars (leave this blog) then you might be interested in the drink special. $18 all you can drink on Tuesdays. It's all you can eat too but who cares. All you can drink for $18. In Manhattan. Not Manhattan, Kansas. NYC. You know you've paid $10 for a beer before. Get skunked and ride up and down in a rickety elevator for $18. 

Secret bar
$18 Tuesdays

Nothing I can think of. Food was a little weird. You might feel like you are sticking out. 

CONCLUSIONS: The Tuesday deal is really awesome. I'd love to go back. 


Monday, September 19, 2011

Irish Cottage

I’m Irish.  Partly.  Half Irish. I’m also the only one in my family that’s never actually been to Ireland. So I never feel Irish enough to tell people I’m Irish. Although I did stay home from school one St. Patrick’s Day to watch Leprechaun 4: In Space.  I don’t know. I love Irish culture. If I had to go on a vacation outside the United States I’d want to go to Ireland. Fish and chips. Green grass everywhere. Gingers. The music. Potatoes.  Whiskey in the middle of the day. And nobody chilling it either. Don’t ask me if I want my whiskey chilled. Ask me if I want my testicles removed. Don’t ask me if I want my whiskey chilled. Unless I’m with a girl and she wants it chilled. Then chill the shit out of it. I mean we’re not in Ireland now are we?

The Irish Cottage is like me. It’s partly Irish. It’s probably never been to Ireland though. Maybe it’s had Sheppards Pie once.  Jerked off to the nude scene in Leprechaun 4: In Space. Cried 3 times while watching PS I Love You. It’s not really Irish though.

It’s a small carpeted bar area. You don’t see many carpeted bars. I guess because unless you change it out often it can look really trashy. Not that it matters for Irish Cottage. The wobbly tables and low lifes that hang around here assure it’ll stay trashy no matter what’s on the floor. They have a big back room for parties. Never really seen it though because it’s closed off. They do have food and since I have no regard for my own well being I ate it once. If you are here and find yourself hungry there is a gas station about a block away. Unless you have a diarrhea competition later that night that you’ve already entered. Then by all means stay, mangia.

Some weird stuff has happened here. They used to have a Jets cheerleader as a bartender.  She looked like Anna Torv from Fringe. I watched the Knicks lose to the Bucks on their surprisingly decent television. The weirdest thing though was one night Congressman and IRA friend Peter King was hanging out there getting BOMBED with his buddies and talking in a silly Irish brogue. It was memorable. 

One nice TV 
Great location. Train station. Lots of bars around it.
Meet with your local Congressman. 

The carpet must smell terrible
Always seems to be fights here

CONCLUSION: I see Ireland in my future. Irish Cottage though not so much. I did have some good times here but it was more a result of the people I was with than the place we were at. 


Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Bohemian Hall and Beer Garden

NYC history lesson: this is the oldest beer garden in New York. It's been open since 1910.
My family history lesson: my parents had their first date here. 
With the knowledge of these two things one summer day I made the trek from Brooklyn. Basically taking the R train it's entire length. Joe came too and we were dressed all in white for a white party later that night. 

It was the Czech Festival at the Beer Garden. So it was packed. I expected tall blonde women smoking cigarettes. And tall dark men. Also smoking cigarettes. Lots of cigarettes. Like Casablanca. Even though that was in Morocco. And she was a brunette. And a gin joint is nothing like a beer garden. But that guy was Czech. And I like that movie.

The actual place was nothing like I expected it to be. Or like Rick's. There was some smoking but it was a packed place. Body to body. And there was a wide mix of people. Local cheap drunk crazies. A toothless guy talked to me about some nonsense every time I was left alone. I wasn't drunk enough to get into it yet  though. There were a lot of families. This Czech festival is a cultural and community celebration more than a drinking event. There was a stage set up and a program. It was like a grade school talent show.

The most memorable part of the talent show was the gymnastics routine. There was lots of flipping. And comical crotch bulges. I was actually in the front row. Not planned that way but the organizers threw the last mat down in front of me. I guess I'd have been on catcher duty if somebody somersaulted or shoulder rolled too far. How do you appropriately catch a scantily clad pre-teen girl? Or a jacked guy with a crotch bulge big enough to knock over a well rooted tree? I think I would have let them cartwheel past me into the crowd. I didn't go to the Beer Garden to feel sexually confused in front of a few hundred non smokers. I came to honor my dead parents while dressed like ghosts with my brother.

I'm assuming most of this is unusual for the Beer Garden.  There are some constants that I experienced though. The beer was good. If you like good beer. It's either dark or light. That's how you order it. I think. I mean that's how I did it. By the end I was just pointing. Speechless by how drunk I was. Strong beer always sneaks up on me. I'm too distracted bitching about how bad it tastes and trying to shake off bitter beer face.

The food was good too. Chicken schnitzel and it came in a massive portion. I had to split it to save room for the beer. There was some potato salad with it as well.  It was awesome. How's that for a food review? Pick up a Zagat's dude. I'm here to get drunk.

Good food
Strong beer

Crowded. We stood almost the entire time.
Children. I feel weird partying in front of babies. Escape From Park Slope you know?

CONCLUSION: Drinking outside is fun. Anything outside is fun. It's primal. We're cave people. Circling the opposite sex. Getting dirty. Looking for shade. Listening to Lisa Loeb on our iPads while writing blog entries. I'd come back here. Preferably not dressed all in white. With my retro sunglasses and white headband I looked like I was in a hipster wedding party.


Thursday, September 8, 2011


Do you like the letter Z? No, no. Wait. Do you LOVE the letter z? Were you Zorro for Halloween the past 10 years? Was Ziggy your favorite comic strip? Ever had a ZJ? What’s a ZJ? Well if you have to ask…

I had heard of this place before I came here. Somebody told me it was a classier Hooters with gourmet food. That was false. Well the Hooters part was right. These girls are chesty and were dressed scandalous.  No orange spandex  here. Cut denim shorts. Jorts. Daisy Dukes. Whatever you want to call them is fine with me and my penis. Which is throbbing so hard while I’m typing this it’s about to shoot off my body and land on the moon. Yes, it’s possible. It’s the tragic curse of all men in my family. The moon isn’t just made of cheese baby. It’s littered with the genitals of Brennan men. Don’t tell Joe!

So I like breasts. Pretty normal. I like women in jean shorts. Maybe a little chauvinistic but it’s less demeaning than orange spandex. Either way not unusual. How about that letter Z though? Well no. I don’t like the letter Z. It’s my least favorite letter. Letter Z. It’s the letter that tries to be cool. He’s like “Hey, put me on the end of words! Use me instead of the letter s! Pay attention to me! I’m worth so many points in Words with Friends! Don’t you play that! Everybody playz that bro! Do you like my high waters!? Yes they’re in again didn’t you see Ryan Gosling wear them?”

The menu, the website, the whole damn building is riddled with the letter Z. Like the moon with spent Brennan cocks. I get it. I’m young. I’m fun. I like to have a good time. Hell, I even think Gosling looks sweet in those high waters. When you jam me up with the letter Z though it makes me feel like some fat cats in suits are trying to “get me. “ I’m not more likely to order appetizerz than appetizers.  Same with sandwichez, sidez, burgerz. Wingz. What kind of asshole do you think I am?

This place has another theme though. It’s not just T and Z. They sell all their beers in cans. I’m not going to count the list. Let’s say 100 ok? It’s a lot. They even have talls boys. Including Keystone Light tall boys. Most excellent work Canz. Most excellent.

Free popcorn

Crappy TGI Fridays food.
Terrible location.

CONLSUSION: The location alone means I’ll probably never return here again. Massive bonus points for beer and shorts selection. Maybe I can have a denim shorts and canned beer party. It’s a better idea than my Hunter S. Thompson theme party. Look out for the Facebook invite.


Monday, September 5, 2011

Lincoln Park Grill

The first drunk entry. It was highly requested but it didn’t have to be. It’s a day that was coming. The sun will rise in the east. The Yankees will have the highest payroll. And I will be drunk again one day. Here it is. I wish there could be some awesome drunk story behind it. But I just went to brunch. That’s it. Bloody Mary’s. Beer from my keg and here we are. It won’t be much different from a regular entry. Except that I’ll be playing Bruce Springsteen or Nighthawks at the Diner on my laptop the entire time. And I’ll race off point to some distant place, Farofftopica. 

This is a drinking blog so I’d like to talk about Bloody Marys quickly. I don’t like them. I don’t really like any breakfast drink. I like shots and beers and rum and diets. And orange vodka with Sprite. Gun to the head I’d take a Jack and Coke too. And I’ve finished other people’s gin and tonics. If we’re at a Mexican place I’ll take a margarita I guess. Rocks. Slushees are for girls. Point? Well none of them are breakfast drinks. Unless you’re my Uncle Vito. Who won’t be reading this. Because he’s Italian. And dead. Dead men tell no tales. Or read Escape From Park Slope.

Bloody Marys would be preferably to Mimosas . As long as they are spicy and aren’t too thick. Rich Gage told me horseradish thickens it up. Which sucks because I like horseradish. Horseradish fact. A lot of Sushi places use horseradish and green food coloring instead of real wasabi. Wasabi costs $100 per pound. So I guess a good Bloody Mary for me will have more pepper in it. Bloody Mary is one of the only things I can taste pepper in. I have a weak palette. My tongue is dead. It doesn’t read Escape From Park Slope.

Lincoln Park Grill is located on 57th and 9th Avenue. It doesn’t have much competition from other bars. Anything else nearby is either classier or a disgrace to the New York bar scene. (cough, cough Jake’s Saloon) I’ve been laid off twice and ended up here. The first time I went alone and literally cried in my beers all night while some models tried cheering me up. Like actual models. Giant, skinny, beautiful women in town for Fashion Week. Only in New York right? And only in New York would somebody who looks like me say “No, giant beautiful women. Please leave me alone.”   

The second time I got laid off and ended up there I had an “I Got Fired” party. It was a Facebook event. They ended up firing me a day earlier than scheduled though. So I had to go back in to where I work the next day to go to the “I got fired” party I had set up for myself.

Now you know why I was there. What I found was pretty cool. $5 pizzas.  Do you love pizza? Any pizza? I enjoy even the shittiest pizzas. I go to Chinese Buffets and eat the pizza. So I don’t know if you’ll like this pizza. I enjoy it though. It’s big and at $5 it’s one of the best food deals I’ve seen in the city. $3 PBR tall boys. PBR was just the cheap shitty beer for awhile. Then it became the ironic hipster beer. Then Budweiser kind of became the ironic hipster beer. But PBR hasn’t fully gone back to the shit beer list. It still has some cool cred. So drink it. Don’t feel bad.

They have a good happy hour. I remember always getting pitchers. So they had to be $10 or under. I also remember they don’t have a ramp and it’s down some stairs. So they have a handicap elevator. It’s incredibly loud. Not babies in Park Slope loud. It’s loud though.  So if you’re handicapped and don’t want every drunk out of work loser who is rudely ignoring the models all around him staring at you while they lower you into the bar on what is basically a forklift don’t come here. It’s a big city. Just don’t go to Jake’s either.

$5 dollar whole pizzas
Good nachos
Cheap drinks
Nice televisions

Attractive women will try to talk to you
Poorly designed for the handicapped
Terrible service. Makes me long for the future where robots are bartender.

CONCLUSION: It’s cheap so that’s cool. It kind of sucks but I’d come here just for the pizza. I have pretty terrible memories of this place so I’ll be avoiding for awhile.