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Bar's We DON'T Love (NYC)

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A pretty good list of the city's 25 "douchiest" bars. Although I've visited a few of them, the only one I feel is a little harshly treated is Tom & Jerry's. No, the clientele isn't ideal, but it's quite a pleasant, comfortable space for a drink (superb stooling


ETA: The link.

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I haven't been in Tom and Jerry's in a few years and I don't think I have ever been there before 2 AM but it has its uses. Last time I visited our party of four included Chris Collins, lead singer of Fountains of Wayne.


My computer doesn't want me to watch that slideshow, it's stuck on The Ainsworth. The horror.

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There are multiple kinds of miserableness in bars.


For example - I used to go to Papillon all the time despite it being by all accounts a terrible bar? Why? Equidistant between my three most common after work beer friends. But is sucks - bad crowd, expensive, and worst of all I don't think they know how to clean their keg lines. Misery.


Then there are "Bars that should be better than they are"

White Horse

Blind Tiger



The list is really too long to tick off.


On the complex list - I'd say half are best described as "Still trying to live the College life at 24 - but if you are 27, DIAF for going there) Other than Professor Thoms and T&J, the remainder are self-evidently terrible and there is no excuse for darkening their door.

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I'd put Farrell's on the list if i could ever bring myself to go there. :)

The Old Carriage Inn in Park Slope is one of my all time hellpits. I went on a Sunday afternoon at around 2:00PM. The sole amenity is football - they have NFL Sunday Ticket and show every game being played on a bunch of grimy TVs. No one had warned me about the rest of the picture.

The smell of stale beer hits you like a punch 6 feet from the front door. Not just a faint whiff, no, this was a foul reek. Remarkably, once inside you adjust to the smell until it seems to go away. I was reminded of a visit I made years ago to the Elephant House at the Bronx Zoo. It was winter when the windows were shut. Within five minutes you could hardly smell the dung at all.

The interior was remarkable. Aside from being dingy, every surface was faintly sticky, as if it was lightly covered in Velcro. The bar, the floors, the stools. I made a point not to think about it because I knew the answer was going to be unpleasant to contemplate.

As an experienced drinker I knew enough to avoid the tap beers. The pipes hadn't been cleaned in years and God knows what was on the glasses. Instead I ordered a bottle of Evil Twin Aun Mas Cafe Jesus.

Fuck. As if they had that. No, it was a frosty bottle of Bud for Lex.

The Old Carriage Inn attracts a nasty crowd. Mean surly guys who dress in dirty clothes. The type of guys who are either really pissed off about something or will be in 5 minutes. They were remarkably drunk for early on a Sunday afternoon. They had either started drinking at breakfast or never stopped drinking from the night before, perhaps grabbing a little shut eye by laying their head down on the sticky bar.

The patrons communicated almost entirely via obscenities. They could pronounce "fuck" in twenty different ways, each with it's own special meaning. Fuuuuck. Fuckit. And combine it with other obscenites to produce complex thoughts. Fuucking sheeeet.

I really couldn't believe a place like this could exist in the middle of yuppified Park Slope. I gave it a half hour and then I left.

The Old Carriage Inn is still there. Now that Wilfrid knows about it he'll want to go.

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If you're looking to be hit in the face by the smell of stale beer, may I recommend the original Coyote Ugly. I walked by one morning, the doors were open, and someone was deploying a broom on the sidewalk outside. Sweeping crap into the bar, I thought.

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