Читать книгу New York City's Best Dive Bars - Ben Westhoff - Страница 21

Blarney Cove

510 E 14th Street (Avenue A & Avenue B) Transit: L to 1st Ave

(212) 473-9284

Moments after I took that picture of the Blarney Cove, a woman came running out of the place.

“Why are you taking pictures of my bar?” she asked, half-crazed. She was middle-aged and had lipstick all over her teeth. I explained that I was writing a book. She demanded my name and phone number, in case she had any “questions” for me. Kind of scared, I wrote both down. She asked when she could call, and I said, um, any time so long as it was during normal hours. She asked what I meant by “normal.” Then she gestured at the slice of pizza I was holding. “Give me some,” she demanded. She ate nearly half of what was left before telling me it wasn’t very good, and that I should have gone to Artichoke instead. She said her name was Margie. I then went to meet up with some friends at Otto’s Shrunken Head. Later on, we went back to Blarney Cove and sat down at the bar. However, Margie didn’t notice me come in, as she was too busy drinking and head-banging to the Beastie Boys, offering up her own altered lyrics: You’ve gotta fight/ For your right/ For beer!

Blarney Cove is the real deal, a long sliver with one wood-paneled wall and one faux-bricked wall. It’s the kind of place where a guy wearing a straw fedora will smoke a cigarette while playing video poker and then mash the butt on the floor with his shoe once he’s done. The type of spot with a pay phone where people regularly receive calls and a gumball machine that dispenses pistachios.

Eventually, Margie recognized me, coming over, grabbing my hand tightly and pulling me to the other side of the bar. She introduced me to a guy with a thin mustache, a photographer, and a beefy guy called “Popeye.” According to commenters on Yelp, Popeye is former NYPD and kind of an asshole.

“Next time you must ask Popeye before you take pictures. He’s in charge.”

“I thought it was your bar?”

“Popeye’s in charge.”

In truth, nobody’s in charge at Blarney Cove. It has its own forward momentum, slowly spiraling out of control.

Dive Bar Rating