All I can think about when I hear the name Gatsby is the scene in the book where that chick gets hit by a car and “her left breast swings free like a flap.” The combo of the word “breast” in my 7th grade all-boys’ school mind, combined with the sheer violence of the whole thing left an indelible mark. So it wasn’t without this sentence still ringing in my head some 25 years later that I agreed to meet folks at this–an Irish pub of sorts, and not one of the better novels I recall reading in Jr. High. It was a way station between work and a work holiday party and in no way a serious attempt at a good time. Lucky thing, that, as a drenched few of us sidled up to the bar and proceeded to order some pints from a bartender in what looked like your typical bar, complete with a super-narrow up front area that widened out to a generic looking lounge space in the back. It’s not to say this didn’t seem like a perfectly lovely place to imbibe a beer or two on a rainy night. The issue, as I saw it, was that this could have been like a candlelit restaurant supply store for all the personality it projected. it’s always hard to predict what a place will be like on normal night at a normal time when you experience what you feel is an anomaly. So I cheated and read some other reviews that peg this place as a giant frat party on most crowded nights. I find it hard to believe that kids have such low standards these days, and that they would gather in droves in such a faceless, gimp of a place, but Gen Z and its celebrity rehabs and general love of all that is marketed to them never ceases to amaze me. [MF]
53 Spring St.