Come one; come all to the God awful fakery that is O’Flaherty’s. There’s just something about an Irish pub in the middle of a place called “restaurant row” that smacks of lameness. Throw in some gaudy decorations, overly-busy crap stuck to the outside of the actual edifice (see picture at left) and an odd set-up, and you get a very strange experience indeed. To be honest, we barely ventured more than ten feet into the bar. We sat down at our table, ate our passable shepherd’s pie and shot out of there. There was nothing there that made us want to stay any longer than we had to. With all the other pubs in the city, we can’t imagine there’s anything there for you either. [MF]
334 W 46th St.