Surveyors aren’t sure exactly what died in this place, but they have called the stench that pervades the joint everything from “rancid kitty litter stink” to “warm foot fungus baking in a clay oven.” Luckily the cigarettes of the hundred or so bridge and tunnel tourists crowded around the awkwardly placed bar usually smother the smell by about 8 PM. The list of Heartland brews isn’t too bad, though, and the food is not bad for what it is, but many a group of people has been fooled into thinking there is more usable room in this place than there is, and have lived to regret it. [MF]
