J.G. MelonSo, it ain’t the Plaza. Actually, it’s barely some place you’d think about consuming foodstuffs. The dust alone could choke a horse. This cramped, old school pub is nothing more than a burger joint with three or four beers on tap. Run with an iron fist by the pub’s owner, you are told exactly where to sit, how to sit and where to stand–and don’t you dare cross him. It’s as if the soup nazi opened a run-down Irish joint. Don’t get us wrong, the burgers are pretty good, the Coors Light extremely light and there’s no smoking allowed (a huge plus in our book). Despite all this, the cottage fries have the constancy of paint chips and parties of more than four aren’t welcome. Rumor has it that the owner is Dylan McDermott’s dad–poor bastard. [MF]

1291 3rd Ave.