It’s so nice that the old, neighborhood alcoholics have somewhere to go. Shunned by the yuppies and the hippies and the preppies (and all the other “ies”), these dinosaurs have congregated in a place that still values traditional Irish music, dark wood and a good pint of Guinness. Is that the creak of boredom I hear? You bet your Irish bar wench it is! We stood in a corner watching basketball and drinking sporadically. The locals gabbed and guffawed about god-knows-what while feeding their emphysema and nicotine addictions (this was back when you could still smoke in NYC bars.) This couldn’t be further from the typical Palate King crowd, but for the middle-aged, hair-in-a-bun-type, this may be your Irish pub of choice. There’s nothing wrong with being ordinary, but we demand a step above for a positive review and a step below to get absolutely destroyed by sarcasm and vitriol. Nice job, McCormack’s, you’ve survived to live another dull day. [MF]

365 3rd Ave.