The Half PintI have a somewhat foggy recollection of my time at The Half Pint. In fact, I didn’t even remember going there until some blurry cell phone photos I snapped turned up the next day. And this wasn’t because I was in any way inebriated or anything, but, wait… Inebriated means drunk, right? Oh, yeah, I was inebriated–inebriated out of my mind. We had an incredibly understanding server who put up with our shenanigans, and didn’t even call the cops when we grunted over our tall table full of appetizers and made her wear a mask for a larger tip. The food was pretty decent (little soft pretzels, nachos, wings, sliders)–although a dead squirrel on a crusty ciabatta roll probably would have tasted good to me at that point–and the multitude of crazy microbrew beers on tap were flowing. The place itself has a nice worn-in feel with its lacquered wood tables and stools, exposed brick and votive candles. I couldn’t vouch for the crowd, as we were there in one of those in-between times and we were kind of in our own world. Joining us in that world was our lovely server pictured at left, who did indeed get the tip of her life and a nice story for at least the next week about the complete idiots who made her play Lone Ranger for a night. [MF]

76 W 3rd St. (bet. Sullivan & LaGuardia Pl.)