Look, I’m old. I can collect 125 years worth of dust on my chandeliers. You know Dylan Thomas, Jack Kerouac and Bob Dylan all breathed in the spores from my uncleanly rafters? Sometimes I play music that is ear splitting. Other times my stereo that was manufactured in 1963 is broken. Did I tell you I was established in 1880? Did you know that the average person can’t name one thing written by Dylan Thomas? But he’s famous–and he drank here (a lot). You can drink here too. It’s actually a pretty good time. I have old beaten up tables and what seems like sawdust on the floor. In fact, nobody has swept the floor since 1976, so it’s not so much sawdust as dead skin cells, dust mites and hair tumbleweeds created by our many female patrons over the years. We don’t pride ourselves on service, so waving your hand at our waitresses or bartenders will get you little more than a pain in your arm. Our crowd is generally young and spry. Ignore the old guy in the corner who thinks Nixon is still president. He’s still waiting for his pint of Löwenbräu. [MF]
567 Hudson St.
212/243-9260
whitehorsetavern1880.com
