Next year in Dublin

On Tuesday night I met some friends at The Ginger Man, a pub in midtown I see that there are many pubs the world over named The Ginger Man, appropriate for a book about the lighter side of drinking yourself into oblivion. I appreciated that the bar's Twitter feed (of course it has one) pays tribute to the protagonist of J.P. Donleavy's book in its identity.

I didn't find it terribly authentic to the book, as I am sure you are surprised to find out. The impressive array of taps behind the bar are undoubtedly appreciated by its present-day clientele but would probably be seen as a frill in post-World War II Dublin. The bar is very well lit in places, a terrible place to hide from your creditors. It was playing kind of a downtempo mix of music better suited to staring out the window than enjoying happy hour (unless you normally clink glasses to Grizzly Bear and/or the Postal Service).

In the end I think the most GINGER MAN-esque aspect of the Ginger Man was the indifference of the waitstaff to my desire to get a drink. I eventually gave up trying because I was attempting to interact more with them than I was with my actual-factual friends. If I want to be ignored by bartenders I'll just go to Murray Hill. (There's one for my fellow New Yorkers!) On the other hand, Sebastian Dangerfield would probably just fall over the bar and serve himself, and maybe that's the lesson.