What my parents did in NYC: a tour of Irish bars and Irish comedy
I wrote last week about the New York crossover activities for both retirees and children.
For the week that my parents were in New York, we did manage to fit in some child-free time too. Mostly, they fit in child-free time because even though they are in their 60s and 70s, they have more energy than me and are well able to burn the candle at both ends. I am, and always have been, a one-end-of-the-candle-only girl. Once 8pm rolled round every day, I turned into the meme of the New Yorker who, when someone messages them to say “Hey, I’m in town for a few days” responds “OMG have fun!”
The first day of the week, the men in our party (my brother, my dad and my husband) snuck off to watch a Donegal match in the Long Hall on 34th street. On their way back, they remembered that they are also Wolverhampton Wanderers fans so stopped into McHale’s on 51st Street and mentioned only about 14 times in the days that followed, that McHale’s had the best finger food they had ever tasted. It’s a good review but was given on the back of a football match and a soccer game length of pints, so bear that in mind.
The following night, my parents headed to Brooklyn to see Butterboy comedy, a stand-up night hosted every Monday by Maeve Higgins in Littlefield, Brooklyn. My parents are big Maeve Higgins fans and have seen her regularly in New York. They were once so keen that they went to see her straight off the plane (but not so keen that they managed to stay awake during her set). They blame the jetlag, but yes, they did once both fall asleep in the front row of a comedy club.
On Tuesday I rallied, and we all headed for dinner in McSorley’s Old Ale House on 7th Street. McSorley’s claims to be the oldest continuously operating bar in NYC, though it is old by American standards which means it was established in 1854.
McSorley’s is an Irish bar absolutely worth a visit. It is a place that manages to be touristy but authentic. There’s sawdust on the floor, no background music and just one TV (which has the sound off). It is immediately welcoming.
All staff have a natural gift of the gab but the first thing your server will ask you will be a direct and efficient: “Light or dark?”. This is an ale house and there are two types of ale available: light or dark. There is also ginger ale if you are pregnant or driving or on antibiotics. One order of light-or-dark comes in two half pint steins, slapped down on the table in front of you, and they will keep coming as quickly as you can drink them.
There are no reservations, no cards, no nonsense. It is one of the best value meals to be had in the city with shepherd’s pie costing $12 and burger and chips just ten. Their unpretentious cheese platter of Jacob’s cream crackers, cheddar cheese and raw onion is surprisingly…perfect.
This night, two lads in their GAA county shorts are propping up the bar. But it’s hard to tell these days if that necessarily means that they've come from training or if they just have Paul Mescal on their vision boards, like the rest of us do. I suspect it’s the latter.
The bar looks like it could be the set of an Irish play. There are framed photos of JFK, newspaper clippings and badges and flags dotted round like props. Yet it is not kitschy or twee. Dust-clad wishbones hang from a light fixture over the bar which, the story goes, were left by regulars of the bar as they headed off to war with the promise that they would come and collect their wishbone when they returned.
I was first made aware of McSorley’s having attended the post-ceremony drinks of a City Hall wedding there. I’ve since brought various visiting family members and we’ve always been made feel like we were being personally hosted by the staff in their own home.
After McSorley’s, we made our way to the nearby Swift Hibernian Lounge for some wonderful live trad and after-drink drinks.
On Thursday, my parents were out again, for their latest night yet, to see Des Bishop in the Comedy Cellar.
Their return to the apartment in the wee hours didn’t stop me taking advantage the following morning of the live-in babysitters and off I headed to a 9am yoga class in Central Park, leaving my parents, and their sore heads, with their grandchildren. Children that a neighbour in our building once passive aggressively described to me as “rambunctious”.
The 75 minute class ended with each of us being anointed with lavender oil and served a cup of cinnamon tea. When I’d finished my tea, I rolled up my mat and made my way to the playground that the rambunctious toddlers and grandparents were in, and we all went for a breakfast of pancakes and croissants, outdoors in the sun in Pain Quotidien in Central Park.
Afterwards, the kids played on the flat rocks in Sheep Meadow, pretending to be at the beach. My 4 year old unrolled my mat and announced that she was going to give a yoga class. She instructed me to sit ‘criss cross apple sauce’, to take a few deep breaths and said “So, we are going to do donkey kicks” and when I copied her movements she said “GREAT JOB!”. I was starting to question why I'd just paid $20 to a yoga teacher who had been much less encouraging. The kids then packed up the mat and all their stuff and moved to another rock 10 feet away and pretended to be “on vacation in Savannah, Georgia” and I wondered why we were doing all this pretending when the reality was we were sitting in the sun on a Friday morning in Central Park.