Patrick’s

New name «DYCKMAN BAR»

let me just start this review off by saying… holy shit. this is absolutely… by far… the most horrific bar i have ever been in. i just might have been the youngest person to ever set foot in that
looks like it hasn’t been cleaned, oh, let’s say… ever. the customers didn’t make it any better. the guy sitting next to me asked out of nowhere «do you think it’s the right time of year to plant a japanese maple»? aside from that guy, there was a lovely mix of old neighborhood drunks and junkies. lovely
really wasn’t my kind of dive, but hey, if you want to check out a place that makes you reconsider drinking, then go for it buddy.

Pride of the Irish meets Dominican Hubris…
Fresh off the Zoma train we wanted to get blasted somewhere. Truth is after a couple drinks I began to get a bit too loud for Zoma. That, coupled with my brother’s desire to get f*cked up in honor of finishing college, made for plenty reason to go somewhere rowdy. We headed to Moca, but alas, part of my wardrobe was a hooded shirt underneath my blazer. Moca’s dress code forbade me entrance. Unfazed, we decided to cab it to Washington Heights for a change of scenery, Maria M’s Alma Hood! We headed to Mama Juana’s but it was more a dinner crowd and I know I would’ve gotten kicked out about 5 shots into the show. We found Patrick’s. No big signs or neon lights! Very unpretentious pub bar on Dyckman a couple doors down. I actually missed it first time around.
When we got there no one was behind the bar counter. About 2 minutes into it we realized the bartender was the chick knockin down the 8-​ball by the pool table in the back. AH, YEAH!!! I already knew we were in for some wicked debauchery! Tina, as she identified herself, filled up a paper plate with popcorn and served us a round of Negra Modelo beers. She then lined up a row of Swedish Fish shots (herself included)…and then again… and then again! Tina introduced us to her partner in crime, Sue, who after initial hesitation joined us for the next round of shots. The rest of the night was a drunken snowball effect with more Swedish Fish shots, Jack Daniel shots, Vodka shots… blurrrrr! You dig!
More cats started to file in and we immediately started making friends all the way til 3 in the morn. Shouts out to Samantha, Mean Gene, Ali, Vic, Big K! All these folks made for an unadulterated «Cheers Effect». I’m one for chic places like Moca. But goddamn! I’ve never felt more like family here!

Every now and then, a friend will lead me to one of those fancy bars, like Ava lounge or Maru. In the case of Maru, as it involves fruit, Bokbunsa, houseboys and foolishness, I am willing to enjoy. In the case of Ava Lounge, well, read my review. So, you see, my enjoyment of fancy bars is really hit-​or-​miss. But give me a dive bar any day, and make sure there are Irish folk inside, for they take the drink quite seriously and refuse to compromise. My kind of peoples! Especially when we’re on a mission from God…
As for Patrick’s, well, I figure from now on when I’m in that part of town, I will get my burger at the Piper’s Kilt or my pizza con chorizo at Mamajuana’s, then come here, say what’s up to Tina and Sue, load up the jukebox, and sit down for a night that those fine ladies will no doubt concoct for me. I will teach them all my name, so that the next time I walk in, they can all yell «MARIII!!!» Cheers-​style.
I remember 99% of what went on, and I meant every word, however muddled and sloppy, but for any gaps and specific names of things and people, please refer yourselves on over to Hugo’s review. And if I did do anything really foolish, that’s because it was Brother’s graduation and he MADE me make a deal that I would join in the debauchery. You know me… I always conduct myself like a perfect princess. Any lapses in my behaviour are not my fault.