Too Many Monkeys

THE THREE MONKEYS
236 W. 54th Street (between Broadway and 8th Avenue)
New York, NY 10019

Okay, bear with me. The Three Monkeys isn't exactly an Irish pub. But it is the sister bar of The Mean Fiddler (266 W. 47th Street), which is owned by a paddy. Before the monkeys took over, this spot used to be Divine Bar–a fantastic after-work wine bar with a great tapas-like menu. When Divine Bar closed, it was definitely a bummer. But THE THREE MONKEYS? The name alone had me interested.

Sure, there are Guinness and Harp signs out front. And even if it's not an Irish brand, I have a special place in my heart for the Delirium Tremens chalkboard proped up outside this joint. Long story short, my great-great grandfather Patrick Dolan died after he fell into a vat of beer in the brewery where he worked. His death certificate listed the cause of death as "delirium tremens," which, if you don't know, is severe alcohol withdrawl that more or less makes your insides go crazy until you're dead. Here's a more medical definition.

A college friend of mine had her birthday party here a couple Saturday nights ago. The place itself is a really nice, clean bar. Not gritty like its big sis, though definitely not sterile. But something happened around 11pm. It was like the neon lights came out of nowhere and created a dancefloor that all of Murray Hill, Long Island and Jersey knew about. The place almost instantly filled with douchebags, while Ke$ha and some of her best friends joined together for an all-out assault on the speakers. What was happening? I wanted to blame the neighborhood–
Midtown West/Times Square obviously isn't the "coolest" hood, and it certainly doesn't help that Monkey's next door neighbor is a loud Latin dance club. But I just can't get behind this one.

Shame. Monkeys are fun. Usually.

It's So Hard To Say Goodbye

KENNEDY'S RESTAURANT & BAR
327 W. 57th Street (between 8th and 9th Avenues)
New York, NY 10019
Closed

Kennedy’s. Where do I even begin? I’d been going to Kennedy’s since I was in college. In fact, I spent my 21st birthday weekend at Kennedy’s. That was the first. I met some of the first Irish bartenders I’d ever met in New York that weekend–Conor, Decland, and Seamus. REAL Irish bartenders. Kennedy’s was far from a college bar. It was quite the opposite. Years later, friends would joke with me about my bar. “Why are you going to Kennedy’s? You’re the youngest person there... by about 20 years.” Okay, so what if my beloved Kennedy’s was an old man bar? I couldn't help it–when I walked in the door, the barbacks would scream, “The Queen is here!” I knew I was home. Kennedy’s was easily my home away from home for the past seven years.

I learned more about Ireland and my Irish background having been a part of Kennedy’s. I spent many New Year’s Eves and St. Patrick’s Days at the bar. I made amazing friends that I’m almost sure will be invited to my wedding some day–Pete, Becky, Elizabeth. My parents even loved the bar! I took my mom to Kennedy’s on quite a few occasions. One in particular–we ate dinner in the dinning room and decided to have, or rather pay for, one last drink at the bar. As we sat down, my mom said, “Okay, I’ll pay for one round of drinks for us. If we stay, it’s not because we’re paying for drinks.” What’s that? Yeah, my 63 year-old mom is a PIMP! Four rounds of drinks later and no money spent, my mom and I stumble a few blocks back to my apartment.

This past January, I decided to have my 28th birthday at Kennedy’s. Even though I spent my 21st birthday at the bar, I’d never had a party at Kennedy’s. How was that possible? It was a Friday evening after work and the bar was insanely crowded. The first person I see is Albero, one of Kennedy’s waiters. He said to me, “Kennedy’s is no more after this weekend, we’re closing.” I laughed. Funny joke to tell me the minute I walk through the door for my birthday party. “No, we’re closing. We all just found out this afternoon when we came in for work.” WHAT?! It was true. Kennedy’s shut down practically without warning that weekend–rent dispute with the building’s landlords. But not before an epic going away party! I’m sure I’ll tell that story down the road, but let’s just after partying again Saturday night, we didn’t leave the bar until 9:30am Sunday morning.

I’ve walked by Kennedy’s a few times since it closed. It’s completely naked. Sure, the bar is still standing, but nothing’s on the walls–the lights are turned off, jukebox pulled out from the wall, no bottles stocked behind the bar. It’s definitely sad, but my liver won’t wait for what’s sure to replace what is left of Kennedy’s. I WILL find my new home away from home, full of Irish bartenders, Guinness, and old men.