Before we hit The Pogues show at Roseland Ballroom, there was a specific need to get in the mood for said concert with a few pre-event beverages and dinner. Given the Irish theme of the evening and St. Patrick's Day just a few days hence, I was thinking Guinness both as beverage and perhaps if things progressed poorly, dinner.
So it was odd then that we ended up at Mi Nidito, a Mexican cantina on 8th Avenue just around the block from Roseland, a convenient commute for the show. I suppose it wasn't odd, since we didn't do our usual homework before setting out this time. Occasionally, it's better to throw caution to the wind and see what happens...magic or mayhem.
To the plus side, Mi Nidito keeps their Coronas iced to perfection; Agnes enjoyed her Maragarita rocks; the complimentary chips and salsa (spicy with cilantro accent) were excellent and I was beginning to think less about Guinness and more about the perfectly American experience of having Mexican food before attending an Irish punk rock show. Melting pot, oh yeah!
Until I noticed the slow and disinterested service. I hate slow, disinterested service, especially from a bartender at a very SMALL bar. It's a pet peeve of mine when, at an EMPTY SMALL bar, the bartender would prefer to re-organize the cooler and force me to flag him down for another beer.
A good bartender asks about the next round before his customers drink even approaches the dregs and promptly fires up another round when given the nod. It ain't rocket science son! And instead of selling me two beers, he could have doubled that and we would probably have taken a table, had dinner and another 100 bux would have been coming into the house in the process.
But...he couldn't be bothered, so I settled up, left him a guilt tip (I'll define this another day) and set out again seeking a more attentive place for drinks and dinner.
And luck was with us this time as we managed to find the House of Brews on West 46th Street. I'll admit, I was a little skeptical because let's face it, that's just a terrible name for a drinking establishment. It smells like a soulless, cookie cutter, corporate America, IPC version of a pub, but I was pleasantly surprised.
The upstairs bar was cozy and the perfect place to hunker down for a few pints. Indeed, if we didn't have The Pogues show to go to, we could have easily sat there until closing and walked back to Penn Station slightly sideways.
I kept to my pedestrian, perhaps unimaginative, but dependable Guinness while Agnes sampled the Kronenbourg and Lindeman's Peach Lambic. The Kronenbourg got an unsurprising thumbs up (Agnes is a huge Stella Artois fan) but she truly enjoyed the Lindeman's. So much so that we are now officially in quest of a beverage distributor that can order it for us. As Agnes noted, it was more reminiscent of a peach cider than a beer, but tasty and exceedingly drinkable.
The food was passable pub fare and proved mostly edible. Though it was uncharacteristically topped with a melted Cheddar cheese crust, Agnes' Shepherd's Pie was the highlight. I'll likely order it, when we return for the next Roseland show.
My fish and chips was predictably disappointing (more about my quest for good fish and chips another time.) In this case, the dish was comprised of shoestring French fries instead of chips, Tilapia filet in place of cod, a beer batter crust that was limp, spongy and rather tasteless and an out of place mesclun side salad that I didn't even bother with. Malt vinegar cures many fish and chip ills, but this case was terminal and I finished the fries and half of one of the fish fillets.
My disappointment was easily soothed away with another round of Guinness, a Jameson's rocks for dessert and the gathering glow from previous pints. We were, after all, heading to see one of my favorite bands, the tickets for which comprised one of the best Christmas gifts...ever.
