It was the weekend before St. Patrick’s Day and the manfriend and I were hanging out in the Big Apple for the day. We had some time to kill before our final destination to see a rock show in Brooklyn, so we decided to scope out a spot for appetizers and drinks, preferably near the R train, so we stuck nearby the Herald Square area. From way out in the foggy, rainy distance we saw a giant shamrock and yellow vertical letters that spelled out “Brendan’s.” It sounded Irish enough, so away we went, Brendan’s-bound.
We were expecting the typical Irish pub: dimly lit, small and cozy, bottles of alcohol lined up behind a bar that took up pretty much the entire place. But Brendan’s was a place of its own. Let’s step inside and you’ll see what I mean.
Brendan’s was bright and spacious, and a friendly hostess dressed in black came to us immediately. As she led us down the large hall, we entered an open room of tables. The windows were decorated in stained glass, and it gave the place an old-fashioned church-like vibe. Read More