Some sad news to report: Blaggard’s Pub, a place near and dear the The Rub’s heart has served it’s last pint of Guinness.
If we’re being honest with ourselves, we should be surprised that it lasted this long. The plumbing was barely working for the past 7 or 8 years, the food was barely edible and the place had a distinct smell that left your clothes smelling like Blaggard’s for days after your visit.
And we loved it. It was a staple location for pre-rehearsal beers and was responsible for more than a few “late arrivals” to Montana. Keiran, Don and Grelin were some of the best and friendliest bartenders you’ll find; thanks for everything fellas.
Of course, there’s always the sister establishment located somewhere else in midtown, affectionately known as “posh Blaggards” – but we don’t even really know where that one is. Give us “shit Blaggard’s” any time and we were very happy indeed.
Right in the shadow of Penn Station it was a go to location for every problem drinker headed down to the LIRR or NJ Transit which made for some great people watching. The always drunk married guy who sat in there with 3 or 4 phones in front of him working them all constantly. The girl with the silly hat that looked like a JiffyPop on her head. The girl who looked like Tootie from The Facts of Life. The list goes on forever.
I’m sure they liked watching us too. Although I’m not so sure they liked us when we’d put on Master of Puppets in attempt to get them to leave in order to take their bar seats. Oh, well . . . the end of an era . . . .
It was always tough to get a cab around there anyway.
post script: I have no Earthly idea how this place ever managed to get an “A” on their food inspection certificate (above).