Blarney Cove

I really miss this place.

This was one of the last of the classic New York dive bars. The regulars were like a family– Addams Family, but still family. Alas it has succumbed to the ubiquitous urban renewal of the early 21^st century that caters to the self-​absorbed. Blarney was a true blue collar bar where every one was treated equally (the barometer being-«Ha! You’re full of it, too!»).

WHAT? CLOSED?
Bloomberg, do something.
My life just got purpose.

R.I.P., Blarney Cove. I hardly knew ya.

Nice little dive, friendly bartender, cheap drinks. Pretty sure I paid $ 5 for my rum and cokes, same for a shot of Jameson. The bar is very small but that’s fine since it doesn’t seem to get crowded. I was in there after midnight on a Saturday night and there were plenty of empty seats. The bartender (Asian woman– didn’t catch her name!) gave me a shot of whiskey on the house since it was my first time there. I met some awesome people. Bathrooms are totally useable, though the bar itself has a sort of faint smell of urine that you don’t really detect after you’ve had a few anyway. TV’s tuned to the game, jukebox, payphone in the back– it’s a rare find in this city now and I’m glad I did.

No nonsense, ridiculously cheap drinks.
Hmm, I’ve never had a review this short… Err… Concise.
OK, fine. The ambience is very Irish, sportsy, full of regulars, and the Asian bartender lady is hilariously way more concerned with the outcome of the game than the fact there there was only 3 people in the bar.
Yep, I feel like that’s pretty adequate.

Great dive bar!!! Don’t expect too much and you will be pleasantly surprised!

Total dive. But the drinks were incredibly cheap and there’s a jukebox where you can input your song request (about $ 1 per song). I must have submitted «The Promise» by «When in Rome» at least 3 times that night. Money well invested.

Me: ‘What bottled beer do you have?’
Bartender: ‘Budweiser, Bud Light, Amstel… we have a lot. What do you want?
I want to know what you have. Do you have them on the wall?
No.’
«Do you have a list?
No.
Alright, forget it.‘
Bitch.

This weird, tiny dive is a great spot for a pre-​game or a nightcap. The beers are very cheap, and there’s always good people watching. If you’re a woman, come in a group– the older male regulars are… friendly.

everything you need in a dive bar:
— ceiling that’s spackle-​covered and in need of being painted.
— cheap beers.
— bartender straight off the boat from the land of Éire. she had the most adorable accent.
— bartender who gave me the drinks which someone else had paid for, then left without drinking.
— bartender who said, in all the glory of her Irish accent, «this is a place to get drunk, not to drink some fancy-​ass shit like Manhattans… what the fuck is a Manhattan anyway?»
— jukebox. I put on one of my favorite Black Sabbath songs, «Heaven & Hell», and did some sing-​along. impromptu karaōke is better than no karaōke.
— crowd of old-​timers and locals, mostly.
— quarter-​operated machine that dispenses handfuls of honey-​roasted peanuts.
Blarney Cove, I will be back… and with reinforcements.

In Ireland you turn upside down and kiss the Blarney Stone for good luck. In the Blarney Stone you stomach turns upside down at the smell upon entering, but its so narrow that you must aggressively brush up against the old lady with antediluvian smoking habits– which must be good luck.
SOooo. I sat and watched Jeoporday here– and Final Jeopardy led only to an arguemnet between us 4 different yet equal patrons– I could swear that I was the first to blurt out Ohio and Iowa as the only 1 consonanted states– She said Maine! I know it — but tried to retain her jeoporady street, errrr bar, cred which obviously indicated her trivia prowress– So i let her bask with my concession., very reluctantly.
Its amazing that places like Blarney Cove exist not only in the City, but in this section of Manahttan.

The Blarney Cove has all the charm of a cozy bar in an anonymous storefront downtown. Of course the pictures tell pretty much the whole story w/​r/​t the Cove’s price range: cheap and proudly so. $ 3/​pint is a deal and the bartender’s a soft touch.
The place is filled with what would kindly be termed «old drunks» and the television plays the ponies so patrons can celebrate their wins and drown their sorrows with social lubricant. You have to take the place for what it is: the front of the place reeks of cigarette smoke pouring in from barflies out for a puff; it’s cramped and doesn’t exactly possess what the French call «l’ambience». But if you can move past that and see the intimate environment that you don’t want to get too close to, then you’ll find a place that’s good for a drink and to watch the races.

The place is absolutely run down and reminiscent of 1970’s… But hey, its a dive bar and its true to its form.
The patrons at this place is a strange mix. Some locals, some hipsters, some regs. The staff is friendly and everyone is accepting of everyone. $ 2 mugs of Bass was a great deal.
Sat next to an elderly guy (say 85ish) who was sleeping straight up on his stool at the bar. Amazing how he was able to hold himself upright while not letting go of his beer at hand.
Sliver of a bar. Not good for groups.

Bars are at their best when they bring us face to face with the things within us that we spend the rest of our lives resisting. Few bars actually pull this off– most just try not to offend and to keep you drinking. A few put some effort into being safe spaces to let your guard down. And then there are the rare places like Blarney Cove, where sincerity and acceptance are just in the walls.
It’s a cliché to say that a bar is full of «real people.» It’s also stupid, because we’re all real. The difference is how comfortable we are letting people see our real selves. At the Cove, people still have the same imperfections and insecurities, but they know it’s part of being alive and they let em fly.
It isn’t creepy or off-​putting, and somehow it doesn’t lead to a doubling down on your own doubts. It simply renews your faith and puts you a bit more at ease with the world around you and your place in it.
It’s all too rare, and all too necessary.

After finding this place in a search for Manhattan dive bars, this instantly became the go-​to bar for my friends and I. Wednesday is our favorite night with its mix of alcoholic old men sprinkled with an assortment of interesting younger characters. I love the shape of the bar (iessentially a hallway) and its indescribable atmosphere.
This is the place to go to begin your night out in the LES. If you also end your night at the Cove, be prepared for some kind of awkward situation in the morning.
Oh yeah, the drinks are CHEAP. $ 4 Ketel One.

+ A mix of Irish pub and dive bar feel.
+ Cheap drinks. $ 3 — beers. $ 10 — budlite pitchers.
+ When I went in, there was all elderly crowd inside, infact one of the bartenders Lisa suggested that the cove may not be a suitable place for me as I was seemingly looking for chicks ;) She was also good enough to offer me rum filled chocolates.
+ Its got an Internet jukebox.

Proud
And quite
Protective
Of their little
Drinking niche so do not make Lisa mad.

Dear god, this is the loudest ¾ empty dive bar I’ve ever been in on a Saturday night. Regardless, it was a pretty rockin’ good time. The well whiskey is Fleishman’s Bourbon (score!) and it’s only $ 4 (double score!).
Our aging bartendress had this whole 80s goth Eye of Horus eyeliner thing going on. Grizzled regulars wandered back and forth, some old dude staring extendedly at me & my friend a few different times. If I’m going to get checked out at a grimy divebar, I’d prefer for it to be by a 68 year old guy in a baseball hat over a fratboy banker type. I felt like we brought some joy and entertainment to his evening, at least.
When the speakers were on, the soundtrack loudly vacillated between The Carpenters, Lynyrd Skynyrd, & Michael Jackson. The physical bar is poorly designed in that way that doesn’t give you enough room for your legs. What more do you need?

Having been by here once and having a bad experience, I was predisposed to not like this place when we went here for the ‘B’ portion of the Alphabet Bar Tour.
That said, we had a very lovely time in the hour and a half we were there. It’s a bar full of regulars and features a retired-​cop-​turned-​bartender named Popeye who knows everyone’s name except ours. In fact, we may have been the only non-​regulars in the entire place* for the time we were there and we alternated getting overcharged for crappy American beer and then receiving one on the house.
This is obviously not for everyone (and it’s not for me on a lot of nights) but I won’t be as quick to dismiss it in the future. And if you need the feel of a Yogi’s or a Patriot Saloon but you’re in the East Village, Blarney Cover is a good alternative.
* I’ve never understood how a bar gets to be full of regulars if no new ones ever come in. How does that even physically happen?