This Himmarshee Irish joint has a veritable all-star crew of Guinness-slinging barkeeps -- Mike, Tommy, Noel, you know who you are -- but the most charismatic cat here is the man with the perpetual 10 o'clock shadow and a voice like a carnival barker. He succeeds in chatting shit, drawing drafts, tending change, and mixing martinis with calm aplomb. "You're a prude!" he yells at one familiar female patron whom he learned hitched a ride home from a male friend, then didn't so much as invite him inside. "Your problem is, you don't put out!" (It's less obnoxious in context.) Soon after, when a couple approaches his buzzing bar, he cocks his head and says, "Ketel One martini and a Miller Lite, right?" Yup. These feats are nothing spectacular, perhaps, but then, it's the rare bartender who on a weekday night, through sheer force of personality, inspires a crowd to sing his name to the tune of that "olé" soccer anthem: "Oh DAAAVE, oh DAVE oh DAVE oh DAAAVE! Oh DAAAVE! O-oh DAAAAVE!" The barkeep responds by honking the siren of the model fire truck that hangs above his bar. The lushes reply with further song. This, friends, is why you drink.

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