Cheers.

Chris and I have been living in New York for a year and 10 days. Yet (and very surprisingly), it wasn’t until only a few months ago that we christened our “neighborhood bar”.

We live in the Financial District, which – by comparison – is a bit….sparse. However, he and I are lucky enough to have a pretty awesome Irish Pub located exactly 2.5 blocks from our apartment building. Its name is O’Hara’s.

O’Hara’s hosts the most wonderfully eclectic blend of...well…men. Being a stone’s throw away from Ground Zero, it’s the local watering hole for construction men. Being around the corner from 2 fire stations, its always full of firemen. Being the only bar in the Financial District where you’re not likely to be asked about the strength (or lack thereof) of your portfolio, it’s a hideaway full of businessmen. Given that no one there has ever checked an ID, there’s the occasional boy who is not yet a man. And then there’s the inevitable tourist; the bright-eyed bumpkin wearing Reebok sneakers and a brand new I HEART NY sweatshirt who got sick of staring at a chain-link fence that is “viewing the World Trade Center Site” and stumbled into O’Hara’s in search of a bathroom, but ended up having a beer.

For months, Chris and I walked by O’Hara’s - sometimes 3 or 4 times a day. We’d always peer in, but we’d never stop.

For months, we had been craving bar where they’d know our names.

For months, Chris had been poo-pooing my idea that the bar we were looking for could be O’Hara’s. He had poked fun at the bar and its barflies – having never actually been.

Finally, I ditched Chris and went in with a friend. I had several beers. I had a great time.

Chris still wouldn’t join me.

Then, I went again. I had several beers. I put music in the jukebox. I had a great time, and I stumbled the 2.5 blocks home. It took me 2.5 minutes to get there.

Chris still wouldn’t join me.

Then one Sunday, our day on foot was spoiled by rain. We wanted a beer, and finally crossed the threshold of O’Hara’s.

Two frosty beers, two underage kids, two crotchety barmaids, two firemen, two construction men, one bartender named Jimmy, and four wet tourists later, Chris turns to me and says “I like O’Hara’s. Lets make this our neighborhood bar.”

Great idea, Chris.