Josef T.
Yelp
As a Clinton street resident, I greeted the arrival of a nice-looking corner bar with cautious optimism. So often in the LES, moreso than anywhere else, expectations and reality diverge. Prior to Donnybrook's arrival, the corner of Stanton and Clinton was occupied by a ratty, mixed-use bar/sandwich spot/cybercafe known as Lotus. It was assuredly grimy, but with that treasure of grime came a dearth of pretentiousness and, invariably, the neighborhood's fondness.
Enter Donnybrook. I was skeptical from the start, as the place looked too manicured for its own good. Hipster havens across the hood know that too much polish can work against you. The crowd also, at least from outside, seemed to be mostly folks from elsewhere in the city, trekking here because they read about it on a blog (or Yelp) and wanted to try some new LES joint. No matter. When Donnybrook plastered fliers all over the neighborhood advertising a Clinton Street-themed Happy Hour to meet, and enjoy drinks with neighbors (none of which I know - seriously, where are you hiding guys?), I called up my sis and said let's check it out.
So we get there, the vibe is relaxed, the music is low, but not inaudible. There wasn't much of a crowd, but the folks there match the venue. I had to remark to my sister that the place felt less like an actual bar than a TV show's set for a bar. It's an odd feeling, but I go with it. I ask about the Happy Hour specials, bartender says they're still going, and I and my sis order a round. Nothing crazy, two basic cocktails. The bartender serves them, and asks for $28.
Excuse me? Broheem, what about happy hour? These drinks aren't covered. Perhaps he could've said that *before* he made the drinks? I wanted to ask him, "Homey, we're in a recession, and you're going to charge me $30 for two cocktails?" but I sucked it up, paid, tipped, and sat down to enjoy my $14, South of Houston cocktail. Strike 1 against Donnybrook.
So we sit at one of the three or so tables there. The tables are arranged in an uninviting way, so it's difficult to get a seat anywhere other than the bar. But we do. As I'm drinking, I notice that they have several busboy-types who are constantly walking around briskly, adjusting candles and picking up glasses. Great. But about halfway through my drink, a busboy magically appears at my side, and takes the still half-unconsumed drink off the table from in front of me! I was too disinclined to make a stink about it, so I just let him take it and scram. Sigh. Strike 2 against Donnybrook.
There's a Knicks game on, and some people are freaking out (I used to be a Knicks fanatic, but short of a 30-year-old time-traveling Michael Jordan descending from the heavens in a Knicks jersey, nothing can get me insanely riled up about the team now). They're loud, and the whole bar seems kind of muted in contrast. They get louder, rowdy, and the place's vibe suddenly changes to "sports bar." Strike 3 against Donnybrook.
The place doesn't know what it wants to be: sports bar, hip bar, neighborhood bar. It tries to be everything, and succeeds at being nothing but the place on the corner of Stanton & Clinton where you'll pay $15 for a gin & tonic which will be taken off your table before you're finished while overzealous sports fans flip out over inconsequential games. I won't be back. Yelper James M. said it best: "an experience in banality like no other."