The DOH Dusts McSorley's Chandelier and Shutters Fatty 'Cue

Rebecca Marx
The Department of Health has been busy handing out demerits lately, playing cleaning lady at McSorley's and lavishing special attention on Fatty 'Cue.

The city's health inspectors, so unbending in their belief that cleanliness is next to godliness, did not take kindly to the decades of dust encasing the wishbone-bedecked gas lamp at McSorley's, or its resident cat, Minnie. The New York Times reports that the bar's proprietor was forced to clean the lamp for the first time in, well, ever. Touchingly, and a little creepily, he collected the dust in a container and took it home; fortunately, the wishbones, originally left by servicemen wishing for safe return from World War I, were allowed to stay. Minnie, on the other hand, was not, and, ahem, emailed EV Grieve to say she's "not allowed into the bar during drinking hours ... officially."

But at least McSorley's is still open; following an April 4 visitation from inspectors, Fatty 'Cue is not. Zak Pelaccio's Asian barbecue restaurant earned a meaty 115 points from the DOH, who objected to, among other things, evidence of live mice and rats, food from unapproved or unknown sources, workers handling food with their bare hands, and inadequate hand-washing facilities. But at least the DOH didn't seem to have any problems with their chandelier.

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Minnie Mcsorley
Minnie Mcsorley

Hello, Voice Readers,

I am pleaesd to report that I am, however, okay with being banned during business hours and McSorley's is in complance with all Health Department statutes. I am also happy to see that articles like yours have led to an outpaw-ing of support, specifically tons of new friends on Facebook and fans on my Facebook fan page: Minnie the McSorley's Cat. As Mr. Barry said in the Times, "old new york is losing," but we'll fight to hold onto the dust of the past just the same.

Thanks again.



Sacrilegious heathens ! Gypsies in my palace of drink! Barbarians at the gates! Would you ask the Mona Lisa to wipe that smirk off her face. Perhaps a coat of Benjamin Moore's Best Ceiling White could clean up that ugly oil stain on the Sixteenth Chapel ! While we are at it what's with the armless Venus. Fix it or throw that broken crap out. We are all adults here. If I don't like a place's decor I leave. This is not some Disney attraction. This is history. Living , god damn Williamsburg Va , history! Oh wait, Williamsburg is fake sanitized Disney B.S.. We will soon be reduced to communing in an O'Irish pub owned by some Mcdonaldist corporation. Steam cleaned every night. No saw dust on the floor. The sweet aroma of a million spilt ounces. Some spilled in sorrow . Some spilled with joy. Lysoled away and replaced with a pine scent. No pipes or cigars please. No true emotion lest some one be offended. Those dust flakes represent the humanity that has bellied up to that altar. Congressmen and sanitation workers, mayors and firemen,soldiers and poets, students and street prophets. Teddy Roosevelt to Bob Dylan, Abraham Lincoln to Boss Tweed, Peter Cooper to Woody Guthrie. The NY Rangers drank from the Stanley Cup here not at some whorish Donald Trump temple to excess. I quote the John Wayne movie THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE " when the legend becomes fact, you print the legend".Maybe those wishbones did not come from WWI Doughboys wishing for a safe return. But when I gazed upon them they stood for every soldier who ever left his home to defend our nation. Ask any Catholic if they want The Shroud of Turin to be carbon dated. No, its not the fact, it is the belief that the Shroud represents that matters.

Why after 90 some odd years should some bureaucrat be so concerned with McSorley's patron's health. My mother use to tell us when we were being too finicky " you'll eat a pound of dirt be fore you die" Children brought up as Bubble Boys are now loose amongst us ruining our fun. McSorley's was the first to forgive Mayor Bloomberg when he slandered all the Irish as drunks. Hey, Mike ,how about you return the favor. Oh, its too late for the wish bones and the cats, but stop the carnage , please. If you want to see Mcsorley's please google John Sloan the artist. If you want to know Mcsorleys read Joseph Mitchell's "Mcsorley's Wonderful Saloon" dated 1943. If you want to feel what Mcsorley's is read the poetry written right there by E.E Cummings. You just know some up tight citizen had to launch a complaint campaign. We can save ourselves thank you. Vote with your feet. Don't like a beautiful dive? Leave and find a TGIF's or an Olive Garden. What right do I have to expect my notion of a sublime beer -drinking experience is the right one? A rustic pub, cask ale, simple fare--perhaps just a loaf of bread , pounds of cheddar and mustard left on the bar---------a log fire, muzakless buzz of conversation my McSorleys. Perhaps I am growing ornery and am dwelling on the past. Yet I see my glass of ale at McSorleys as a metaphor for spiritual drift. Quiet contemplation, in a hall that evolved glacially over centuries swept away by super-chilled beers in souless bars that seem to speak entirely of this frantic, Blueberry and Ipad , less compassionate and intolerant world. To all the my friends , brother in-laws, god-sons and sisters that I have tried to convert to my religion,The Reformed Mcsorleyist Church of Ale Saints, today is a sad day. Paul