Deacon Brodie’s 370 W. 46th St. (8th & 9th Aves.)
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It might seem like just another one of the many pubs set among the prix fixe madness of restaurant row, but Deacon Brodie’s is more than just a happy hour haunt. Named after a Scottish businessman turned burglar, Deacon Brodie’s, like its namesake, is unassuming on the outside—it’s set in an old townhouse with a canopy overhead—but on the inside there’s more of a party going on. A jukebox trades U2 for Garth Brooks while pints of Smithwick’s and Guinness swap hands. Candle flames flicker against exposed brick in the living room-like drinking den to the rear. Worn and weathered like your favorite pair of Chuck Taylors, the velvet love seats are more than broken in, especially the one parked in front of the faux fireplace. No food is to be had here, but no one will stop you from bringing in a bite from the endless options outside.