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It has a cigar-store Indian, a beige pool table with high-grade cues, and an in-house cult that gobbles its burgers and wings. Aside from those distinctions, the Carriage House could be any of the other buhzillion Irish pubs in the city. It’s a long, wood-bombed box with a little more sit-down space than expected. The Internet juke tunes are so familiar you might not even notice them, and the same goes for the crowd of just-off-work professional types, TV sports nuts, and packs of boozy city kids. The employees are true-blooded countrymen, for what it’s worth; one bartender, who looks as harried as an Irish washerwoman, will offer you a drink several moments before you realize you need another, proving that not all clichés are bad. — John Metcalfe