Profile

O'Reilly's typifies the Midtown Celtic tavern, where a well-poured Guinness and consistent, anonymous cheer provide shelter from bad weather (real or metaphoric). As the day shift of floor installers, local suits and map-studying tourists gives way to PM regulars, the bright track lighting dims to encourage entrée into blithe, boozy oblivion. The jukebox has both the usual Irish suspects and vintage Cline/Cash country—the true melodic hallmark of an authentic Midtown pound-and-frown. Bar snacks and sit-down meals are available to sandbag your liver against a flood tide of pints, but in the proper drinking groove, O'Reilly's menu becomes as much of an afterthought as the trompe l'oeil, faux copper AC ducts that whisper overhead. — Bruce Bennett

Like other Irish bars in the neighborhood, O'Reilly's is susceptible to Sudden Crowd Syndrome given the right Garden event (any contest against a team from Boston, for instance) or a football (never "soccer") match on ESPN.