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Kavanagh’s is named for a celebrated and scathing Irish poet, but sadly, spending a few hours here will inspire about as much brain activity as the latest installment of Leprechaun. The standard Gaelic pub-props are all here: Guinness on the tap, U2 on the stereo, and stained glass and mahogany on everything else. On the plus side, the food is above average, with steaks and seafood served toward the back of the bar’s one dark room, and the TV pulls in some far-off rugby and soccer games. — John Metcalfe