Profile

This East Village suds shop doesn't subscribe to the tried-and-true Ye Olde Tavern formula in which a mishmash of quasi-antiques and rustic furnishings evoke the Emerald Isle with a little help from some early U2 on the hi-fi. Instead, Slainte aspires to the look and feel of a chic, Dublin watering hole. Aside from the three bartender-owners' accents, an occasional Guinness sign, and the name itself, this is an atypical joint as far as Irish pubs go. A long, narrow room, flanked on both sides by brick walls, empties out into a cozy seating area where ex-pat Irishmen and Brits make themselves at home on the dark leather banquettes, munch on pub grub, pound pints from the huge beer selection (20 on tap, 18 bottled), and watch the latest soccer match projected on the back wall. Flat screen TVs above the long bar mean you're never far from a game of some kind. The music, which leans toward hip-hop and alt-rock, is kept at a sane decibel level, making it possible to hear yourself say "Slainte!" as you toast your good fortune. Cheers indeed. — David Farley