Where to Drink Whilst Your Manly Heir is Being Borned: Part 3, Allen Street Pub

There are only a couple options for raising a glass of good ol' oat soda to your newborn minion within walking distance of St. Peter's Hospital. You have Andy's Sports Bar (across New Scotland) which is not really my cup of chai, and then you have the Allen Street Pub. Ask any of the Albany born about the place and you will hear allusions to Mccaffrey's (which used to occupy the location) and how they used to drink there when they were in high school.

Anyhow, the Allen Street Pub seemed to be a bit more my speed so a couple days after my spawn arrived (my wife was in St. P's for 4 nights) I ambled over with a few old friends to have a couple. The Allen is a smallish bar that possesses that wonderful, unintentional Kitsch so common in many old timey Albany institutions (Miss Albany, Palais Royal, etc...). The first thing I noticed upon bellying up to the bar was an inexplicable, lonely can of spam. You can just make it out in the below picture. A late night snack for a hungry bartender I guess.

There is also this sign which is unspeakably awesome. Where have the days of salty, pungent, fatty, pickled bar snacks gone? Bring them back please. I want a liverwurst sarny with my nooner thank you very much. Last time I was at the Palais (several years ago) they still had pickled eggs and sausage, thank god we still have that.

After quaffing a couple 4 dollar Guinnesses, my friend dared me to drink up a squat little bottle of Mickey's finest (malt likker). I can not turn down any request on the occasion of the birth of my sun, so I obliged.

On my way back to the hospital I spied a lonely afro pick in the middle of the side walk. O' Albany, how I love thee in all of your resplendent glory. What corner of the world would I choose if it were not for you?

I will probably have a little more to say about the momentous birth of my manly heir in the coming days, but the whole thing is still sinking in. I was born in St. Peter's for god's sake! My son, who shares my name, was probably born within a couple hundred feet of where I was born too (not to mention my Dad and his Dad who were born in Albany hospitals as well). Now I am drinking Guinness up the way while he wriggles in his crib at the hospital...

Such is life I guess, hopefully I am up to the momentous task of turning a wriggling, pink, munchkin into a right and proper Upstate American gent. We shall see.