Local before arrival
The hedgerow surrounding this West Village haunt recalls the well-tended garden of Miss Marple. The shrubbery isn’t hiding an Agatha Christie heroine, but a bustling gastropub where New York’s glitterati share pints of Irish stout and crispy pig’s ear salad with world-renowned chefs. The clubby wooden and plaid interior lightens up with a little help from the eponymous ungulate, whose jolly persona is celebrated throughout with statuettes and oil paintings.
