There are certain stories and legends I am fascinated by for a particular–or no particular–reason. The story of Ichabod Crane is one of those stories I will indulge in experiencing in any form (see: the Headless Horseman musical).
So of course when I found out there was a bar named after the unfortunate chap’s tale, I had to visit. And while the food and drink may be standard for NYC (not particularly amazing, not particularly affordable), the outside, which is brick and looks sort of like a stable, gave enough atmospheric satisfaction that I didn’t mind so much that the bathroom door was impossible to open without bumping into whoever was standing at the sink.
I mean, at first. After the fifth time, it got a little annoying. Okay, a lot annoying. Maybe as annoying as, say, not having a head and having to search for a new one every night?
Good one, Headless Horseman bar. Good one.