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St. Patrick’s Day Downtown LA

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For my confirmation, I took the name “Patrick”.

I’ve seen the Chieftans and the Pogues.

I used to say my abuelito Cristino was Irish, because of his blue eyes and his fondness for drinking. He was a cantinero, after all.

So here’s to our first downtown St. Patrick’s Day!

First, Casey’s. Way too crowded, a bunch of young drunks.

Then Big Wang’s, right across the street from our loft, too crowded, too. But I’d met Louis, the kitchen manager, a few days before. He said he knew me from somewhere. I didn’t have a clue. He said he’d been perfecting his corned beef for the big day. I said I’d be there. He said “OK!”

We left, and went to Hank’s. Our first time, though we’d pass by there hundreds of times before. A bit of a dive, but comfortable booths, a jamming jukebox, and Guinness in a can and nice big shots of Jameson’s.

I ran to Big Wang’s, got the corned beef sandwich to go, and had a good time at Hank’s. Great corned beef, Louis!

At Hank's Bar on Grand, St. Patrick's Day

But it wasn’t enough. The night, still young, and so were we…for the night. Wasn’t L.A. Live doing something, just ’cause they canceled the parade? A long walk. The sign said: 12 noon to 3 pm. Too late.

Walked up Figueroa to Riordan’s Tavern. Who hasn’t been to the Pantry? It’s right next door. And there was a trio playing jigs. And the bar was serving black and tan’s and Jameson’s. And it was the perfecto end to our St. Patrick’s day in L.A.

At Riordan's Tavern on St. Patrick's Day

They say the Irish are the Chicanos of Europe. Or Chicanos are the Irish of the Americas. Either way, I agree. Tough times? Good drinks, good food, familia and fun. That’ll do, por lo pronto.

At Riordan's Tavern on St. Patrick's Day. How do you say "Salud" in Gaelic?

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