There is nothing particularly amazing about this English/American pub on the corner of Dean and Underhill in Prospect Heights. It's actually a bit shabby and has a strange floor plan with too much seating in the front and not enough standing room by the bar. The food is standard at best, and the crowd is a random mix of locals and, um, bikers I think?
However... it's within walking distance from my apartment and after a long day of working outside, nothing could have beat a round (or five) of Stella's with olives, a plate of buffalo wings and bleu cheese, and spending time with three of my favorite people-- laughing so hard that tears were streaming down our sunburned faces. It was one of my favorite New York nights to date, and I'm sure the three of them would agree.
Sometimes 'standard' is all you really need.