A view of the bar at Maggy McGarry’s, an unassuming little pub in the Telegraph Hill neighborhood of San Francisco that will furnish you with a pint o’ Guinness and a Tullamore Dew neat at 9:30 on a Sunday morning, should the need arise.
Apologies for the potato quality photo; more of a PSA than anything artful.
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A totem of the Irish diaspora.
Meanwhile I’m stuck in Scotland where the pubs won’t serve me before 10am and the supermarkets won’t let me buy a carryout after 10pm.
And God bless ‘em.
Tell me. I’m in the buckle of the southeastern United States bible belt, where Baptist blue laws reign supreme and nary a drop at any price on the sabbath.
