THE COCKTAIL HOUR
- BY BOB RUGGIERO
PHOTOGRAPHY BY JACK THOMPSON
February 2000
McGonigel's Mucky Duck
In case you couldn't tell by my last name, I am not Irish - Don't even
pretend to be on St. Patrick's Day for smooches from nubile young women
named Molly In fact, my crusty Italian great uncle warned me against
ever marrying an Irish woman (which, of course, I went ahead and did
anyway). Something about "They'll only bring ruin to you, my little
bambino.
"Well if that's the case, then all nationalities could stand to be
"ruined" by the spirit of the traditional Irish pub at the Mucky Duck,
where unpretentious good cheer is not on the drink list but served in
abundance.
The Duck is not a large place, but its coziness definitely works to
its advantage. The interior features varnished wooden tables of varying
sizes scattered between the long bar in the back and small stage in
front. English and irish pub signs, medieval prints and advertising
memora- bilia line the walls. A couple of elevated booths (which you can
pretend are royal boxes and wave to the proletariat mass) sit in front
of faux painted bookshelves and a wine rack behind them, where in the
one real cubby hole sits games you can take to your tables (dominoes,
Trivial Pursuit, etc.). Finally, there's a nicely enclosed back porch
with wooden booths and tables, perfect for crisp but not cold evenings
like the one when I visited.
The bar offers an impressive array
of international beers on draught or by the bottle, and a large
assortment of wines, I stuck with the basics McFare: Guinness Draught,
Murphy's Stout and an O'Mara's Irish Country Cream coffee where you
could - yeah! - actually taste the liquor I'd even change my mind about
Starbucks if they starred offering these babies.
But perhaps the
greatest strength of the club is its longtime dedication to presenting
live music. Folk, acoustic, country, Texas singer/songwriter, blues, and
of course - Celtic styles are all featured here most nights of the week
from local, regional and the occasional national act. On this night,
the Austin Lounge Lizards brought their wry insanity to the stage,
emitting guffaws from the assembled crowd (heavy, I would bet on KPFT
members) with both new and favorite material. And perhaps no one cheered
louder than my assigned table- mate, the long-haired and gray-bearded
Vern. This guy knew every Lounge Lizard lyric by heart, and his table
card read "Vern, Baby Vern" (he told me that last time the staff had
written "Vernin' Down the House"). Rodney Crowell, Shawn Phillips, Sara
Hickman, Ray Wylie Hubbard and the Hot Club of Cowtown were on the list
of upcoming acts.
But be forewarned: on many nights, the Mucky
Duck functions more as a concert venue than a bar, and access to the
interior is limited to those who have bought tickets (though you can
still drink on the patio without paying a cover). While other times,
you're free to roam in and out for a quick pint and a tune with no
charge.
It's also obvious that the Mucky Duck fosters a sense of
community - however temporary And that's what a good pub does when the
"regulars" (like Vern) and the new crowd mix. Come to think of it, the
Duck is the kind of place that my great uncle actually would have
enjoyed. He may have warned me about the pitfalls of Irish women, but
even he knew that the Sons of Erin could party with the best of their
brothers and sisters in the United Nations.