Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

Fado Irish Pub

Someone decided Brickell doesn’t have enough Irish pubs. The proprietors of Fado thought, “Waxy’s, Brickell Irish, Finnegan’s, and the one they’re working on in the Axis building aren’t enough. These people DEMAND shitty bar food and watered-down drinks.” Thank you for that, you goddamn luminaries.

I like to call this place Fadouche. Try and guess why. NO, SERIOUSLY, COME ON, TRY AND GUESS. Granted, where there are douches there are very attractive women. I tend to use that as a sort of prognostication tool in the way weathermen use Doppler radar or psychics use other people’s money. It works out pretty well most of the time. See a bunch of assholes walking toward an establishment, follow them for the ladies in attendance. By the way, I’m so happy “douche” became such a mainstream word to use to describe people. I just love the way that douche rolls off the tongue. Wait…

I just love the way that douche rolls off the tongue.

Fado is located next to Blue Martini in Mary Brickell Village, so you just know it oozes class. I’m just glad Fado doesn’t charge a cover, because places these days have been getting ballsy as hell with cover charges. Listen, I understand a cover charge if there’s a well-known band (or even a marginally-known band) performing, but on a typical night? That’s bullshit; people are going to be spending alimony checks on alcohol anyway. What’s their fear, the people who show up and buy no alcohol? For every buzzkill who goes to a bar to not drink there’s five or six people who think “moderation” is some fancy French word for “excess amounts.” That’s the best kind of wrong.

I have a bit of a problem with a couple of bartenders. How fucking difficult is it to make a Tom Collins, anyway? Gin, lemon juice, sugar, and carbonated water over ice. The cherry is optional, but I prefer it so I can douchily make a knot with the stem in my mouth in front of an intoxicated woman. I can usually judge a bartender by saying “Tom Collins” and looking at their face. If they make this “we don’t have a Tom working here” face, I change my order ASAP. But the ones in Fadouche give me a “sure thing, champ” face and proceed to pour margarita mix. No, don’t nod your head, it’s not the same thing! It tastes very different. It’s like, “oh, you like cake? Well, then let me grab you one of these here Betty Crocker instant microwaveable cake bowls where all you have to do is add water!” Although, that’s a terrible analogy, because those little things are delicious. Have you tried them? It’s what I imagine eating a Keebler elf fetus tastes like, and before you say shit it’s not cannibalism according to Wikipedia.

It’s what I imagine eating a Keebler elf fetus tastes like…

This is supposed to be a restaurant as well, I imagine with food as mediocre as Waxy’s or any other Irish pub ever. Shepherd’s pie, colcannon, crubeens, corn beef and cabbage, bangers and mash? It all sounds like fucking peasant food. You’ll never attend a fancy party and eat Irish food unless it’s a potato famine theme in which case you won’t eat shit and go to the bigger, better party across the lake.

With all that said, I still go, because there are lots of pretty women there. And you can’t go wrong just ordering a Guinness draught.

So where the hell is it?
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6 Comments to Fado Irish Pub

  1. BWM, today’s post is particularly funny even if, to be honest, I love Fado. Everything about it, including the food. I’d say give Fado another shot. Keep up the good work.

    • Well, I don’t hate it.

      And please, call me Orlando. BWM is my father’s name.

  2. Pingback: Orlando
  3. If I’m forced to go to Fado, I always, always, stay away from the dance floor in the back. It always smells like douche-bags who only took a douche-bag shower (cologne over body over) before heading out for the night. But, since I like Magner’s, I guess it’s an okay place. Do NOT order the Irish Quesadillas. They as well smell like they took a douche-bag shower (minus the cologne).

    • Irish quesadillas sound like a terrible idea. It’s as bad as “Italian chalupa” or “British anything”.

  4. Whoa whoa whoa, those Irish quesadilla’s (also called boxtys) are pretty good. The sampler platter (with boxtys, cheese dip and chicken tenders) is like a heart attack on a plate, but I mean it does a body right after 4 hours of grinding to Pitbull and smelling those wannabe BrickGuys infused with douche. If only we could get some guys taller than fucking Mini-Me in this town….

    Don’t know what a BrickGuy is, Orlando? Check out and if you live or work in Brickell, I challenge you to be next week’s Hump Day Treat.

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