Pat Stack is an alarmingly young, web-savvy brigand who toils alongside me in the trash compactor at the Death Star. On his weblog, Pat recently posted his own 'Best of NYC'. That's nice and all, but Pat's only resided in this fair city for a paltry three years. So, being the insufferably big-headed native New Yorker (we're a rare breed, we are), I seek not to so much correct Pat's list, but to bury it in a needless avalanche of holier-than-thou'd righteous indignation. So here goes....
Best Museum: Pat cites the hugely laudable Museum of Natural History on the Upper West Side. While this is indeed a splendid place, rife with myriad examples of rarified fauna and flora and an institution that I could practically find my way around blind-folded (should it come to that), I'd sooner suggest making the trek up to the preternaturally sublime Cloisters in Upper Manhattan. Even if medieval art ain't your thing, the grounds alone are absolutely breathtaking, especially this time of year when the leaves are changing. Seriously, it's not to be missed. Bring a date. Make a day of it.
Best Rock Club: While Pat cites the Tribeca Rock Club, I find that particular establishment to be somewhat uninspired. Of the rock clubs left in Manhattan (and to see a partial list of some former great ones, click here), I'd have to say the finest is probably The Bowery Ballroom (6 Delancey Street). Probably the closest in spirit and execution to the late, great Ritz, the Bowery Ballroom boasts a nice floor with great sight-lines (it's virtually impossible to not see the stage), and not one but three bars from which to procure those last couple of beers you probably would've been better off going without. As an added bonus, the place also has a downstairs bar where industry bottom-feeders and P.R. goons can cluster in bunchs and thanklessly schmooze instead of clogging up precious floor space in front of you and gabbing while your favorite band is busy kicking out the proverbial jams. For less-established bands and more esoteric artists, the Knitting Factory (74 Leonard Street) remains an amazing space (though I still miss its earlier incarnation on E.Houston), so that would be my runner-up.
Best Irish Bar: Picking a "best" Irish bar in New York City is no easy feat, as cheery Eirophillic taverns are plentiful up and down Manhattan's many by-ways. Having never been to Pat's choice, Gibney's in Queens, I'll concede that it's probably a keeper. That said, if I had to choose a single Irish pub in Manhattan, it'd be The Scratcher (209 East 5th Street). A cozy, low-ceilinged wooden bunker, the Scratcher mercifully jettisons the more cliched trappings of the Irish bar (the place is refreshingly bereft of leperchauns and clover) in favor of local atmosphere, the odd bit of live Irish folk music and even a full Irish Breakfast (for those pining for their verdant homeland). You cannot go wrong. Fans of local Punk Rock lore might also enjoy the fact that the Scratcher is just up the road from the spot were Dead Boys drummer, Johnny Blitz and Blondie roadie, Mike Sticca were once attacked by a gang of chain & baseball bat-wielding ruffians who cut Blitz up so bad that CBGB's staged the fabled Blitz Benefit to cover his medical bills (as recounted in "Please Kill Me" by Legs McNeil & Gillian McCain) 
Best Falafel: Pat's no dummy. He knows that Queens is a hotbed of more variations of ethnic cuisine than you can shake a pita at, which is why for Best Falafel he cites Pahal Zan (a name which conjures to my mind the fearsome visage of a certain blonde CNN anchor, putting me rather off my food). Being that Manhattan's my beat, I'd sooner steer the falafelly-inclined towards Chickpea (23 3rd Avenue, just north of St. Mark's Place). Though the very same locale used to host the once-great St.Mark's Pizza, the cunning Israelis who run Chickpea make truly outstanding falafel, and do so with the speed and culinary efficiency of combat-hewn agents of the Mossad. Their pita bread is also not to be messed with.
Best Bridge: I've absolutey no idea why Pat chose this category. As far as I'm concerned, the only good bridge is the one that keeps the tourists out, and sadly that bridge doesn't exist. Failing that, I'd opt for the endearingly shoddy-looking Williamsburg Bridge.
Best "Complete-Package" Bar: To each their own, I suppose. There are way too many outstanding bars to choose from. I suppose it really depends on the company, but my first choice would probably be the Horseshoe Bar (aka 7B..108 Avenue B). A slightly seedy corner watering-hole, 7B has been featured in films as diverse as "The Godfather" through "Crocodile Dundee". Should you be a sports dork, there's a TV (with the sound mercifully turned off). The back room boasts pinball. The jukebox has an amazing variety of gritty punk rock (not to mention selections by Killing Joke and Cop Shoot Cop), and the wait-staff are endearingly tatooed and surly. Failing this, I'd invariably choose my old local neighborhood spot, the Cedar Tavern. Ya can't hear the jukebox and the fries stink, but it's everything you'd ever need in a bar, refershingly devoid of cliques or hipster stereotypes.
Best Sushi: Without question, Japonica (100 University Place). The Ebi Tempura Rolls alone are worth slitting a random bystander's throat for (y'know, should it come to that). 
Best Comedy Club: I have no real opinion on this matter, although I used to go to The Comic Strip (1568 2nd Avenue) when I lived on the Upper East Side. Some friends and I used to go from time to time. Problem was, as the evenings wore on, the quality of the performers would gradually diminish. Six comics in, and chances are you'd be enduring the undercooked comedic stylings of a hapless first-timer. Next thing you know, you were locked between insensitive hecklers and flumoxed novice comics who'd yet to perfect their spontaneous comebacks. Comedy is tough stuff, and I have big respect for those who pull it off. When you're in a band and you bomb, you can pass the blame onto a thousand different factors (not least your bandmates). When you're a comic and you bomb, there's just you, a mic-stand and a brick wall. It takes balls, that's all I'm saying. 
At this point, Pat ran out of categories, but promised to return to his list. In the interim, I'll throw a few out and hope he takes the bait.
Best Pizza Parlor: New York City Pizza has attained an almost mythic status in culinary respects. By and large, its repuation is well-earned. In my humble travels, I haven't tasted better pizza in any other city (and that inlcudes Rome, whose pizza re-defined lame). That said, for every amazing corner pizza restaurant here, there are six dozen mediocre-to-attrocious ones hawking damp, tasteless slices of grease-besotten lard scrapings. Relatively recently, there's been an upsurge in 'high-end' pizza joints, with places like Mario Batali's Otto (1 Fifth Avenue), John's Pizza (408 W.44th Street) and tasty newbie, Piola (48 E.12th Street) serving up gourmet pies. I love that stuff (especially Otto), but when it comes to a great, simple slice, I must add to the horde and cite Famous Ray's Pizza (465 6th Avenue). I used to swear by Nino's on the Upper East Side (Madison Avenue between 91st and 92nd streets) and the late, great Joe's Pizza just off Carmine Street, but fate has cruelly wiped both establishments off the map.
Best Book Store: So many great book shops have gone the way of all flesh in recent years, but Shakespeare & Co. (716 Broadway) remains my personal favorite, not least for its meticulous displays, great selection of music and film related books (second only to See Hear on East 7th Street) and varied array of British imported titles. The staff can be a bit snobby, and it always kinda smells weird when you first walk in, but you can find practically anything you need here. Purists might cite The Strand several blocks up, but I find it too dusty and confusing (although their rare book room is mighty cool). St.Mark's Bookshop (31 Third Avenue) is also quite a hotbed of literary resources well worth checking out.
To be continued....
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