After eating a very bland meal and talking shop with Phil for a bit I left The Irish Embassy and took the B train home to Allston.
I didn't think about the Irish Embassy for awhile. I was fully invested in the new rock club and often distracted by the business of being a single 26 year old guy. I could drink for free at The Causeway and when I wanted to eat I'd go to The Bull and Finch, a divey BBQ joint on the same street as the Embassy which had really good food.
A few months later, steps from the Embassy, I found myself at another Irish immigrant bar called Paddy Burke's. Paddy's was actually four tiny bars stacked on top of one another and connected by an elevator. They only opened all four floors for Garden events.
The Causeway bartender and I found ourselves on the ground level one day. After taking in an afternoon of tough guy hardcore we decided to repair to Paddy's for some drinks and grub before the evening's indie rock show.
As I worked on my flavorless, stringy chicken sandwich one of the pub's immigrant regulars approached us. He was stereotypically shitfaced.
"How do you like the pub?"
"Well, to be honest the food could be a lot better," I replied. The bartender glared at me.
The regular proceded to tell me that he, like the owners of Paddy's, the Embassy and our awful neighbor The Harp, was part of a vanguard that would forever change the face of drinking in Boston.
"Just you wait and see," he offered. "Every time a bar closes in your city an Irish pub will open in its place."
That prediction proved to be remarkably accurate for the remainder of the young decade.