Draught St-Ambroise Pale Ale!! That, and a large selection of whiskies (and whiskeys); decent, if somewhat bleakly-surrounded terrasse for warm-weather drinking; good, sometimes great kitchen; Irish and other folk music on cold winter nights; the extremely good-natured staff and owner; all these things together make this place my regular haunt.
What makes me want to die there, though, is the Hurley's Fry-Up, an inexpensive weekend breakfast platter featuring a sweat-inducing array of 100% cholesterol-rich transfats garnished with a pretty little slice of orange. I ask politely and get mine no eggs, extra meat (swoon). That, with a pint of the local copper ale and a pony of Redbreast, on a December Saturday mid-afternoon, with nothing else in particular to do? Blinding. Just f*cking blinding.