Saved by Ecuador

I only make it to Gallaghers about twice a year these days. Family and work have a way of shrinking your free time. As I’ve written before, every visit feels like a mix of nostalgia for the old Gallaghers and an acceptance of its newer, more laid-back incarnation.

I arrived around 8 p.m. on a Wednesday, fully aware it was a gamble. Two days after a blizzard, on a freezing February weeknight, isn’t exactly prime time. When the room is light, the roster usually is too. On slower nights like this, there’s no formal security or coat check presence, just a guard posted near the bathrooms who checks IDs and gives a quick pat-down.

When I settled in at the bar, I counted one bartender, two dancers seated, one on stage, and two other patrons. Slim pickings at first glance , though technically still a one-to-one ratio. As the night unfolded, a few more dancers filtered out from the back, bringing the total to six or seven, with three to four customers rotating through at any given time. Not exactly electric, but manageable.