My old man used to drink at The Ginger Man, a restaurant near Lincoln Center. The place was named after the play based on J.P. Donleavy’s novel. Patrick O’Neal, one of the owners, had stared in the short-lived play. The novel, was reissued not long ago, and over at The Daily Beast, Allen Barra calls it “the funniest novel in the English language since Evelyn Waugh.”
I must say, I was disappointed when I read Donlevy's book. I know it has its fervent admirers, some of whom are other writers I admire, but it just didn't click for me. I recall being taken aback by some casual violence towards women in it.
I'll give it another shot someday.
I own a copy and I've tried to read it a number of times, but I just can't get through it. Maybe one of these days.
I didn't like the book either. The bar, however, is wonderful (though not near Lincoln Center in its present incarnation).