My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my martini, prepare to die.


Inigo Montoya, the bar.

Even though the sign is one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen, I was dissapointed to not find: Mandy Patinkin, Rob Reiner, Cary Elwes, Cristopher Guest, or the ghost of Andre the Giant.  No fencing, poison, or six-fingered men inside either.

Instead, all I found was a mostly empty bar in a strip mall that smelled of old, stale smoke, and a rude bouncer and hostess who didn’t seem to realize that their bar was (name aside) a pile of shit.

2 Responses

  1. “Life is pain. Anyone who says different is selling something.”

  2. Clearly you went on a dead night. I have not long returned home from a holiday in Israel. We went to this bar twice, first time on a Friday night and it was absolutely packed! The music was fantastic, the crowd was friendly and the drinks went down very well! The 2nd night we went was a Wednesday night and for the middle of the week, there were far too many people there!!!

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