This the only remaining Greenwich Village writer's bar. Chumley's (where F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, womanized and got his picture on the wall) closed "for renovations" a few years back. It's still closed. The Lion's Head, Edgar Allen Poe's old haunt, used to be the only het bar on Christopher Street. Ironically, it disappeared during the de-gayzation of the West Village. So now we only have The Whitehorse, where Dylan Thomas wrote, and slowly drank his liver into paté. For that reason alone, it deserves a visit. But I do mean "for that reason alone."
There are pictures and memorabilia inside, but place has lost its aura. Service is efficient, and not hostile, but also not special. There are a TON of "rules" (No posting paper anywhere-- even if it's just for a few minutes, no smoking inside the iron gates, no eating outside after midnight). This is not exactly conducive to the wordsmith mentality. And, the bouncer keeps a constant check to make sure the RULES ARE FOLLOWED.
The menu has the usual bar foods and drink. Anchor on tap is a big plus. The food is pretty ordinary, although the wings are slightly better than the usual bland stuff of other bars. The outside space is nice, while you're allowed to sit there, but all-in-all, this special place is nothing special. --Drink Club is a roving group of NYC drinkers
Cons: Rules and Rules