It’s easy to become cynical about bars in a city where every neighborhood has its own expertly branded nouveau speakeasy. It is impossible to be cynical at Daddy-O. There is no branding to speak of here. The glassware is not special. There is a television. The television plays hockey games. And yet, Daddy-O’s enthusiasm for spirits — especially whisky — rivals, and bests, far more obnoxious establishments. The written tome spans 500 hand-picked bottles, with not even a hint of pretension. You will not be up-charged for a pour of something trendy. You will not be side-eyed for ordering a whiskey soda. Instead, you’re free to flip through the book, order a pour of something novel — say, a hard-to-find Compass Box blend — or something you’ve never tried before, something you’re curious about. There is no snobbery or pressure or blond wood or fake library books. You get to drink whiskey without any other bother or distraction. This shouldn’t be a rare thing. But it is, and that’s why Daddy-O takes the cake. That and the tater tots.