T-Bone Walker called it "Stormy Monday," and lamented that Tuesday was just as bad. Munch called it "Sleepy Monday" or to be more specific, "I'm-so-dead-tired-please-get-me-home-so-I-can-crash-like-Enron-stock Monday," as this was the Monday after a weekend of self-inflicted exhaustion in Texas hell-raising with college friends and consuming copious quantities of Shiner Bock at a Johnny Cash-themed bar called the Mean Eyed Cat. Munch hoped that Tuesday wouldn't be nearly as bad, and needed something substantial, something without pretense to fill the tummy before slipping away to an 11-hour sleep.

The self-anointed Pretty Friend of Munch (PFOM), an assessment Munch heartily endorses, had a rough weekend herself, though for different reasons altogether. Petite, intelligent, independent, and not lacking in confidence, PFOM is always well put together and has a running tab at the local Bebe and Aldo boutiques but today likewise was dragging and looking for some comfort food before collapsing into a temporary coma. No Pan Asian, Indo-French fusion. No free range sea bass encrusted with fair trade organic boysenberries. No mojitos. No trance music in the background. Just basic and filling fare.

August Henry's, an old-fashioned saloon Downtown, fit the bill.

And who is August Henry?

"Sounds like a famous poet," PFOM mused, perhaps juxtaposing the handles of August Wilson and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Not quite. August Henry Mathias is the great-grandfather of the current bar's owners. An old Pittsburgh chap with an impressive mustache who set up shop on the North Side in the 1880s. His likeness presides over the main dining room, and he'd be proud to pour a pint in his namesake public house, which has a handsome wooden bar, adorned with antique ceramic German beer steins, and clean glass and mirrors. Framed black and white photos of Pittsburgh-gone-by hang on the walls, and a frosted glass partition separates the bar and the dining room.

PFOM noticed that the place has a refreshingly bare minimum of televisions and no video machines, so patrons are actually forced to -- gasp! -- talk to each other as they might have in Ol' August's day.

Tavern staples like Onion Rings ($3.99) and Chicken Wings ($6.99) lead off the appetizer menu, but Munch and PFOM dug into a half dozen Pittsburgh Pierogies ($7.99). Good but not up to the gold standard of PFOM, who said that nothing beats the pierogies her Bupka made for family dinners. A little too fried, and a little too greasy.

Amends were made via the Coconut Shrimp ($8.99), a serving of a half dozen huge Gulf shrimp fried in shredded coconut, a nice salty and sweet mix, served with a tangy Caribbean sauce, which Munch and PFOM lapped up with gusto.

Made-to-order 8-ounce Angus Burgers headline the entrees ($7.99), and the Gus Burger, named for Opa August is the granddaddy of them all (pun intended) with two half-pound patties and all the fixin's the heart lining can endure.

But Munch salivated over the prospect of the Iron City Meatloaf ($12.99) before settling on the Sweet Potato Chicken ($12), a boneless chicken breast encrusted with shredded sweet potato and pan-fried, served over a bed of black beans and rice. The sweet potato crust is a stroke sheer spud-ular genius, and the portion was huge -- Munch saved half for lunch on not-so-tired Tuesday.

PFOM perused the possibilities of the Pepperoni Stromboli or the Turkey Devonshire sandwiches (both $7.99), but instead selected the serviceable though unspectacular chicken Fajita Wrap ($7.99), served with freshly made barbecue chips.

August Henry's pours a nice lineup of draught beers including Spaten Lager and East End Big Hop IPA ($4) and a healthy selection of bottled imports and microbrews from Brooklyn, Great Lakes, Sam Smith and Rogue breweries ($4-6).

Sated and ready for slumber, Munch and PFOM went their separate ways but were pleased to have found a new place to meet for a beer and some good grub. But next time, not on a dog-tired Monday.