● Le Souk Harem (Greenwich Village) – East Village pariah/magnet Le Souk adds “Harem” to the name, signals that it’s not going all PC yet. Belly dancers, hookahs, general debauchery spread out over massive tri-level space. Start this thing off classy. You’ll eventually make it down to the Mars Bar level. ● Little Branch (West Village) – Apparently, “little branch” is Native American slang for “get loaded, righteously, with elegant grace and speed.” Subterranean lounge known for stiff pours. Will definitely kick-start a couple of weeks to not remember. ● Superdive (East Village) – Bottle service is so 2008 — hook us up with a keg, brah! Adult supervision not an emphasis here, therefore good launching pad for the myriad enticements of the EV.
● Welcome to the Johnsons (Lower East Side) – Funkiest spot in town — at least in the smell department. Our fraternity basement was Bliss Soho compared to this joint. Décor looks like the rec room of a pedophile uncle, convenient when verticality or even bar stools are more than you can handle. Do not touch any surfaces. ● Automatic Slim’s (West Village) Once dazzling, now dingy black ‘n’ white floor says it all. Bender- starting kind of begs for bar-top dancing, does it not? ● Tortilla Flats (West Village) – Girls gone wild turning muy moronic. Ahh, the real Cancun right here in Manhattan, sans the tans and natives, though commensurate number of social diseases. Perfect when you’re about to indulge in an extended spate of anti-culture. ● Jeremy’s Alehouse (Financial District) – What’s more refreshing than a mega-sized Styrofoam cup of brew under a low acoustic-tile ceiling? Real New York scene of firemen and brokers, plus MTA crews enjoying after-work beers at 8am so you won’t have to drink through the morning alone. ● 123 Burger Shot Beer (Midtown West) – Spring break hits Hells Kitchen. Gimmicky, sure, but satisfyingly cheap. Two burgers, two beers, one shot, one tenner. Easy math for newly unemployed financial analysts. ● Holland Bar (Garment District) – Hard times? Good times. Holland Bar gets squeezed out by rent hike, only to have Port Authority-ass-end retail not look so hot after all. Original memorabilia is gone, so come bleed on a new era’s worth. ● Mars Bar (East Village) – Regulars are a bunch of grizzly drunks, and not the cute variety, who definitely don’t want you fucking with their jukebox, no matter how “authentic” you think their joint is. “Authentic” as in bloody condoms on the windowsill. Can only go up from here.