Mars Bar

Like Cuba—alone in a sea of imperialist powers, yet somehow managing to stay afloat and thrive in its own special way. More symbol than actual place to go for a drink. First, the regulars are a bunch of grizzly drunks, and not the cute variety, who definitely don't want you there fucking with their jukebox, no matter how "authentic" you think their joint is. “Authentic” as in bloody condoms on the windowsill. A lot of people claim they go there still (Moby, some rich artist kid we know, etc.), but really, they don't, and if they do, it's to co-opt Mars' cred before heading back to the comfort of their middle-class lives. That said, it's still awesome for the simple reason that it holds it down surrounded by the faking-the-funk Bowery Hotels and The Box's and whatever else is nefariously stealing the soul of the neighborhood these days.