BlackBook

Irene's Pub is the most low-key of neighborhood bars. Even for Greenpoint's Manhattan Avenue, an area that tends to approach desolation just past midnight, Irene's takes the cake in its void of any raucous behavior or annoying crowds. Last Thursday, the only people in the place were a quiet Italian man drinking a glass of red wine at one end of the bar and two old guys arguing in Polish at the other. At some point one of the pair decided to spice things up by throwing some Polish techno on the jukebox. The Italian left. This instance aside, no matter when you go, you will likely be the youngest by a couple of decades and speak more English than anyone in the joint. Though this could sound boring to some, it's perfect for few, a quiet place to sit, drink, and let the time pass.

"The Basedgod is who I want to be," said Lil B—né Brandon McCartney—ooking out the backseat window of a cramped Jeep flying down Chrystie Street late last Thursday. "The Based God is the perfect one, while Lil B is like, the artist and the rapper, the truth in being yourself" He paused, quietly fingering a nug of weed given to him by a fan just before we left the New Museum after his performance, "you know what I mean?" 

Green lights pour out onto the sidewalk and the rotating group of characters constantly smoking outside. The large front windows are completely filled with tiki paraphernalia. After a strict IDing by a leathered guy with very long chin hair, you descend into Otto's Shrunken Head: a beautiful burn-out paradise slipped into a narrow piece of 14th near Avenue C. Hold your breath and sink in. 

Located on 5th Street between Avenues A and B, Sophie's is perhaps the best location on a particularly good block for mellow dives: quiet and calm with an arty twist. The space feels open without being empty, large glass panes constitute its facade, and the music is always nice. It's a great bar for a still, snowy evening.

Doc Holliday's is honky-tonk in every sense of the term. Country music blares from the jukebox, a tin Budweiser ad cut into the shape of Texas hangs from the ceiling , the whiskey is cheap, and there's most likely a guy with chops and a cowboy hat eyeing you from the end of the bar. What makes this great is that you're sitting across from Tompkins Square Park watching the crusties stumble by and that guy at the end of the bar has a Brooklyn accent. Viva New York.

The most recent installment of The Franklin Park Reading Series, a fantastic monthly event bringing important writers out for intimate readings at the Prospect Park-area Franklin Park Bar and Beer Garden was packed, and for good reason. The headliners this week were Gary Lutz and Sam Lipsyte reading from Divorcer and the short story "The Climber Room," respectively. The full and sizable room was packed with an enthusiastic audience excited to be in the presence of such great minds. We sat down with both Lutz and Lipsyte after their readings.

International Bar is teetering on the brink of being a dive bar. While the prices, hours, and overwhelmingly urine-soaked bathrooms say dive, the decor and crowd just say bar. Located off St. Marks at 120 1/2 First Ave, it offers locals a great place to get drunk for next-to-nothing while also catering to the weekend warriors of the financial district/midtown crowd who come to the neighborhood in pinstriped hoards thinking they're getting gritty. So, it's a toss-up.

Walking into Duff's is a little like stumbling into a really awesome version of Hell. After making your way through the smoked-out, long-haired patio, down the few stairs, and past the thick black door, thumping double bass hammers your skull and the sheer amount of lights is staggering. You'll need a minute to take it all in.

Double Down is quite possibly my favorite bar in New York. There's nothing I don't love about it, especially on an off-night. They play awesome music, have great prices, and there's lot of space to bop around in.

The Pit Stop Bar, which has stood on the corner of Messerole Ave. and McGuinness Blvd. since 1933, is quintessentially American. There's country music on the jukebox, sports on the TVs, and a greying clientele with their names embroidered on their uniforms. It's a familiar scene in nearly every small town across the country, but you're not in some local bar in a tiny midwest town--you're in Brooklyn.