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“Some people say it looks like New Orleans, some say it looks like a bordello. I say it looks like my grandmother’s apartment,” says the Dove’s co-owner Jen Armstrong. In lieu of unseemly follow-up questions about granny’s profession, let it just be said that the broad’s got taste. Located a few steps below the street, the façade of white window panes gives way to a candle-lit room with red velvet wallpaper, a Victorian ceiling mold, and a fireplace full of candles. An impressive drink menu boasts classics like sidecars and champagne cocktails, plus tasty originals like the dastardly Rum Tea (white rum, honey, fresh citrus juices). The libations are served on dainty doilies in lieu of paper napkins to a smart, but unpretentious crowd of young, artsy locals who appreciate the wide array of wines by the glass. In a neighborhood fraught with frat caps and tourist traps, the Dove is an excellent find. Like the House of the Rising Sun, it could be the ruin of many a girl or boy. — Andrew Paine Bradbury

Some tattoo artists from MacDougal St. were among the bars first regulars. Their drink of choice was a cross between an old fashioned and a Manhattan. It consisted of bourbon, bitters, lime juice and a splash of ginger ale, and was affectionately called “The Shit Weasel.”

Trademark Drink
The Honey Dove (Cognac, honey, organic vanilla soy milk), $9

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