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It may seem absurd to come to Coney Island and drink outdoors and nosh on burgers and hot dogs off the grill away from the boardwalk, but this booze emporium at the base of Keyspan Park isn’t about people-watching or the sound of the ocean. It’s about parking at one of many umbrella-shaded sidewalk tables with ten of your buddies then pounding twenty-ounce bottles of Coney Island Lager or a plastic cup of domestic swill. As one quote on the wall succinctly states: “To some, it’s a six pack, to me it’s a support group.” Inside, near an octagonal bar, an arcade bowling game nods to the attractions down the road, but when the front man of a U2 cover band playing on the flatbed truck parked outside raises a fist in the air and bellows, “God bless America!” you feel like you’re suddenly in Hoboken. Which, for Coney Island, is rather freakish. — Daniel Maurer