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Why go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras when the Big Easy offers up the same experience on a nightly basis? That is, if your idea of that experience is getting wasted with total strangers and joining in on general debauchery. The bar is decorated with haphazardly strung beads, random purple, gold and green paraphernalia, and the requisite Bourbon Street sign that juts out of a dingy wall. The regulars don’t seem to mind the half-assed attempt at theme décor, or the sour smell of the place, since the bartenders can remember whether they drink Jager on tap or Coors Light from a plastic cup. Or maybe they don’t care because—in true Mardi Gras fashion—the girls become exhibitionists here and dance on the bar for their ogling admirers. Or, possibly, it’s because drinking really cheap pitchers and watching the game on 10 TV’s, or playing beer pong under the warm glow of a neon Bud sign makes a person less discriminating about his surroundings. — Amy Allison

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