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In 1848, lore has it a number of Irish men were caught stealing Great Britain's only healthy black sheep. Queen Victoria ordered the men punished for treason, but following one man's wise promise to "never get caught again," the men were released, and one of them moved to the U.S. and opened a bar called Black Sheep. Now, content young urbanites who know nothing of animal slaughter outside of PETA ads trek from all over Manhattan, Long Island and Jersey to this bi-level bar for after-work drinks or some robust bar food as part of their Saturday night pub crawl. The bar's brass-and-copper ceilings lend a cozy feel which continues upstairs with exposed brick and a nonfunctioning fireplace lit up by a cozy simu-fire. While calm predominates for most dinner and happy hours, the bar gets packed with a livelier, badder dancing crowd. — Lee Cabot Walker