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Infamous Tammany Hall bigwig William Marcy “Boss” Tweed was quite the tawdry reveler back in his day, so it's sad to see his legacy imprinted on this pub where the lighting is a bit too bright and the entire Metallica oeuvre is on constant rotation. Sure, the Boss's top hat hangs behind the bar, and some photos of olde New York hang on the walls along with the occasional Bud promo posters, but this saloon is too fresh and shiny for its own good. The crowd, when it arrives, consists of rowdy birthday groups doing Jäger shots and straight-from-work young’ins taking advantage of the generous happy hours. They come to escape the surrounding LES scene: where else in the neighborhood can they play pool, throw darts, and smoke in a fenced-in back patio in relative privacy? Still, the ghost of Boss Tweed is turning over on his bar stool. — Deborah Goldberg