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The Big Easy meets the Big Apple at this New Orleans-style roadhouse, where alligator heads double as lampshades and the brick walls are hung with hundreds of bras coaxed off the twentysomething women. Anything that holds still long enough—those gator snouts, you after one too many Redheaded Sluts (a sorority-basement combo of peach schnapps, Jäger, and cranberry juice)—will end up looped with carnival beads. During football season, the Saints go marching in on 14 televisions and two projection screens, toasted with a selection of 12 brews on tap and the same number in bottles—the Crescent City brewed Abita among them. Special events draw a decent crowd, but, true to its namesake, Bourbon St.'s big draw is Mardi Gras—the Bacchanal that kicks off Lent as well as the weekly Thursday through Saturday night facsimiles that encourage a whole lot of shaking and bartop dancing. — Michael Anstendig