Opened on Saint Patrick's Day in 1978 by a local fireman, this Murray Hill bar has always been a corner clubhouse for city fireman, wallpapered with proud paraphernalia from badges of honor to uniform suspenders, slapped collage-style over the walls and ceiling. (Its commemorative stance took another meaning after September 11, with a glass-encased corner dedicated to lost locals.) The scene is convivial and brotherly, the only women around the wooden, island bar, quietly accompanying dates as its family of regulars—old friends from the academy—wash down homemade apple pie with two-dollar drafts. Sports of all walks sound from every wood-paneled wall, while a digital jukebox warms up the night’s soundtrack of classic rock and overtold stories—own your barstool for long enough, and you might catch a spin on the time Eddie Money’s limo broke down in front of the bar one fateful eighties night. Tale has it, he walked in for a drink while mechanics tended to the engine, and when his ride was ready, he chose to drink the night away at Bravest.
Picnics with a view, roller-skating nostalgia, and a party for gay headbangers.