A monumental carved wood bar transplanted from Germany in the 1870s (and rarely dusted since then) imparts a sepulchral allure to this high-ceilinged drinking relic. Yet the Brooklyn Inn also surprises with its enlivening, truly eclectic jukebox: Cream please meet Art Tatum. A pool table in the back room provides relief from elbow-jostling 20-somethings and hoary regulars nursing pints, but you’ll need to be patient. Games tend to be heavy on the banter and light on the climatic 8-ball shots. As to the well-leafed pile of take-out menus augmenting the twelve taps of high-end brews, unless you’ve snagged a place at the bar or one of the window seats, be sure to order something you can eat standing up.
Picnics with a view, roller-skating nostalgia, and a party for gay headbangers.