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Trash-blown Grand Street is an epic golf-cart ride away from the eighteen holes your grandfather plays, but Bushwick Country Club actually does have a putt-putt course to its credit. (In true hipster fashion, the inevitable windmill is constructed from—what else?—PBR cans.) The rest of this ambitious, off-kilter dive is all pinup art and red-velour airplane seats. A slushie machine marries childhood nostalgia to adult alcoholism with Jim Beam-and-Coke slurpees and frozen sweet tea vodka that in turn have led to more than one regretted 3am make-out in the photo booth. Beyond the gimmickry (or perhaps the greatest gimmick of all), this is an actual country club. Applicants need two willing sponsors; the dues-free membership promises drink discounts and access to the aforementioned links. Non-members also welcome. — Annsley Chapman

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