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It might draw its name from a flashy bank robber, but Dillingers plays it safe: Everything—from the standard pub-grub menu to the warm, wood-paneled interior, covered with quaint signs and artifacts—is matter-of-factly predictable. (The biggest surprise in on the menu is the "Irish Nachos." Hint: The secret ingredient rhymes with "motato.") But there's something to be said for ordinariness, and the Astoria population says it nightly: Here young couples, hairy Harley riders, and broad-shouldered sports fans embrace the ordinariness, greeting each other with across-the-room salutations. Sometimes teenagers hover on the sidewalk to watch the ball game on the inside plasma TVs through the windows. Or maybe they're waiting to make a sneak move to the backyard patio, which harbors "Thirsty Dillinger" table tappers, capable of dispensing 117 ounces of beer from their clear plastic tubes. — John Metcalfe