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The bartenders don’t sell joints to their patrons like they did to Samantha on Sex and the City, but the real Down the Hatch is still just as raucous and almost as grungy as its television portrayal. A legend for its dirt-cheap drink specials, this subterranean dive is a bastion for the young and the shamelessly reckless. Crammed into a small, dank basement, NYUers and wistful post-collegians feel right at home amongst the bar’s Urban Outfitters-inspired décor (year-round Christmas lights particularly evoke that “getting trashed in the dorm room” appeal). Classic rock and nineties grunge blares overhead as binge-drinkers pound cheap drafts and shots—or whatever consistent and effectual happy hour is on call. While having a major should be requisite during the “after school special” and on weekends, when young heteros besiege the bar to get their drink, flirt, and Foosball on, the occasional group of Village denizens come by on weekdays to watch Monday night football and grab a batch of the Hatch’s signature Atomic wings (only the brave will hazard "nuclear"-level hot ones). Word of caution: You haven’t had enough "fun" down the hatch unless you bust ass on the staircase coming back up.

Sat-Sun, noon-6pm; all-you-can-eat wings, onion rings and fries and 3 pitchers of domestic beer, $21/person