Profile

Like many versatile watering holes nearby, this manicured sports bar multitasks in order to attract a schizoid mix of Pace students, South Street Seaport tourists, and financial-district button-ups. Amid the phoned-in interior are some nice architectural details—stainless-steel sconces on the exposed brick, a pressed-tin ceiling, and a 40-foot mahogany bar—but nobody seems to notice, glued as all eyes are on the eleven flat-screen TVs. A spacious basement lounge filled with comfy black settees and chaise longues is ideal for corporate parties despite that shiny stripper pole at center. If you’re wondering what it’s doing there, take note: This is the unofficial Friday-night hangout of Howard Stern’s Wack Pack. Chivalry-seeking husband-hunters should trudge further south toward Wall Street for edamame, Kobe-beef sliders, and waffle fries. — Adam H. Graham