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This venue is closed.

W. H. Auden once lived next door, and Trotsky across the street. Both knew a little something about the low life, and so does the clientele of this East Village landmark. Years of thick smoke have given the place a gray pallor, the booths are cracked but cozy, and the Rolling Stones dominate the jukebox. In other words, you've got all you need to nurse yourself through a bout of poverty and despair. Just don't ask for a whiskey sour; they don't do that here. Straight whiskey, on the other hand, flows like water and, at $4 a glass, doesn't cost much more.

The Holiday started out as a Prohibition-era speakeasy—and you might wonder if the well drinks are still made with bathtub gin.