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Almost anywhere else in the city, the dumpy Judge Roy Bean would be a washout. But among the high-priced luxury boutiques of Fifth Avenue, its cramped, wood-paneled décor takes on an unlikely air of charm. The narrow space has room for just a handful of small tables, which means most of the crowd—a curious combination of post-work cubicle dwellers, sailor-mouthed middle-aged women, and lone wolves who all seem to know each other’s names—squeezes in around the bar. People come here to drink purposefully, and the absurdly friendly Irish bartender warmly encourages the mission. A decent selection of pub grub ensures that you'll still be able to get up for work the next morning. — Amy Blair