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Aside from the crown that was forged from a sheet of iron then pegged onto the heavy door, there's nothing regal about this whisky bar, although the sturdy stools and the thick wood tables do lend the former welding studio, now painted black, a bit of the feel of a medieval tavern. Like the bar, the furniture was built by the owner himself: His DIY aesthetic is also seen in the T-shirts and haircuts of the patrons, who tend to cluster in the brick-lined smoking alley out back rather than navigate the tight quarters where subtly ironic MFA art hangs asymmetrically on the walls. As the iPod behind the bar blasts the latest anthem of alienation and the bourbon flows generously, an unspoken agreement looms: Better to be out here, where the buildings may be ugly but the people are young and beautiful, than in any of those celebrated Manhasbeen nightlife strips. — Keach Hagey