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The Paraguayan empanadas roasting in the window solicit a well-deserved second glance at this pint-sized bar, hidden along the crowded Rivington bar strip. The cramped quarters are crippling, but Label’s Robert Smith décor, international-D.J. music, and the passable empanadas passed out in baskets at least give it the feel of a goth railroad-apartment party. Dried roses and leather-bound books litter bookshelves, black velvet curtains hang, and pink lights barely illuminate freestanding black leather ottomans. The liquor, which isn’t far above well quality, takes itself far less seriously. When the space is filled, patrons must buzz to be let in, as if someone inside were expecting them. — Annsley Chapman