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No matter how long you've lived in Fun City, you can't really claim residency until you've helped out a carful of Jersey kids demanding directions to "Mig-sahw-leez!" Like most Fodor's-approved destinations, this ancient taproom's modest appeal has been eclipsed by its resolutely un-hip reputation. Mugs of house-brand ale are served in pairs (like Twinkies)—one light, one dark (with your eyes closed, they taste identical). If you order anything off the spartan menu, make it the cheese and onion plate: The big slice of raw onion and hunks of sharp cheddar will arm-wrestle your senses to a draw, overpowering even the bouquet of more than a hundred years of spilt ale soaked into everything. — Bruce Bennett

The men's room urinals are spectacular porcelain sarcophagi big enough to contain a body. The ladies' room fixtures are decidedly less impressive, however, as women have only been admitted (by court order) since 1970.