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There are 8 million stories in the Big Apple, and many of the good ones have involved depraved nights at this Bulgarian bar. That is, before the Ramada Inn bought its Canal Street perch. Though bras still hang from the ceiling at the new space and the four-tops are still rough-hewn, the LES incarnation shows shades of Disneyland, like the log-cabin walls upstairs where the gypsy bands serenade from the balcony. Those hunting for the old depravity need only ask the bar minx for a ladling of alcoholic apple cider or a bottle of Astika, a Bulgarian pilsner, and then tramp downstairs, where the familiar sign “Get Naked, Get A Free Shot” encourages the sweaty swarm of fashion brats and ex-pats to get every bit as raw as their brick- and stone-walled surroundings. The very bold can venture into the ice cage, where partygoers pay $20 to don Soviet military uniforms and chug vodka from ice shot glasses for two minutes. Even with a few roomy tables in the back, not a Slavic soul in site sits once the D.J.s start spinning their worldly mixes—everything from Balkan to Bhangra, cumbia to Chalga.
— Daniel Maurer

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