With its cloudy glass-brick bar and lurid, on-again-off-again red neon sign, Montero’s looks pretty damn grim. But dare to open the door and you’ll find yourself in a surprisingly inviting, steeped-in-history dive. Nautical paraphernalia — model ships, lifesavers, flags, newspaper clippings — cover the walls, memorializing the sailors who drank here during Brooklyn’s On the Waterfront era. It’s the perfect port of call for those days when you just want to keep it real with a bottle of Bud, a game of pool, and a genuine conversation with strangers. Or let loose with some low-key karaoke in the back. Manhattan lies within stone-skipping distance, but there’s not a thing here to remind you it even exists.