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Once an homage to the William S. Burroughs novel of the same name, Naked Lunch has slowly lost its literary flare: The hardback books that once lay littered about have been shelved in a back room (or stolen). Only the antique electric fans bolted to the wall behind the bar remain. But don't mistake this SoHo hotspot for a dive: Rubbernecking twentysomethings, wearing shoes that scream "this season," sip on cucumber mojitos and congregate in the spacious room—furniture is limited to a few low-to-the-ground sofas near the front—all the while trying to make eye contact with sexy hootch swillers through the candlelit ambience. During the warm months, front panels that open up to the street make the scene even cooler, and when a D.J. spins decibel-busting R&B classics, hip hop, and '80s hits, the stylish set has been known to bust an illegal dance move or two. — David Farley

During the summer, there is free barbeque on Thursday evenings.