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A few paces inside the somewhat forbidding, neo-Gothic Night Hotel is an intimate lounge that lures rockers with cryogenically frozen hair. Even the menus are bound in leather and studded to match your Dolce & Gabbana pants. Though there’s plenty of comfort in the high-back black banquettes lining the small, dimly lit room and on the cushiony white-leather chairs pulled up to metal tables, the best place to chill—especially for those who smoke like Keith Richards—is the back terrace, an open-air cubicle of mirrored walls just big enough to accommodate you and your entourage. — Daniel Maurer