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You come for a simple drink. You leave with a head full of esoteric liquor factoids, like that the house mezcal is washed with chorizo. That’s the greatness of the Rye House’s liquor-nerd bartenders, who are comfortable recommending a lactose-fortified milk stout one second and discussing sea-salt tinged, cask-aged rum the next. The tavern, run by the same people behind the Sala tapas joints, has a young, affluent customer base that recognizes the resource at hand and line up at the granite bar for boozy back-and-forth. Blob lamps emanate dim light like fireflies trapped in amber—you can hardly recognize the fellow in front of you—so prepare to guide yourself by sense of touch to the back room for a communal-table dinner that, despite Internet rumors, is not inspired by the cuisine of Pittsburgh. (Imagine a grizzled steel worker chasing beluga lentils around a plate with his fork!) Instead, there are kicked-up versions of pulled pork, grilled cheese, and striped bass tacos, as well as one great Pittsburgh sandwich that’s stuffed with andouille, slaw, and French fries. — John Metcalfe