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Since opening in 2005 this late-night destination has, as its name implies, flown relatively under the radar. A doorman guards an industrial entryway leading to a single room with Rorschachesque flock wallpaper and nouveau Victorian décor. In the center of the shellacked floor, two circular banquettes of bolted red velvet are warmly illuminated by a glinting chandelier, while votive candles flicker on the low tables pulled up to the black pleather banquettes on either side. A small freestanding square bar in the back doles out Pink energy vodka and caipirinhas splashed with Red Bull to keep the easygoing regulars grooving to the D.J.’s loungy European house. — Daniel Maurer