The latest addition to the long list of bars lining Metropolitan Avenue, the Commodore presents itself like it’s been in the game for a long time. With its dim, bare-bulb lighting and Schlitz-labeled neon panoramas of stormy seascapes, the décor makes you feel like you’ve just stepped into your great uncle from Michigan’s basement rec room circa 1981. The walls look made of cheap wooden paneling, with a requisite flotilla of plastic swordfish. There’s a vintage arcade game in the corner, and padded booths that hearken back to the Mean Streets days of Manhattan bars and diners. All in all, it feels cheerful and relaxing with lots of the beautiful kids.
Picnics with a view, roller-skating nostalgia, and a party for gay headbangers.