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This venue is closed.

Yogi's wears its (somewhat contrived) trashiness loud 'n proud. The toilets are encased in wood, like old outhouses. Décor consists of Elvis-on-velvet paintings and an American flag hung, perhaps appropriately, beneath a neon sign. The jukebox seems perpetually stuck on Johnny Cash, but the crowd—mostly bandanna-wearers, drunks, a few hipsters and a rare yuppie—ain't complainin', especially that solo fellow downing beer by the pitcher. In addition to Pabst Blue Ribbons and a standard American tap, Yogi's offers bowls of peanuts and a whole lot of Wild Turkey. — Shana Liebman

The collection of bras (and a few skivvies) hung behind the bar weren't exactly sober donations. When the going gets wild, customers have been known to dance on the bar and then weave home sans culottes.