The wooden booths, low lighting, even the ragtime band playing in the sawdust-strewn back lounge — all will be familiar to anyone who has drunk at one of late owner Sasha Petraske’s cocktail bars. But you come here for the robber-baron-era cocktails, and the hefty hand-cut ice. The Petraske old fashioned is austere and fiercely traditional, with a muddled sugar cube and Angostura bitters, and festooned with his classic “rabbit ears” lemon-and-orange-twist combo. It’s as dry and strong as any in the city. And for some reason, Dutch Kills has always served the best version of the family specifications. Tucked inside you’ll also find Hendu’s sandwich shop, making outsize heros you’d expect to find at a longshoreman’s saloon, not a genteel temple of pre-Prohibition mixology.