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" Search by State:Alabama \u2022 Alaska \u2022 Antarctica*  \u2022 Arizona \u2022 Arkansas \u2022 California \u2022 Colorado \u2022 Connecticut \u2022 Delaware \u2022 Florida \u2022 Georgia \u2022 Hawaii \u2022 Idaho \u2022 Illinois \u2022 Indiana \u2022 Iowa \u2022 Kansas \u2022 Kentucky \u2022 Louisiana \u2022 Maine \u2022 Maryland \u2022 Massachusetts \u2022 Michigan \u2022 Minnesota \u2022 Mississippi \u2022 Missouri \u2022 Montana \u2022 Nebraska \u2022 Nevada \u2022 New Hampshire \u2022 New Jersey \u2022 New Mexico \u2022 New York \u2022 North Carolina \u2022 North Dakota \u2022 Ohio \u2022 Oklahoma \u2022 Oregon \u2022 Pennsylvania \u2022 Puerto Rico \u2022 Rhode Island \u2022 South Carolina \u2022 South Dakota \u2022 Tennessee \u2022 Texas \u2022 U.S. Virgin Islands \u2022 Utah \u2022 Vermont \u2022 Virginia \u2022 Washington \u2022 Washington, DC \u2022 West Virginia \u2022 Wisconsin \u2022 Wyoming *OK, so technically, Antarctica isn&amp;#039;t part of America. \u203A\u203AAlabama Lou&amp;#039;s Pub &amp;amp;amp; PackageBirminghamYou&amp;#039;re having: Something very coldWhen you put a bar inside a liquor store, it&amp;#039;s like you&amp;#039;re inviting customers to leave by reminding them they can just as easily buy a bottle of Jack and drink at home. And the thing is, the first time you walk through that door and Lou barks at you to hurry up and order, the only thing you think about is leaving. But it&amp;#039;ll start to make sense when the after-work crowd descends on the concrete patio tables outside. And then Frankie strolls out there and hands everyone custom-made Lou&amp;#039;s Pub &amp;amp;amp; Package ass cushions. Three hours later, when Lou is busting your balls and you&amp;#039;re laughing your quite comfortable ass off, you&amp;#039;ll start to wonder if you might be sitting in the middle of the least-profitable liquor store on the planet. (726 Twenty-ninth Street S; 205-322-7005) --Neely Harris Return to top. \u203A\u203AAlaska The Pitch &amp;amp;amp; Roll on the ferry vessel TustumenaHomer to Un Alaska, The Gulf of Alaska, and the Bearing Sea, AlaskaYou&amp;#039;re having: An Alaskan AmberThe round-trip takes seven days on the Tustumena, the working ferry that carries people and cargo to and from villages along the peninsula and the Aleutian Islands. While the scenery is spectacular, the weather is usually less so. Which is why you hit the Pitch &amp;amp;amp; Roll, a well-appointed wedge of a room overseen by a guy wearing naval epaulets. Juneau-brewed Alaskan Amber is a bargain, so it won&amp;#039;t cost you much to buy a few rounds for your new friends: local fishermen and fanatical Scandinavian bird-watchers. (Departure points: Kodiak, Port Lions, Homer, and Seldovia; 907-465-3941) --Charles Homans Return to top. \u203A\u203AAntarctica The Bar at Vernadsky Research StationGalindez Island, Argentine Islands (Coordinates: 65\u00BA 15&amp;#039; S and 64\u00BA 16&amp;#039; W)You&amp;#039;re having: A three-dollar shot of surprisingly smooth house-made vodkaA couple dozen years ago, carpenters working at England&amp;#039;s Faraday atmospheric research station on Galindez Island in Antarctica received a shipment of wood. The station had been around since the 1950s, had done good scientific work, had been the first place in the world where men noticed the widening hole in the earth&amp;#039;s ozone layer. But the station was getting rough around the edges. It needed work. The carpenters were supposed to fashion the fresh wood into a new pier to replace the rickety old one. They didn&amp;#039;t. Instead, in a move that got them temporarily reprimanded but eternally toasted, they used it to build the Antarctic Peninsula&amp;#039;s only bar. In aesthetics and atmosphere, the bar initially strove to duplicate a typical English tavern, but due to a real estate transaction that took place about a decade ago, it eventually became a rarer beast. As the station&amp;#039;s now mostly Cyrillic Web site explains: &amp;quot;In 1996 the British base Faraday has been transferred to Ukraine and renamed to Vernadsky.... Twelve peoples are wintering in the First Ukrainian Antarctic Expedition.&amp;quot;  Which means that today the bar is a palimpsest: a Ukrainian joint scrawled on top of a British pub. And since Antarctica is a stateless continent, belonging to no country at all, you have as much right to claim one of its high-backed stools as anyone. You drink homemade vodka under wilted photos of English explorers. You tap your feet to Russian pop while leafing through old football mags. You look outside. You laugh at the penguins there. You avoid the imported Ukrainian wine. You&amp;#039;re visiting in the summertime, but wish you could be here in the winter, if only for one dark day, when things are at their coldest and most miserable, and this odd, golden retreat must be just about the coziest and strangest spot on the planet.--Luke Dittrich Return to top. \u203A\u203AArizona The Bars at the Hotel CongressTucsonYou&amp;#039;re having: A Corona I believe that fundamentalists have the hottest sex, that peace is sweetest in a war zone, and that the greatest bars in the universe are found in the American Southwest. Only in a land dominated by Republicans and Cormac McCarthy can a bar achieve true bar godhead. This is why oddballs and rebels and holy drunks from all over the Southwest flock to the Hotel Congress, where little has changed since John Dillinger used it as his hideout. It has thick walls, ceiling fans, antique iron beds, and four bars, one for every ten rooms, ranging from the very civilized Cup Cafe (where the regulars include a seventy-five-year-old five-foot Irish woman named Bev) to the legendary Club Congress (where the headliners range from James McMurtry to Paolo Nutini). Special events have included &amp;quot;Psychobilly Sunday&amp;quot; and the annual Sex Workers&amp;#039; Art Show and certain random guerrilla campaigns to keep the West wild. Come on Friday and rent a room ($65) so you don&amp;#039;t have to drive home. But don&amp;#039;t plan on getting any sleep until the bars close and the music stops. (311 East Congress Street; 800-722-8848) --John H. Richardson Return to top. \u203A\u203AArkansas Midtown BilliardsLittle RockYou&amp;#039;re having: A PBR tallboy and a cheeseburger, lateDuring the day, this bar is dank, with the aftershock of the night before hanging in the air and old men playing dominoes in the back. Fast-forward to midnight, and it starts all over again: the after-hours frenzy that&amp;#039;s made this bar&amp;#039;s name an epithet among wives whose husbands stumble home at 4:00 a.m. &amp;quot;smelling like Midtown.&amp;quot; People arrive here drunk and leave wicked. But it helps that they have those hamburgers cooked behind the bar, coated so thickly with spices and so indulgent at 3:00 a.m. that you&amp;#039;ll see eyes rolling back in ecstasy with each bite. (1316 South Main Street; 501-372-9990) --Paul Reyes Return to top. \u203A\u203ACalifornia J LoungeLos AngelesFor a city with such predictably good weather, L.A. has surprisingly few patio bars. J Lounge has ten thousand square feet of cabanas and sweeping views of the downtown skyline. (1119 South Olive Street; 213-746-7746) --Matthew Belloni  Golden GopherLos AngelesThe stylishly dim Golden Gopher has a liquor license so old, it permits takeout sales -- meaning you can stop in for a martini at the bar and pick up a six-pack at the liquor stand on your way out. (417 West Eighth Street; 213-614-8001)  --Matthew Belloni  The EdisonLos AngelesA lounge with seventy-foot ceilings, the Edison is dug into the bowels of an old power plant. A boiler dominates the main room. (108 West Second Street; 213-613-0000) --Matthew Belloni  The Broadway BarLos AngelesThe Broadway Bar has a Liberace-esque circular bar and a staircase that leads to a balcony overlooking dozens of shuttered theaters. (830 South Broadway; 213-614-9909) --Matthew Belloni  La CitaLos AngelesThe glowing red decor inside the hundred-year-old building housing La Cita feels lifted from a Robert Rodriguez movie (or the other way around). Saturdays and Sundays feature the ranchero music that&amp;#039;s been played for decades here on a small stage surrounded by vinyl booths. On Thursdays, the hipsters take over. (336 South Hill Street; 213-687-7111) --Matthew Belloni  BordelloLos AngelesA former cop-and-troublemaker bar has recently been redone as Bordello in honor of the upstairs brothel that burned away more than eighty years ago. Weekend burlesque shows. (901 East First Street; 213-687-3766) --Matthew Belloni  RedwoodLos AngelesThe divey Redwood still maintains a direct phone line to the Los Angeles Times city desk across the street, but a nautical-themed makeover and new sound system for the backroom dance floor makes for an eclectic crowd. (316 West Second Street; 213-680-2600)  --Matthew Belloni  Bar 107Los AngelesThe Latino trannies at Bar 107 have been replaced by a postcollege crowd, but the deer heads, Schlitz memorabilia, and five-dollar PBR-tallboy special remain. (107 West Fourth Street; 213-625-7382) --Matthew Belloni  Brennan&amp;#039;s PubMarina Del Ray, CaliforniaYou&amp;#039;re having: Whatever the announcer&amp;#039;s havingYou bring your own or you rent. Every Thursday, two rounds, seven heats of increasingly large turtles per round. You place your turtle on the track and take your seat with the crowd assembled in the bleachers of the outdoor coliseum. No wagering. The turtles freeze at the sight of an outstretched finger, so you are fined ten dollars if you point at the turtles. Your race begins. You point at the turtles anyway. (4089 Lincoln Boulevard; 310-821-6622) --Matthew Belloni  Bourbon &amp;amp;amp; BranchSan FranciscoYou&amp;#039;re having: One of their perfectly balanced, dry daiquirisWine is for old people. The classic cocktail is the current generation&amp;#039;s drug of choice, manhattans its heroin, martinis its cocaine, aviations its methaqualone. Nowhere is that more apparent than at Bourbon &amp;amp;amp; Branch, where after a bit of silly but effective rigmarole with reservations and passwords, you find yourself in a speakeasy full of young but knowledgeable drinkers absorbing cocktails that would have made a pre-Prohibition Broadway dandy nod in approval. (Reservations are available at bourbonandbranch.com) --David Wondrich The SportsmanSonora, CaliforniaYou&amp;#039;re having: A beer. And a shot.Push open the wooden doors of the Sportsman, a dusty gem in California&amp;#039;s Gold Country, and you&amp;#039;re instantly presented with a choice. On the left, cold draft beer in a frozen mug. On the right, an impressive selection of guns and ammo for sale. The room is so narrow, you can almost reach both from a seat at the bar. (90 South Washington Street; 209-532-1716) --Matthew Belloni Return to top. \u203A\u203AColorado The Minturn SaloonMinturn, ColoradoYou&amp;#039;re having: A margaritaA quirky riverside joint, the Saloon has been around since Aspen&amp;#039;s 1970s stretch-pants-and-psychedelics era, though the building housing it dates back to 1901. It typifies crusty, disheveled Minturn, an old mining and railroad town between the manufactured ski villages of Vail and Beaver Creek: huge stone fireplace and lots of eight-by-tens. And age. (146 North Main Street; 970-827-5954) --Rob Story Return to top. \u203A\u203AConnecticut The Tap Room at the Griswold InnEssex, ConnecticutYou&amp;#039;re having: A Ten Penny aleFor 206 summers running, sailors have packed the Griswold&amp;#039;s Tap Room from early May until the last sunny day in October. Have a cold pint and the chowder. (36 Main Street; 860-767-1776)  Return to top. \u203A\u203ADelaware Dead Presidents Pub &amp;amp;amp; EateryWilmington, DelawareYou&amp;#039;re having: Chicken Nixon and a YuenglingIf you&amp;#039;re visiting Wilmington (and who wouldn&amp;#039;t be?), the bartenders at this laid-back Irish pub in Little Italy are going to know it, because they&amp;#039;ll have no idea what to pour you. But if you ever come back, your drink&amp;#039;ll be at the bar before you are. (618 North Union Street; 302-652-7737)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AFlorida Jimbo&amp;#039;sMiamiYou&amp;#039;re having: An icy Presidente with the smoked fish and TabascoRead the brochures and you&amp;#039;d think Miami has a mineral purity to it: gold beaches, platinum towers, quartz hotels, turquoise seas. Bull. The earthy funk of mildew and swamp, the acetylene heat of the subtropical sun, the rifle cracks of thunderstorms and the thundercracks of rifles: That&amp;#039;s Miami. Mineral? Nah: animal. There are iguanas in the trees. Alligators in the swimming pools. It&amp;#039;s not a city; it&amp;#039;s a hallucination. But the hallucination has faded. Maybe it&amp;#039;s a surplus of seriousness, maybe a lack of imagination, but these days only a chemical boost can bring the Technicolor dreamworld flooding back. Thank God, then, for Jimbo&amp;#039;s. Tucked among mangrove trees beside a lagoon on an island in the middle of Biscayne Bay, it&amp;#039;s not just in Miami but of it. Shrimp boats pull in at the dock. Herons poke around the garbage bins. Locals set up grills out front. And in the shack that is the bar itself, cans of beer chill in barrels while the day&amp;#039;s catch cures to bronzed perfection in the smoker. Sure, you&amp;#039;ll eat that fish with your fingers. But Jimbo&amp;#039;s is quiet and friendly, and it fits the land so right, it&amp;#039;s easy to forget that the platinum city exists at all. Sip your beer and listen. That&amp;#039;s not the wind in the trees; it&amp;#039;s the iguanas. (Duck Lake Road, Virginia Key; 305-361-7026) --Tim Heffernan Return to top. \u203A\u203AGeorgia The Clermont LoungeAtlantaYou&amp;#039;re having: A PBR and second thoughtsYou take a few steps down when entering the Clermont, both literally and figuratively. In the basement of the seedy Clermont Motor Hotel, this strip joint celebrates squalor, from tattered velvet wallpaper to dancers whose wiggles have unfortunately migrated. Come for the girl who crushes beer cans in her cleavage, stay for anything else. (789 Ponce De Leon Avenue NE; 404-874-4783) --Jon Waterhouse  Return to top. \u203A\u203AHawaii Lewers Lounge at the Halekulani Hotel HonoluluYou&amp;#039;re having: A mai tai, of courseFrom back when Hawaii drew only the better class of tourists. Jazz, wood, excellent drinks. Clark Gable woulda loved it. In fact, he did. (2199 Kalia Road; 808-923-2311)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AIdaho Pengilly&amp;#039;s SaloonBoise, IdahoYou&amp;#039;re having: A kamikazeThe one true classic in downtown Boise, where fifty bars are packed within four blocks. Only the right bottles reside behind a stunner of a 110-year-old Brunswick bar. (513 West Main Street; 208-345-6344)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AIllinois The California ClipperChicagoYou&amp;#039;re having: A manhattanThe drinks are stiff, and you can play bingo for inflatable rabbits. There&amp;#039;s linoleum, Formica, and Naugahyde, and the dim red-toned room somehow manages to make everybody look good. Friendly bartenders know their way around a Rob Roy. The place even has the obligatory ghost. Not that anybody&amp;#039;s ever seen her. (1002 North California Avenue; 773-384-2547) --Jeff Ruby  Return to top. \u203A\u203AIndiana The Red KeyIndianapolisYou&amp;#039;re having: A highballYou need to have rules when you drink. Like, take your hat off when you enter the bar. Don&amp;#039;t put your feet up on the chair across from you. Don&amp;#039;t shout, not while everyone is watching General Hospital in the failing light of a Tuesday afternoon. A bar is no more a private escape than it is an assembly of like-minded souls. A community. That&amp;#039;s why I like the Red Key in Indianapolis, when eighty-nine-year-old Russel Settle, owner/operator/primary bartender, is working. Russ will just as soon ban you from ever coming in as he will thank you for darkening his door. Why shouldn&amp;#039;t he? Having a drink is a choice. Serving them is, too. But drinkers like the old boot-to-the-throat routine: There is always a crowd, small, respectful, a little stimulated by the whip-cracking from the crabby old bartender.  You have to like a little discipline in the mealy heart of a dive like this, where the ancient murals are lacquered with cigarette smoke and grime, and the linoleum is so worn, there are pathways to the only three significant stops in any bar: the men&amp;#039;s room, the jukebox, and the exit. And friend, stay on the path, or Russ will give you the boot before that highball ever meets your sorry lips. (5170 North College Avenue; 317-283-4601) --Tom Chiarella Return to top. \u203A\u203AIowa The Royal Mile and the Red MonkDes Moines You&amp;#039;re having: A shot of Zwack Unicum, the national aperitif of Hungary, with a beer back The Royal Mile is a holy house of alcohol, offering forty single-malt Scotches and two hundred bottled beers. But it&amp;#039;s upstairs, behind the heavy wooden doors of the Monk, where casual drinkers in Des Moines are converted. In the company of gargoyles, stained glass, and bottles of the tar-black, syrupy Hungarian liquor, Unicum, the city&amp;#039;s adventurous drinkers are baptized. (210 Fourth Street; 515-280-3771) --Erin Randolph  Return to top. \u203A\u203AKansas Replay LoungeLawrence, KansasYou&amp;#039;re having: A Boulevard WheatCheap drinks, bands like Spoon and Langhorne Slim, and a rotating collection of pinball machines. (946 Massachusetts Street; 785-749-7676)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AKentucky The Old Seelbach BarLouisvilleYou&amp;#039;re having: A snifter of Pappy van Winkle bourbonEven though it&amp;#039;s been absorbed by the Hilton chain, the 1905 Seelbach Hotel remains the finest hotel in Louisville. And with live jazz and more than forty bourbons, the bar is its inner sanctum. (500 Fourth Street; 502-585-3200)  Return to top. \u203A\u203ALouisiana The Chart RoomNew OrleansYou&amp;#039;re having: $1.50 draftsIf the Chart Room were in Piscataway or Petaluma, it would be merely a solid local bar: lots of regulars, kindness to strangers, cheap drinks, quiet but not dead, the kind of bar in which you could kill an afternoon or close out an evening with no strain whatsoever. But since it&amp;#039;s on the corner of Chartres and Bienville, right in the heart of the Quarter, it&amp;#039;s a de facto oasis of sanity. (300 Chartres Street; 504-522-1708) --David Wondrich Return to top. \u203A\u203AMaine Rosie&amp;#039;sPortland, MaineYou&amp;#039;re having: A Dark and Stormy (ginger beer and Gosling&amp;#039;s rum)Waterfront workers at Portland&amp;#039;s Old Port stop in to take a break from worrying about the latest fishing restrictions meant to rescue the sinking industry. Students at Portland&amp;#039;s Maine College of Art -- or graduates of nearby liberal-arts schools who can&amp;#039;t bear to leave Maine -- stop in to forget their crummy entry-level jobs. The bartenders are seasoned and friendly, there&amp;#039;s never too much noise to talk over, and you can usually get a table. And the popcorn is free. (330 Fore Street; 207-772-5656) --Clint Willis Return to top. \u203A\u203AMaryland The Brewer&amp;#039;s ArtBaltimoreYou&amp;#039;re having: A pint of ResurrectionWhen you tire of inebriating yourself with tallboys and &amp;quot;Natty Boh,&amp;quot; you head for the Brewer&amp;#039;s Art, housed in an old mansion. Belgian-style home brews are always on tap. (1106 North Charles Street; 410-547-6925) Return to top. \u203A\u203AMassachusetts B-Side LoungeCambridge, MassachusettsYou&amp;#039;re having: A Last Word (Chartreuse, gin, and lemon juice)Improbable. Dingy, cavernous surroundings, college-professor food (like baked Gouda), and a mighty cocktail list packed with obscure classics and rare ingredients, with bartenders who know how to use them. (92 Hampshire Street; 617-354-0766) --David Wondrich Return to top. \u203A\u203AMichigan The Bar at Seldom BluesDetroitYou&amp;#039;re having: A cognac Miller&amp;#039;s BarDearborn, MichiganYou&amp;#039;re having: A beer The Bar at Seldom Blues (400 Renaissance Center; 313-567-7356) is what Detroit could be. Forget the cars. Think Motown, a reminder that the city has soul. Ease into a seat at the long, sweeping C-shaped bar, gaze out at the Detroit River sliding past, swirl the cognac a bit, inhale the spicy aroma. Hold the first sip for a moment then let it slip down your throat, hear the sax player draw out that high note, and look around at everything you don&amp;#039;t see: the city on the ropes, the city that ranks among the country&amp;#039;s fattest, most segregated, and most unemployed. Not now, when the tables are packed. The view and the music draw the building&amp;#039;s upstairs tenants, the beleaguered execs who work on all those floors housing General Motors&amp;#039; world headquarters. They come down for liquid therapy, and never mind the future, which is not so bright. They say it&amp;#039;ll turn around. Always does. Ask the guys at Miller&amp;#039;s Bar (23700 Michigan Avenue; 313-565-2577), out by Ford&amp;#039;s world headquarters, when the place is packed with guys from the factories on lunch break. At Miller&amp;#039;s you&amp;#039;re having a beer: Miller or Miller Lite. And you&amp;#039;re eating a burger, because that&amp;#039;s the only thing on the menu, and because that&amp;#039;s what people do here, they drink beer and eat burgers, served by waitresses nearing sixty. Miller&amp;#039;s looks much the same as when it opened in 1941, when that generation of autoworkers claimed it as their neighborhood joint. So you have a burger. Plain bun. No shiitakes. That&amp;#039;s Miller&amp;#039;s, stripped down and pure, with Alka-Seltzer for sale behind the bar.--Brian Mockenhaupt Return to top. \u203A\u203AMinnesota Bulldog NEMinneapolisYou&amp;#039;re having: A pint of Summit Extra Pale and the tater-tot hot dishHere, bar food like Vienna-beef hot dogs and truffle fries are the indulgence of an inventive chef, not pretentious irony. Or just come for the twenty-four regional beers on tap. (401 East Hennepin Avenue; 612-378-2855)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AMississippi The Upstairs Bar at City GroceryOxford, MississippiYou&amp;#039;re having: A Wild Turkey, rocksPlenty of tourists walk into the &amp;quot;Grocery,&amp;quot; shuffle their feet, imagine Faulkner, ectoplasmic, nursing a mint julep, and leave. But neither Oxford nor City Grocery, the town&amp;#039;s most celebrated bar, is just another dead-white-writer mausoleum feeding from its legacy. Most here are oblivious to the ghosts. It&amp;#039;s packed Thursday through Saturday. They come to see Joe, the bartender, a man of letters who&amp;#039;s gentle in the way only the toughest hard-asses can be. And for the balcony views -- framed by prehistorically large ferns in hanging baskets -- of the historic courthouse and of the big statue of an eternally sullen Johnny Reb. (152 Courthouse Square; 662-232-8080) --Will McIntosh Return to top. \u203A\u203AMissouri John D. McGurk&amp;#039;sSt. LouisYou&amp;#039;re having: A GuinnessIn the historic Soulard section of town. Good bands -- even if they&amp;#039;re Irish bands. Top-shelf pub fare. (1200 Russell; 314-776-8309)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AMontana The Little Cowboy Bar and Museum Fromberg, MontanaYou&amp;#039;re having: A Bud, bottleSome will tell you the real Montana has disappeared -- cow operations going &amp;quot;ranchette.&amp;quot; No more sipping out of a brown paper bag while driving on the interstate. But then you&amp;#039;re chasing tumbleweeds on a two-lane road north toward Billings, and you come across the Little Cowboy. The people of Fromberg (population four hundred) will tell you that Shirley Smith&amp;#039;s Little Cowboy Bar and Museum is the only constant keeping this town alive. Shirley is the preserver of a history otherwise forgotten, and a trip to the Little Cowboy is a journey back in time through Shirley&amp;#039;s own life and the history of a town struggling to survive in a stubborn land. Her backroom museum holds everything from Buffalo Bill&amp;#039;s Wild West Show tickets to a picture of Shirley crowned Miss Senior Montana 2001. Then there are the testimonials to the veracity of the little people living inside the Pryor Mountains. A natural remedy for cancer. The ghost of the previous owner. All of which you accept without question once the first bottle of cold domestic has washed the dust from your lips. (105 West River Street; 406-668-9502) --Liza Ward Return to top. \u203A\u203ANebraska The Homy InnOmahaYou&amp;#039;re having: The Asti The vintage tap handles, the I LIKE IKE! buttons, and the rare baseball cards that adorn the intimate Homy Inn are just quaint foreplay for this fifty-year-old bar&amp;#039;s main attraction: bubbly on tap. Available by the flute or the pitcher. (1510 North Saddle Creek Road; 402-554-5815) --Jim Minge Return to top. \u203A\u203ANevada Any bar on the StripLas VegasYou&amp;#039;re having: A good time, for chrissakesIn most places, bars are considered great if they have a rubbed-in authenticity, organic character instead of business-planned style, and a hale friendliness that takes you in like a group hug. Bars on the Vegas Strip (and this is especially true of the nightclubs -- Tabu, Pure, Tryst -- now redefining the upper echelons of Vegas nightlife) are precisely the opposite. The best ones shoot for a pumped-up elegance that doesn&amp;#039;t take your attendance for granted. Forget the worn-wood bar tops; every inch has been designed to keep you from getting bored, from the LED-lit bottle wall at Rouge (in the MGM Grand) to the fiber-optic chandelier at I-Bar (in the Rio). Everything is new, shiny. That heightened showiness is what&amp;#039;s authentic about modern Vegas, and along with the generally advanced state of the cocktail sciences in such places, it makes these bars the most convivial places in town. Unlike strip clubs, your attention isn&amp;#039;t forcibly wrenched from your companions. And they&amp;#039;re not as easy to get to as regular bars, so the after-work problem drowners never show. People are ramping up, not winding down, because it&amp;#039;s gonna be a big night, whatever night it is. --Scott Dickensheets Return to top. \u203A\u203ANew Hampshire Library Lounge Portsmouth, New HampshireYou&amp;#039;re having: A martini made with one of more than a hundred vodkasGreat bar for drinking alone. Park on the street and walk up a wide flight of granite stairs; once inside, turn left and enter a small, dark, book-lined room with a twelve-foot ceiling. Drink at the short, marble-topped bar or find a table by the fire. The books on the walls include titles by long-forgotten novelists; if you like a book, ask the barman if you can take it home. That kind of place. (401 State Street; 603-431-5202) --Zach Anchors Return to top. \u203A\u203ANew Jersey McGovern&amp;#039;s TavernNewark, New JerseyYou&amp;#039;re having: A longneck BudI&amp;#039;ve been going to McGovern&amp;#039;s since I was three years old. Back then, plenty of afternoons found me kneeling on a barstool beside my grandfather, a retired blacksmith who shoed horses for the Newark mounted police, after he nipped in for a Schaefer with his old pals -- a bit of late-1960s caregiving, Irish-style, for which I&amp;#039;ll be forever grateful. Yeah, the murals of Irish scenes still look down on the same large, open room, and the walls are still hung with the same old photos. But the place is no museum. They still come -- city workers, cops and firemen, prosecutors and attorneys, salarymen from the offices downtown. The rectangular bar fosters a Newark Round Table, and you&amp;#039;re welcomed in. On a recent weeknight, the barstools slowly fill. A cop tells the story of a shooting: &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m telling you, he&amp;#039;s a shit cop, and I won&amp;#039;t work with him. He&amp;#039;ll get you hurt.&amp;quot; Then, &amp;quot;How many ounces are there in a gallon?&amp;quot; The cops want to know. Someone reckons there are four quarts to a gallon, so how many&amp;#039;s in a quart? But the grad student nursing a Guinness says no, there aren&amp;#039;t four quarts in a gallon. A few stools over, office workers downing pints are bitching about their jobs, and the woman, a gorgeous, tough-looking piece of work, is indignant: &amp;quot;What am I, little miss anti-kickback? C&amp;#039;mon!&amp;quot; There are plenty of guys with fond memories of a childhood bar. I&amp;#039;m just lucky mine is still going strong. (58-60 New Street; 973-643-3984) --John Kenney Return to top. \u203A\u203ANew Mexico Silva&amp;#039;s SaloonBernalillo, New MexicoYou&amp;#039;re having: A Tecate with a wedge, and a Herradura ReposadoIn New Mexico, which is in fact more old than new, going anywhere is pretty much like going to church. So it is with Silva&amp;#039;s, opened the day after Prohibition ended and serving under one family as the gathering place for the area&amp;#039;s ranchers, chile farmers, and drifters ever since. The hats of dead patrons hang from the rafters, and today&amp;#039;s customers are their descendants, who commune at the O-shaped bar under their ancestors&amp;#039; millinery, a reminder of mortality out here on the former Route 66, ten miles outside Albuquerque. Lining the walls is a museum of license plates, stuffed roosters, a bottle of mezcal worms, and a very large array of signs meant to keep you in line (THE POOL TABLE CLOSES AT 8). All the fading topless pictures are kept stapled up neatly. It&amp;#039;s a clean kind of creaky, all dust-to-dust with none of the dirt. Somebody must love it. (955 Camino del Pueblo; 505-867-9976) --Will Palmer Return to top. \u203A\u203ANew York Bemelmans Bar in the Carlyle HotelNew York City You&amp;#039;re having: A stingerTen or fifteen years ago, it was hard to get a decent drink in New York, particularly if you wanted anything other than a martini. Back then, my wife and I, unburdened by offspring or daytime jobs, used to pop into the Metropolitan Museum of Art just to look at one thing -- a Vermeer, a piece of Roman statuary, whatever. Then we&amp;#039;d walk down to Madison and Seventy-sixth and go through the little door to the left of the main entrance to the Carlyle hotel. Inside, we&amp;#039;d order a couple of stingers. When they came, they were cold and crisp, with the cognac outweighing the cr\u00E8me de menthe, the way they should be. As far as we knew, these were the most expensive drinks in the city, but they made us feel rich. (35 East Seventy-sixth Street; 212-744-1600) --David Wondrich Little BranchNew York CityYou&amp;#039;re having: A silver rye fizzUsed to be, a nightclub was a dark, smoky place where well-dressed people sipped well-made drinks and made clever, well-educated chitchat while a hot Cuban band played rumbas. Little Branch does it like that, except for the smoke. (20 Seventh Avenue South; 212-929-4360)  The Bar at Keens Steakhouse New York CityYou&amp;#039;re having: Single-malt scotchIt has been there since the 1870s and has the memorabilia to prove it. And if you don&amp;#039;t like to read, they also carry about 200-odd single malts. (72 West Thirty-sixth Street at Sixth Avenue; 212-947-3636)  Minetta TavernNew York CityThe streets outside Minetta Tavern are crawling with NYU students, but they never go in this former speakeasy in the heart of Greenwich Village. Probably because it&amp;#039;s too old, too comfortable, too congenial. Too great. (113 MacDougal Street at Minetta Lane; 212-475-3850)  Jimmy&amp;#039;s Corner New York CityThis place is a classic, impossibly narrow New York bar and one of the few places that remain from pretransformation Times Square. Boxing posters and Christmas lights: a perfect place. (140 West Forty-fourth Street; 212-221-9510) The Angel&amp;#039;s Share New York CityYou&amp;#039;re having: WhiskeyThis isolated cocktail bar is attached to a Japanese restaurant but entirely separate from it. It&amp;#039;s dark and quiet and has an impressive selection of whiskeys. They don&amp;#039;t seat groups larger than four -- great for a small celebration. (8 Stuyvesant Street at Ninth Street; 212-777-5415)  The Brooklyn InnNew York CityIf they gentrified the old brick section of heaven, the Brooklyn Inn would be the neighborhood bar. (148 Hoyt Street at Bergen Street; 718-625-9741)  The Rose Bar at the Gramercy Park HotelNew York CityA lot of people hate the Rose Bar at the Gramercy Park Hotel. It&amp;#039;s expensive, the decor is contrived, you have to make a reservation to get in after 9:00 p.m. What detractors fail to appreciate is that that very aloofness is a quintessentially New York attribute and highly appreciable in small doses. (2 Lexington Avenue at Twenty-first Street; rosebar@gramercyparkhotel.com) Flatiron LoungeNew York CityYou&amp;#039;re having: A manhattanGo for the cocktails -- we like the manhattan. They&amp;#039;re some of the very best in the country. (37 West Nineteenth Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues; 212-727-7741)  The SaloonNew York CityThank God the developers haven&amp;#039;t yet discovered the Saloon in the basement of Grand Central Station. It&amp;#039;s hiding behind the Oyster Bar -- don&amp;#039;t tell anyone. (Forty-second Street at Park Avenue; 212-490-6650) San Domenico RestaurantNew York CityThe small key-shaped bar at San Domenico restaurant is a softly lit sanctuary near Columbus Circle. (240 Central Park South; 212-265-5959)  Spuyten Duyvil New York CityYou&amp;#039;re having: The house cask aleA half dozen carefully selected drafts. One rotating cask ale, always fresh. Belgian beers divided into Flemish, Wallonian, and lambic styles. Cheese and charcuterie on a cutting board. There&amp;#039;s no finer beer bar in the city. (359 Metropolitan Avenue, Brooklyn; 718-963-4140)  Return to top. \u203A\u203ANorth Carolina Thomas Street TavernCharlotte, North CarolinaYou&amp;#039;re having: A YuenglingThere are two bars, one inside among the endearing chaos and rickety wooden chairs, and one outside in the beer garden, where you&amp;#039;ll also find the Ping-Pong tables. (1218 Thomas Avenue; 704-376-1622)  Return to top. \u203A\u203ANorth Dakota Monte&amp;#039;s DowntownFargo, North DakotaYou&amp;#039;re having: A martiniSure, a martini bar in a blue-collar city is usually asinine. But this city is trying to become more cosmopolitan. It&amp;#039;s also trying not to exclude its working-class base. Nowhere is this more apparent -- or successful -- than Monte&amp;#039;s. (220 Broadway; 701-526-0149)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AOhio Andyman&amp;#039;s Treehouse Columbus, OhioYou&amp;#039;re having: Way more than you&amp;#039;d plannedAs with everything worth seeing in Ohio, you won&amp;#039;t stumble upon Andyman&amp;#039;s. Somebody will take you to this stack of cinder blocks at the corner of two alleys. You&amp;#039;ll think it looks like your drunk uncle&amp;#039;s rumpus room -- if your drunk uncle had a fifty-foot, hundred-year-old silver maple growing out of his floor and up through the ceiling. The trunk is ten feet around and strung with Christmas lights. Not one word is carved into the bark. The beer&amp;#039;s cheap, so you&amp;#039;ll order High Lifes two at a time. Then you&amp;#039;ll plant yourself next to the tree. Both of you right at home. (887 Chambers Road; 614-294-2264) --Joe Oestreich Return to top. \u203A\u203AOklahoma The Library Bar &amp;amp;amp; GrillNorman, OklahomaYou&amp;#039;re having: A Coach&amp;#039;s IPAAfter games, any Sooner fans that aren&amp;#039;t at a sports bar are at the Library, a dark-wood kind of place in a former farmhouse near the OU campus. (607 West Boyd Street; 405-366-7465)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AOregon Sam Bond&amp;#039;s GarageEugene, OregonYou&amp;#039;re having: A Shakespeare stout in a jelly jarAs you stretch out on the split-timber benches under the old barn&amp;#039;s bare rafters, you slowly realize you&amp;#039;re in the family room of one of the weirdest neighborhoods in America -- a shady, overgrown co-op of artists, ecoanarchists, spirit healers, drug dealers, and permanently circling vagabonds. And the living couldn&amp;#039;t be better: Couples play cribbage on the rough-hewn communal tables, kids loll on the modest stage until the sun goes down, and the strong-limbed waitresses circulate the beers in mason jars and smile, but only if they really mean it. It&amp;#039;s like a frontier dance hall in a mining town where the vein&amp;#039;s gone dry. The dreams are alive, but appealingly bruised. (407 Blair Boulevard; 541-431-6603) --Tom Colligan  Return to top. \u203A\u203APennsylvania Friendly LoungePhiladelphia You&amp;#039;re having: A cheap BudNeighborhood bar, 1950s. Dirty and magical. From the outside, it looks vacant. But that&amp;#039;s the beauty. No burgers here. No mussels. No Abercrombie. No Fitch. Here&amp;#039;s what they have: ashtrays in front of every stool. Three-dollar Budweisers. Good jukebox. A clogged sink in the bathroom. And a cute salt-of-the-earth bartender. Heaven. (1039 South Eighth Street; 215-627-9798) --Tyler Cabot Return to top. \u203A\u203APuerto Rico Tamboo TavernRinc\u00D3N, Puerto RicoYou&amp;#039;re having: A pi\u00F1a colada with a dark-rum &amp;quot;floater.&amp;quot; What the hell.Tamboo Tavern is not a beach bar but a bar on a beach. It juts way out into the sand in the middle of a sleepy alcove of shoreline near Rinc\u00F3n. Midmorning, the people who know about it trickle onto the beach and towel-mark their territory, starting closest to Tamboo&amp;#039;s stilts and spreading outward. Proximity is key, because the days are metronomed by trips back and forth to the bar for to-go-friendly pi\u00F1a coladas. The human-to-surfboard ratio is about three to one. The afternoon showers come in like clockwork and everybody takes cover on Tamboo&amp;#039;s deck. That&amp;#039;s when the day gets its second wind. The Postal Service album is playing. There&amp;#039;s a black-and-white Cary Grant movie on in the corner. The band sets up for the night crowd while the sun turns more orange and truncated by the minute. And -- as if on cue -- the foggy spray of the humpback whales emerges on the horizon. And even with all of this -- the sunset and the whales and the smell of Sex Wax in the air -- Tamboo fends off every ounce of hackneyed Jimmy Buffettisms the way a beach bar couldn&amp;#039;t possibly do. (Road 413, Kilometer 4.4, Sandy Beach Road; 888-823-8550) --Neely Harris  Return to top. \u203A\u203ARhode Island The Wild Colonial TavernProvidenceYou&amp;#039;re having: A pint of NarragansettKnowledge and beer. Test yourself on both against Brown&amp;#039;s best and brightest at this big tavern&amp;#039;s popular trivia night. (250 South Water Street; 401-621-5644)  Return to top. \u203A\u203ASouth Carolina Moe&amp;#039;s Crosstown TavernCharlestonYou&amp;#039;re having: Hand-cut fries and a BassMoe&amp;#039;s is a dark, dirty, old neighborhood bar with crappy service and not enough room, and it&amp;#039;s impossible not to love. Good beer, great food. (714 Rutledge Avenue; 843-722-3287)  Return to top. \u203A\u203ASouth Dakota Ice HouseYankton, South DakotaYou&amp;#039;re having: A bottle behind the wheelInside, crusty tables, ripped leather recliners, and the seat of a van that died after hitting a deer provide atmosphere for this former Depression-era ice factory. So, yes, you&amp;#039;re drinking in a garage. But the workshop ambience is not why you came. In the few warm months here, patrons enjoy the carhop service and an inspiring view of the Missouri River. When you&amp;#039;re finished, smash your bottle under the deck. The owners don&amp;#039;t like it, but it&amp;#039;s tradition. (101 Capitol Street; 605-665-2631) --Eric Hahn Return to top. \u203A\u203ATennessee Tootsie&amp;#039;s Orchid LoungeNashville You&amp;#039;re having: A BudLocated around the corner from the hallowed ground that is the Ryman Auditorium, the equally hallowed Tootsie&amp;#039;s has an upstairs and a downstairs bar. Each features live country music, but upstairs the music is better. (422 Broadway; 615-726-0463)  Return to top. \u203A\u203ATexas La TunaSan AntonioYou&amp;#039;re having: A PacificoNo liquor. No credit cards. No pretense. No more than you need. Just a simple, small icehouse on the south side of downtown San Antonio, near the rundown railroad tracks and not much else. You go to La Tuna because it&amp;#039;s nice out and you want to get a buzz going before the sun goes down. You drink cheap, cold beer and gather at the two dozen or so picnic tables beneath the shade of towering pecan trees. Rusted bottle caps crinkle like seashells underfoot, indicating the way to the walk-up bar. Bartenders add each night&amp;#039;s beer tops to the gravel landscape, like anteing chips to an ever-building poker pot. (100 Probandt Street; 210-224-8862) --Adam McGill Return to top. \u203A\u203AU.S. Virgin Islands Skinny LegsSt. John, U.S. Virgin IslandsYou&amp;#039;re having: A Red StripeThey are a peace-loving people at Skinny Legs: a &amp;quot;Pretty OK Place.&amp;quot; And Coral Bay, St. John, is a peaceable place. In fact, Skinny Legs is one of those rare points on the face of this dirty globe from which all good feelings emanate. Travelers wash up at Skinny&amp;#039;s for the harmonic convergence and stay for the rum punch and a cheeseburger grilled behind the bar in the open for all the world to smell. Also popular lately is the Cruzan Coconut Swizzle. Ask Moe, he&amp;#039;ll tell you what&amp;#039;s in it. Dedicated bartenders and best friends Moe Chabuz and Doug Sica (from Lawrence, Massachusetts, and Red Bank, New Jersey) found a little spot by the water on the Coral Bay side of the island and started Skinny Legs in 1991, because the world just needed the place, Moe says. He and Doug put their last dime into it, and &amp;quot;we did everything wrong,&amp;quot; but it&amp;#039;s become the center of the Coral Bay community, and one of those joints you just never want to leave. So don&amp;#039;t. There&amp;#039;s darts and horseshoes out back, and Red Stripe, and good music, and lots of screens for the playoffs if you can tolerate the New England fans. Doug was a goofball, Moe says. He died last year, way too soon. But that feeling in the air, that spirit? That&amp;#039;s Doug, Moe says.-- Mark Warren Return to top. \u203A\u203AUtah Shooting Star SaloonHuntsville, UtahYou&amp;#039;re having: A pitcherMounted on the wall of Utah&amp;#039;s oldest bar is the head of a St. Bernard named Buck, which was the 297-pound mascot of the Shamrock Bar in West Yellowstone, Montana. When the dog died in 1957, his owner had him stuffed -- with the head mold of a grizzly bear -- and sent him to the Shooting Star (long story), a beer-only joint where Tex Ritter wails on the box (seven songs for a dollar) and the ceiling&amp;#039;s plastered with fives and twenties signed by customers. On Sunday afternoons the regular crowd of cowboys and skiers is outnumbered by bikers, and despite the handwritten sign that says WE ARE NOT A RESTAURANT. NO SPECIAL ORDERS, the Shooting Star serves the best burgers in the state. (7350 East 200 South; 435-745-2002) --James Ross Gardner Return to top. \u203A\u203AVermont Three NeedsBurlington, VermontYou&amp;#039;re having: The SchwarzbierMakes sense that the cultural capital of beer-loving Vermont would be home to one of the best brew pubs in the country. For beer like this, you get past the fact that the coed bathroom&amp;#039;s door doesn&amp;#039;t lock. Owner Glenn Walter takes the time to ferment German-style lagers -- unusual in a brew-pub world of quickie ales. Order up a Schwarzbier. Plot your relocation to Burlington. (207 College Street; 802-658-0889)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AVirginia The Coffee PotRoanoke, VirginiaYou&amp;#039;re having: A BudIt&amp;#039;s been a shooting range and a filling station. Today, it&amp;#039;s a cozy bar with a fireplace and great music. (2902 Brambleton Avenue SW; 540-774-8256) Return to top. \u203A\u203AWashington SambarSeattleYou&amp;#039;re having: A Vesper (a martini variant: gin, vodka, and Lillet Blanc)With four stools and six tables the size of welcome mats, this tiny, hard-to-find mixology den could have been the bar on the Moonraker. Bring a date. (425 Northwest Market Street; 206-781-4883)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AWashington D.C. Hawk &amp;#039;n&amp;#039; DoveWashington, DCYou&amp;#039;re having: A Smithwick&amp;#039;s ale Low-level congressional staffers head to this political-memorabilia-filled old Irish bar on Capitol Hill for the free happy-hour buffet (because they&amp;#039;re underpaid, not because the food&amp;#039;s that good). And if you listen to them closely, you can learn everything you always wanted to know about concurrent resolutions. (329 Pennsylvania Avenue SE; 202-543-3300) -- Mike Rosenwald Return to top. \u203A\u203AWest Virginia The Mecklenburg InnShepherdston, West VirginiaYou&amp;#039;re having: A shot of bourbonThe Meck is presumably a lot cheerier now than in the days when it was used as a makeshift Confederate hospital during the Civil War. Live bluegrass can be heard as you sit by the fire or on the old tree swing out back. Or, after a failed attempt to outdrink the locals, from the one available guest room upstairs. (128 East German Street; 304-876-2126)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AWisconsin Silver Dollar TavernMadison, WisconsinYou&amp;#039;re having: A pitcher of Old StyleOn a backstreet where the UW students can&amp;#039;t or don&amp;#039;t want to find it. It has all the components of a good dive: cheap pitchers, a dependable jukebox, and Wisconsin&amp;#039;s requisite selection of mediocre but inexplicably rewarding frozen pizzas. (117 West Mifflin Street; 608-255-7548)  Return to top. \u203A\u203AWyoming The Center BarGillette, WyomingYou&amp;#039;re having: A Busch LightThe roughest-necked bar in the state&amp;#039;s roughest-necked town. The kind of place that lets well-regarded regulars park their Harleys inside next to the dartboards. Bartenders are occasionally called upon to guard the honor of a half dozen lingerie-clad mannequins, the bar&amp;#039;s dominant decorative feature. The few flesh-and-blood females who hang out there are capable of defending themselves. (110 South Gillette Avenue; 307-685-8047) --Charles Homans Return to top. Other contributors: Jen Chen, Joseph Cutts, Eric Daeuber, Cindy DiPasquale, Robin Garr, Edd S. Hurt, Buddy Kite, Peter Martin, James Mayfield, Bryan Neil, Kevin O&amp;#039;Hara, Victor Ozols, and David Walters. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/food-drink/bars/a2947/bestbars2007/>