It feels like an old neighborhood nightclub in an aging industrial city or maybe New York, one hollowed out of the ground like a gopher den. The ceilings are low. The light is scant. And while it doesn't have much in the way of coffin-nail clouds on account of political correctness and the health Nazi blitzkrieg, it has plenty of idiosyncrasies, like a black-and-white photo in the men's john depicting two guys with a hatchet about to lop off the head of a turkey. It's good when restaurant art... More >>>