This place is a frequent haunt for me when I come up to New York from the deep South. (Note that the deep South includes everything south of Bergen County, New Jersey.) I have caused significant damage to my liver consuming numerous fish bowl drinks (the contents of which leave a lot to the imagination, somewhere between Alize and anti-freeze) as well as damage to my gall bladder scarfing frickles (fried pickles) and rib tips in several varities of sauce. Unfortunately the bathroom is not the nicest to vomit in, as a ''friend'' told me (because it's always just a friend who tells you these things). But you just find yourself a nice scruffy guy in the back, sweetheart, whose lap you can rest your weary drunk head in as he strokes your hair and screams at his Mets as they flub another championship, and the night just gets more interesting.