Niagara

We keep hearing about the mellow coterie of rockers who own the place—Ryan Adams hangs out here, don’t you know?—but they must hide on weekends, when the neon-lit bar is packed with the best that Goldman Sachs’s money can buy. The door policy is curiously strict: Show me your license or show me your back. You can cry about how the East Village has fallen to the Man, or you can just give in and head inside for some drinks.