This ain’t the watered down Kool-aid that you spiked with Georgi Vodka at your prom. the punches are well-balanced concoctions that will stimulate your taste buds where you least expect it. the anchor is a must-try combination of Seven tiki rum, apricot brandy, guava and lime. If you were ever to stop spending all your money at bars and go sailing in the Caribbean, you’d want a pitcher of this smooth and fruity concoction on the boat. the Vesperone is a heartier choice for those who usually shun tropical drinks. the Zacapa rum is balanced with a hit of rye and some green chartreuse—while Jimmy Buffet wouldn’t approve, ernest hemingway certainly would. the alabazam would have been hemingway’s second round (or 14th, knowing Papa). It’s a tart and potent mix of appleton rum, maraschino liqueur, Lillet rouge and bitters.

The very extensive cocktail list isn’t great for sampling. If you’re a party of two or more, those $14 glasses really add up. Go for the punchbowls. you’ll get at least five cups out of a small one, making this a deal to remember. except you won’t, because you’ll be on the floor after one too many ladles. there are also options for larger parties, with the biggest priced at $100 a bowl. you’re getting your money’s worth with these lush offerings—a small child could swim in them… for a few extra dollars, it could possibly be arranged.

There are a few food options so you can put something in your stomach to avoid getting “seasick” (puking after drinking too much punch). the food takes a backseat to libations, though. In fact, everything takes a back seat to the punches, including the service. and there’s the rub. Maybe a laid-back style like this would fly in 1960s Cuba, but in modern day new york, with cocktail bars aplenty, it’s hard to find an excuse. although the wait-staff seemed well-intentioned—and it didn’t hurt that one was the spitting image of Scarlett Johansson—the kitchen couldn’t seem to keep up. the veggie empanadas and meatballs we ordered appeared after an extended interlude. our table wasn’t the only one affected: the neighboring couple was miffed when the wrong order arrived after a long wait.

Cienfuegos may have just gotten up and running, but when you’re paying $15 for a glass of punch, you shouldn’t want to slap someone because of sub-par service. at those prices, you should also be able to pony up for the check however you like. When the bill came, artfully stuffed in a Cuban cigar box, our table plopped down two credit cards. a server came back with the explanation that the system “can’t split checks for some reason.” When pressed (paying more than half would have meant a trip to the poor house), the machine suddenly worked again. Could it be some sort of old-school Cuban Santeria? Probably not. While there was plenty of that magic swimming in those silver punch bowls, thinking this spot is on par with the city’s other top drink dens is just an illusion.

>> Cienfuegos 443 E. 6th St. (betw. 1st Ave. & Ave. A), 212-614-6818.

The new spot rocks the 1970s basement rec-room vibe. It has wood paneling on the walls, an old Miller High Life sign beckons from above the DJ station and a giant dead fish hangs like a trophy in the main bar area. With the critters in the Ace Hotel Lobby and The Jane, it’s almost impossible to open a spot without some sort of dead animal these days. The taxidermy serves The Commodore well, as does the random photo opportunity nestled in the corner. What other bar lets you put your head through a piece of wood and suddenly become a gorilla? (Hint: the more you drink, the more convincing it is.)

If you’re into said monkey business, there are plenty of offbeat drinking options. A menu of cocktails is playfully printed on placemats although there’s nothing too inventive on the list: a few standard rum punches, a stiff Manhattan and a frozen Pina Colada are all drinks that you’d find on the final exam at bartending school. Even if the libations don’t knock your mixology socks off, the kitschy vibe gives you the permission to get cheesy with your order. Would you ever order an Alabama Slammer unless invited to? The Planter’s Punch is a fruity glass of red Hi-C, kind of nostalgic, except for the potent kick of rum that hides underneath the saccharine grenadine. The Boat Drink is a simple mix of dark rum, lime and soda. After one of those, you shouldn’t be allowed near a boat, or any motorized vehicle for that matter. The mixer works, though, if you plan to sit in Williamsburg on a hot day and knock ’em back.

The food is more inspired than the drinks. Food here is served at dive-bar prices—a burger for $6, a gigantic chicken sandwich for $9—but there is nothing divey about what comes out of the kitchen. The spicy chicken sandwich is a plate of fried glory, and the side of asparagus topped with an egg is the perfect snack for those who still want to feel sophisticated when tipsy. The bar also offers heartier comfort food options; the plate of fried chicken with biscuits could easily sell for an additional $10 at one of the more upscale restaurants in the hood. Ramps were recently on the list, a seasonal touch that is almost unheard of in low-key drinking establishments. Michael Pollan might not write a book about this place, but he’d definitely stick around for another beer.

Let your lemming friends catch the bus to Manhattan—who needs the Knot when you can tie one on at The Commodore?

>> THE COMMODORE 366 Metropolitan Ave. (at Havemeyer St.), Brooklyn, 718-218-7632.

But 200 Orchard isn’t the first bar to build green. The Manhattan Inn in Greenpoint repurposed materials from an old schoolhouse, and Park Slope’s Mission Dolores recycled metal from an old auto shop for its fixtures. The wood panels that bedeck 200’s narrow space are from an old country barn. Designed by Ben Kay, the slats create a truly rustic feel, like you’ve wandered into, well, a barn, to grab some brews. It’s not just any barn, though—this one comes equipped with stylish exposed light bulbs, steel rivets on the walls and a worn concrete floor. It’s doubtful that the Jimi Hendrix poster hanging by the bar came from the country, unless someone found a farm growing you-knowwhat. The materials may be repurposed, but the design is definitely fresh.

It was smart to get rid of the stage in the back—do your really want to go see your friend’s band play to 12 people… again? During crowded nights, the cavernous back space is perfect for handling the overflow in the front room. The bar also has a large projection screen that shows big events; soccer hooligans should plan to camp out back here for World Cup matches. When it’s slower, the room makes for an ideal drinking hideaway. Squirrel yourself away at one of these tables and have way too much Jameson.

Unfortunately, the inspiration that led to a kick-ass design didn’t fully translate to the other areas of the watering hole. While the decor is transcendent, the beer list stays fully on the blah plane. All of the Lower East Side standards—Six Point Sweet Action, Hoegaarden, Stella and Guinness—are accounted for. It’s too bad there’s no more obscure craft beer in the mix: artisanal brews would have gone well with the handcrafted décor.

It’s doubtful that the Jimi Hendrix poster hanging by the bar came from
the country, unless someone found a farm growing youknow-what. The
materials may be repurposed, but the design is definitely fresh.

The bar also carried a few snacks, but they’re nothing to drool over. Six bucks gets you ciabatta bread with fillings like smoked ham, cheddar and onion or grilled chicken with pesto and Parmesan. It’s too low key to be considered actual tapas, so treat the chow like the peanuts that they give away down the block at dive bar Whiskey Ward. You won’t get a full dinner here, but if you don’t eat something, be prepared to end up in the gutter.

Even though the food and drink aren’t the neighborhood’s best, who cares? 200 Orchard didn’t get swept up in LES gentrification. Frou-frou menu options would seem out of place here, and the drink list has plenty to tide you over. It’s a well-designed, chill neighborhood drink spot. Joke’s on you, community board.

>> 200 ORCHARD 200 Orchard St. (betw. E. Houston & Stanton Sts.), 212-253-2235.

A new pick on Orchard: The 200.

SAN FRANCISCO SAW the original Mission Dolores open in 1776. This settlement, which is the oldest mission that’s still standing in California, sought to bring religion to an uncharted land. Brooklyn’s Mission Dolores has a similar charter. Housed in a converted auto shop, this bar seeks to bridge the gap between family-minded Park Slope and stilldeveloping Gowanus. It’s not the gospel being spread at the new outpost; with 20 taps and a focus on American craft labels, this spot’s holy water is beer.

And what a fitting space to worship the brew gods. The bar owners have left the industrial feel of the space intact. A hodgepodge of wooden tables lines the concrete floors, and large windows are shaped with metal that was repurposed from the former workshop. The unique layout lets the entire crowd enjoy the open air in warm weather. You enter through a small room with a few tables, and the bar in the back room is housed under a glass ceiling. The center of the space contains a true gem of outdoor drinking: a beer courtyard. If you score a table, you can soak up the sun at the center of the room as you indulge in one too many beers. On warm days, the folding windows and giant doors can be opened to the elements, giving all three rooms a blissful, summery vibe.

There’s more bliss to be had in the beer list, which runs from $4 to $8 a pint. The selection rotates daily, and even changes mid-shift as kegs run out and new ones are tapped. Domaine DuPage from Two Brothers Brewery is a light-style beer similar to those traditionally sipped in the French countryside, an airy appetizer to begin your liquid dinner. For your second round, try something more potent—you’ll know because alcohol content is noted on the constantly updated chalkboard. The Nectar Ales IPA provides a hoppy bit of buzz with its 6.8 percent IBV. The Captain Lawrence Kolsch is for fans of local brew; this New York label hits the spot with subtle notes of peach. Mission Dolores also has a wide selection of wheat beers, so skip the Allagash that you can find anywhere and try something like the smooth and nutty Ayinger Brau Weisse from Germany.

There is a full bar, and well drinks are two for $5 during their happy hour (nightly until 7), but those without a pint in their hand seem out of place. There was another group that also seemed sadly out of place on one packed Friday evening: women. The crowd was easily 90 percent male, and the Park Slope boys club vibe could have benefited from some beer-loving females. It’s one thing to rock out a masculine vibe in a former auto shop, it’s another to host a brew-soaked sausage party.

Much like the original mission in California, this one will take time to win converts. With the choice outdoor space, it’s only a matter of weeks before a more mixed crowd comes to waste away the summer afternoons here. On this strip of gas stations and tune-up shops, Dolores has already started to draw in the locals. Recently, a group of men sat at one of the courtyard tables, their fingers stained with grit and oil. This was one group that wasn’t wearing work shirts with nametags ironically. As they guzzled and guffawed along with scenesters from The Slope, it became clear that this beer-fueled mission will be a success.

>>MISSION DOLORES 249 4th Ave. (at Carroll St.), Brooklyn, 718-399-0099.

Walking into a restaurant with a French-sounding name like Allegretti, you might take a look at the menu and think, What’s with all the pasta? Tagliatelle, risotto, garganelli—the menu is rife with Italian goodies. And while Chef Alain Allegretti is in fact French, he’s not undergoing an identity crisis. He’s from Southern France, and the area’s cuisine is full of Italian influence. In case you slept through European history class like, well, everyone, the city of Nice was actually an Italian dominion as late as 1860. This means there was plenty of time for the chefs of the area to hone their skills at the pasta press.

The moral of this historic story? Well, there’s no moral. There’s just good food for us, as evidenced by the ravioli that are coming out of allegretti’s kitchen. The restaurant’s Niois Ravioli takes the hybrid French-Italian city as its namesake, and these little culinary melting-pot pastas showcase all the good stuff that the French Riviera has to offer.

The secret is in the stuffing. These puppies are filled with braised oxtail, stewed for hours with an aromatic mix until it’s tender enough to melt any geographic stereotypes about cooking. Parmesan cheese, a squeeze of orange juice and Swiss chard all make their way underneath the dough, which is prepared in-house at least twice a week. The pasta shells are kept thin, which avoids overpowering the meaty mix on the inside. The finished ravioli are sprinkled with orange for a bit of sweetness, doused with beef jus and served on a bed of Swiss chard.

It may be one of the most clichéd truisms in the kitchen, but these really are like grandma used to make. Allegretti credits his dear old grand-mere for the authentic recipe, which she developed while living in a mountain town in the hills of France. Of course, he has added his own touches to the plate: “I like the idea of my grandmother’s dishes, but as a chef I’ve twisted it to make it upscale, at my level,” he says.

And good thing grandma wasn’t too picky about her meat. While oxtail isn’t among the choicest cuts available at the butcher shop, the high fat content in the hind part makes for a succulent ravioli stuffing. Those that frequent Midtown food carts might be used to this ingredient, but folks looking for a more upscale experience shy away from tail. In addition to stuffing a good ravioli, Allegretti is seeking to destigmatize tail meat. He wants “to show American people that you don’t have to be afraid of oxtail. It’s actually a real good thing to eat. The name alone is scary. When you have it in your mouth, you don’t have to think that it’s ox.”

When you have the Niois Ravioli in your mouth, you definitely won’t be thinking about a loafing beast. You’ll be asking yourself how anyone can pack such flavor into a small pasta shell. Yes, those who eat at those carts might be used to paying bottom dollar to feast on oxtail, but the prices here are still reasonable enough at $18 for a smaller serving and $22 for the large. It might be pricey, but certainly even Grandma would approve.

>>Allegretti 46 W. 22nd St. (betw. 5th & 6th Aves.), 212-206-0555.

Even so, trying to rock faux-winter style can leave audiences frigid; just think of Schwarzenegger’s Mr. Freeze shouting “Ice to see you.” Then again, don’t think about that—why would you want to relive the trauma? Polar is careful to leave this cheese factor to the other bars in the area. Instead of laying it on thick, the space uses tasteful accents to sell the vibe. An imposing picture of a polar bear standing on its hindquarters greets you as you descend the staircase and furry white pillows are tucked into the banquettes. Clear plastic “ice chairs” dot the space and the air conditioner keeps things cool.

Though the space keeps the icy theme within bounds, the drink prices are out of control. Like $17 for a cocktail. At those prices, the actual aurora borealis better be lighting up the space. Despite the prices, however, the list does have some options worth trying.

The Endurance is a mix of Sazerac rye, lemon and honey. This boozy concoction should be what those St. Bernards carry around to warm up avalanche victims. Even better, it comes with its own “floating glacier,” a gigantic sphere of ice that keeps the drink uniformly chilled as you sip.

The Operation High Jump turns a humdrum vodka cocktail into something special with a garnish of frozen grapes. They cool the beverage and complement the white grape juice that’s used to sweeten it. With the prices so high, you’re better off freezing some fruit in your home fridge. Stick to the beer and wine. There’s a crisp Prosecco for $12 a glass, and a Sauvignon Blanc from California is available at a relatively reasonable $11 a pour.

The drink prices aren’t the only tip-off that Polar is trying to cater to the moneyed folks who live in the neighborhood. The lounge comes equipped with private polar caves, which are basically VIP nooks that offer plush seating, waitress service and a semblance of privacy. These are some posh igloos, but the good news is that you can score a reservation for one without ponying up for bottle service. It’s a solid alternative to a weekend night out at the clubs.

Polar is careful to leave this cheese factor to the other bars in the area. Instead of laying it on thick, the space uses tasteful accents to sell the vibe.

The varied group that hung out in the space during one of my visits seemed to have a good time. Laughter echoed from the polar caves while an after-work crowd hung out in the main room by the bar. A few befuddled-looking tourists huddled for warmth in one of the banquettes, but otherwise the crowd was young, stylish and attractive. While it’s not preferable to spend every night this far North (in this case, above 14th Street), a visit to the Arctic doesn’t hurt every now and then. Just watch out for polar bears—and your bank account balance.

>>POLAR 201 E. 24th St. (at 3rd Ave.), 212-696-3800.

LIKE AN EPISODE of The Twilight Zone, a walk down Hoboken’s main drag of bars is familiar but off-putting.There is a charming city vibe, but you can tell things are just a little bit off. Salons excitedly advertise “up-dos,” the Elks club (est. 1888) showcases no irony in its Caribbean Night celebration and signs warn of a $2,000 fine for unruly house parties.With the brownstones and young folks walking the street, it feels New York—but Brooklyn this ain’t. If you’re bar hopping here, you have entered the Jersey Zone.

When checking the scene, we decided to start someplace familiar.The Chandelier Room at the W Hotel Hoboken (225 River St., at 2nd St., 201-253-2400) is the closest thing to a New York-style lounge that the city has to offer.The space is dimly lit and swank, with remarkable views of the New York skyline. Hair gel was at a minimum, and not a fist pumper was to be found. Real Housewives of New Jersey’s Danielle was even there, in all of her Botoxed glory. Although it would be easy to lounge away the evening sipping cocktails at this spot, I was there to head deep into the bowels of Hoboken at night. And those bowels were located in the blockand-a-half surrounding the PATH Station.

Although it was only 6:30, the party had already started. “Anthony, pull yourself together!” a bargoer shouted at her companion, who slurred a response back to her.

Another group of guys walked down the block toting 12-packs of Bud Light. One claimed that he’d have to pay a visit to “Mr. Naptime” before the night’s festivities began.

We rode out happy hour at The Shannon (106 1st St., at Washington St., 201-656- 9820), an easygoing Irish pub only a block away from the station. It became more and more crowded as each train arrived with commuters done with their day in the city. The patrons were mostly male, and the talk was mostly of women.When they weren’t planning for the night’s attempt at love, they took part in a bar-wide trivia game projected on one of the flat screen TVs.Those getting the correct answers would shout a hearty “boo-yah!”The high fives were abundant.

I heard about this special breed of male from Hoboken bartender Carolyn Cardinuto. She pointed out that they frequent bars like the immensely popular Green Rock (70 Hudson St., at Hudson Pl., 201-386-5600). “They’re a hybrid of Guido and yuppie. Guys that aren’t too pretty, but put a lot of effort in.They all like girls with high boobs.” A spot check of the Rock confirmed Cardinuto’s assertion.

Many girls competed for the attention of these earring-sporting gentlemen, and their boobs were indeed prominently placed.

In fact, the space was full of those on the prowl. Billy Joel streamed over the speakers as those on the dance floor bumped and grinded. A male patron confirmed that Hoboken is a great place to be if you’re a guy looking for romance. “The scene is very competitive, which makes girls very easy.” Pete Koepff agreed with this sentiment.When asked to describe the women of Hoboken, he offered one word: “promiscuous.” A flirty energy definitely coursed through the crowd as they danced and shouted the lyrics to the piano man’s “Big Shot.”

There are a few options for those not interested in this Jersey courting ritual. A cover band called Daddy Pop played to a crowd at Whiskey Bar (125 Washington St., betw. 1st & 2nd Sts., 201-963-3400) down the block, and a bunch of John Waters look-a-likes congregated outside of gay bar The Cage (32 Newark St., at River St., 201-216-1766).

We decided on something more familiar to end our night, binge drinking $8 pitchers at the pubby Scotland Yard (72 Hudson St., at Hudson Pl., 201-222-9273). At this cozy downstairs spot, things were more subdued. An old man sat in the corner exclaiming the merits of Ishmael—“you know, that book with the monkey”—to all who would listen.

The staff described their spot as “Hoboken’s drain,” being that it caught the revelers who overflowed from the city’s more popular haunts.The crowds head here looking for one last chance at love, or for a final brew before the end of the night. All bars in Hoboken lock their doors at 2 a.m., but are allowed to serve until 3, so there is a bit of a rush to land somewhere in the wee hours.

A few groups played spirited games of beer pong in the back room, while a trio of girls stared into their BlackBerrys and cursed the guys who weren’t calling them back. As bartender Eddie poured a round of shots (and one for himself), he summed up the drinking scene in the Jersey Zone: “Hoboken nightlife? It’s just a shit show. Like, every night.”

We know it’s scary, but sometimes it’s necessary.

THOUGH THE PHRASE “peasant food” sounds low-brow, New York’s version of a peasant dish might just be some of the best chow that you’ve had. Think about it—you’re out on a drunken night in the West Village and stop for a $2 falafel on MacDougal Street or at that taco truck on Sixth Avenue. Simple, cheap, delicious. Arcane, a restaurant tucked away on Avenue C, showcases a different kind of peasant dish in its Colombo De Porc. Though traditional French Caribbean cooking is much harder to find in the city than Famous Ray’s Pizza, this pork curry stew is just as tasty and comes from similar low cost roots.

The chefs on the islands of the French Caribbean—Martinique, St. Croix and St. Bart’s, among others—had little to work with. Something they did have? Poudre de Colombo.This curry powder was originally transported to the islands by indentured servants from East Asia, who were brought over to work the sugar cane fields. It was commonly worked into a number of dishes, rubbed into fish, used as a vegetable marinade and mixed into stews like this.

The pork is tender, grilled and cut into bite-size chunks that fall apart as soon as the fork gets close.The meat is mixed with vegetables, sweet potato and zesty lemongrass before being slathered with the Colombo curry sauce.The curry is different from what you might be used to from your local Indian or Thai restaurant.This spice mix traditionally contains mustard seeds, coriander, turmeric and pepper— it’s potent and rich, but doesn’t pack too much heat. Combined with the soft meat and the earthy, sweet potatoes, it makes for a hearty stew that would make any pauper (or New Yorker looking to eat well on the cheap) feel like a prince.

The mélange of ingredients that go into the stew is representative of the islands themselves, explains co-owner Ben Alter. “In the Caribbean the cuisine is like the people, it’s a mix of Indian, Chinese, French, Dutch, black African and Portuguese. It’s like the patois—the language of the islands—which is also a mix.” Alter should know.Though born in Strausbourg, he moved to Guadoloupe when he was a year old, stayed until he was 16 and claims that he spoke the island language before he spoke French. Having lived in New York for 15 years—and specifically in Alphabet City for the past six—he opened Arcane to showcase this culinary style in a city known for its own diversity.

The dish is served with Jasmine rice, good for sopping up every last bit of the savory sauce. A similar conch stew is also available if you want to sample a seafood variety with ingredients from the islands. While this peasant dish isn’t going to be as cheap as the grub at Gray’s Papaya, a heaping portion is still quite reasonable at $15. And if you’re going to feast on traditional stew, you’ll need something to drink. Arcane offers a solid rum selection; a snifter full of potent Flor de Cana washes down dinner with smooth hints of molasses and cinnamon.Yes, it’s $10 a glass, but let’s not overdo it with the peasant business.

> Arcane

111 Ave. C (betw. E. 7th & E. 8th Sts.), 212-777-0477.

Stew you: The Columbo De Porc at Arcane.

The space used to house Lotus, one of the first clubs to plop down amidst the trannies and leather bars that inhabited the Far West Side of 2000. During those days, a Cosmopolitan was considered a quality cocktail and the velvet rope era was in its infancy. As the decade wore on, though, the neighborhood’s smutty spots were washed away and replaced with overpriced clubs that drew the stiletto-clad crowds like drunken moths to striped-shirt, bottle-buying flames.

Well, here we are in a new decade, and the innocence of New York nightlife has been broken by a fierce recession. Lotus closed, and many (though not us) lamented the end of an era. Luckily, the new batch of bars in the neighborhood we swore we’d boycott after The Passerby died doesn’t seem half bad. One in particular, Abe & Arthur’s, marks the transition between an impetuous youth who can’t control his urges ($600 bottle of Absolut, please!) and an older, more sophisticated crowd that can bask in the glow of nighttime in Manhattan without falling face-forward on the cobblestone streets as they exits the bar.

In the bar area you’ll find a fashionable set, but they don’t squawk about last night’s celeb spotting like they used to (do the Olsen twins ever stay in?). Rather, the buzz in the room is about the menu: classic American fare that we can’t afford but have heard is delicious.The staff, clad in Converse sneakers, is scruffily attractive, and the bartenders don the cheeky Prohibition-style uniforms that are everywhere these days, officially marking the point when Prohibition rehash has lasted longer than the real thing. Instead of Cosmos, you’ll find thoughtfully made cocktails like the Allen Poe, a delicious and potent mix of Woodford Reserve, maple syrup and bitters.The Hemingway Daiquiri is another winner, the blend of rum, grapefruit and cherry liqueur both refreshing and potent enough for Papa himself. One to skip is their Singapore Sling, the fruity gin drink that can’t compete with the better, cheaper version down the road at The Rusty Knot.

The dining room is lushly lit and carries an intimate vibe. It’s small enough to do some fun flirting with the neighboring tables, but large enough that you can have a quiet conversation with friends while (and if) you eat. If you want to pony up for the chow, check out the savory side of succotash and

prepare yourself for the inevitable Looney Toons joke. All of the dishes are light and send you out into the night with plenty of room for more drinks.

A few sorry vestiges of Meatpacking District past linger around the spot. A $36 glass of pink Champagne may have seemed like a good idea while in the throes of adolescence, but age has brought wisdom about money. For only $2 less, you can have the Day Boat Cod and Rock Shrimp entrée. The bar and restaurant also sit on top of the SL nightclub, so you’re still likely to find some overly aggressive meatheads trying to game their way past the ropes when you exit.

When the Meatpacking District started its transformation, everyone was horrified at what it would become.The fear was that every night would see a traffic jam of limos, that the neighborhood’s gritty character would be whitewashed by European tourists looking to spend too much on drinks. A visit to Abe & Arthur’s puts this worry to rest. Like many a troubled teen, it looks like the area’s going to be OK after all.

> Abe & Arthur’s

409 W. 14th St. (betw. 9th Ave. & Washington St.), 646-289-3930.

STEPPING INSIDE The Manhattan Inn, you’ll be hard pressed not to say “Yowza.” Greenpoint’s newest lounge is quite the looker. The spot is warmly lit and constructed mostly out of recycled wood—throughout you’ll find creative touches that keep with the eco-friendly theme. School desks are re-imagined as bar tables. Old auditorium chairs are used for seating at the worn wooden tables in the bar’s back room. The lounge’s showpiece is a baby grand piano, which sits directly in the center of the dining room. And that baby’s not just for show—a pianist tinkles at the keys while you sip your cocktails. If you’re not impressed with the décor, you’re probably taking that jaded New Yorker thing a little too far.

Will the other aspects of this spot make you exclaim a funny sounding word? Not so much. Like many beautiful things, the Inn is slightly lacking in substance. Its specialty cocktails are on the bland side; the Warsaw Mermaid (green tea vodka, creme de violette and lime) is remarkable only because it’s so sweet. The small plates menu offers a few shout-outs to the neighborhood’s Polish roots, but the borscht is bland and the pierogies wouldn’t impress any Polish grandmother worth her salt. On one recent night, only the warming combo of the Shepherd’s Pie ($16) and the Manhattan’s Manhattan ($9) put us in the mood to sit around and hear another tune.

And the square dining room seems designed for such leisurely sitting.The sight lines aren’t just great for watching the piano player, but they’re also perfect for checking out the other tables. If you snag one of the corner booths, you’ll have a roost from which to scope the entire room. It’s a subdued crowd for this neighborhood; if your idea of checking someone out is “accidentally” elbowing them while in line for $3 beers, then you’re better off at a bar down the block. If you’re into playing eye contact games with someone sipping a $6 pint of Belgian-style Ommegang (the beer list is light on the discounts but heavy on impressive craft labels), you’ll find a suitably hip date here.

For a neighborhood that is known for jukeboxes or live bands, the piano music takes a little getting used to.The back room is small, and the sound of the ivories is loud as it echoes off the exposed brick walls. Each time the pianist starts playing, there is an awkward moment of silence in the crowd. Everyone peers at the musician in the center of the room, clearly thinking, “How can I keep loudly talking about getting laid last night while that poor guy is playing the piano?” Once everyone realizes that the instrument is meant to be background noise, the conversational hum of tits and asses resumes.

The place has its faults but, damn, she is pretty. It’s easy to overlook a few missteps when you’re in such a gorgeous environment. It’s even easier after a few sips of their gigantic specialty Manhattan. After our table’s plates were cleared, we decided to stay for another round of drinks.We settled into our corner booth, stopped talking about prophylactics for a few minutes, and absorbed the environment. It was like we were in some cozy winter lodge.Yowza, indeed.

> The Manhattan Inn

632 Manhattan Ave. (betw. Bedford & Nassau Aves.), Brooklyn, 718-383-0885.