The bartenders sport bikinis here even in the dead of winter, but don't expect a tropical paradise. Nassau reeks more of college vomitorium than Pacific isle: A string of Christmas-tree lights runs the length of the bar; Bon Jovi and Billy Joel reign on the jukebox; the walls are covered with posters of the Miller Genuine Draft beer girls bending over in vinyl pants. The bikini-clad bartenders are like rich chocolate cake under a four-foot steel cage, surrounded by Sopranos-like bouncers ready to suck a troublemaker's arm out through his left nostril. And yet, the bouncers' presence does put the bartenders at ease. Expect to spend a good part of the night marveling at these ladies' comfort with their half-nakedness: striding out to pick songs from the jukebox in a minuscule black-and-white-striped bottom, throwing down a takeout carton of spaghetti with their leg casually propped up on the bar table. We were fans.
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