Good for Laughs and Lashings of the Old Ultra-Violence


You may need to hire a private detective to find the enigmatic and hidden Boogaloo Bar. The ’60s-retro sci-fi-looking lounge seems more in step with the chic L.A. scene or a velvet-rope Manhattan clique than the dark and dirty (trash and stink permeate the area) underbelly of the J/M/Z tracks in Williamsburg. Inviting, yet too clinical to be comfortable, the all-white rooms are framed with rounded hobbit-hole archways and bar counters and tables accented by mysterious spot lighting; Alex and his droogies (see A Clockwork Orange) would fit right in among the unlikely sprinkling of hipsters and the slight air of seediness. Recommended are the Commodore, a sweet and juicy guava-based margarita ($7); and the Pink Kitty, their fruity take on the rum-punch classic, the hurricane ($7). Receive inter-dimensional broadcasts in the back chill-out room, where one wall continuously screens fractal trip-out loops. DJs spin nightly.

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