Although its menu is largely devoted to tapas and divided into categories like “Earth,” “Ocean,” and “Land and Sky,” Beast keeps its cuteness under control. If the people here live in nearby brownstones, with groomed gardens and adorable, blossoming families, they don’t show it. Mugs of beer are far more popular than the bar’s fresh-squeezed cocktails ($6 to $8), which use watermelons, pure orange juice, and wild-strawberry-flavored liqueurs. Little stone gargoyles are scattered around the room, but they’re not intrusive; they do useful things, like hold the door, organize napkins, or sit atop a game of checkers. The owner, formerly a sommelier at Otto, has a childhood fondness for mythological creatures and fashioned the room like a medieval tavern—stained-glass windows feature half-naked beasts casually trying to kill each other. The wine is served in quartinos (equivalent to about a glass and a half), and the tapas are stunningly big. On weekends, the place is so crowded it’s a little difficult to have a conversation, but the late-night treats (“Decadent Beastly Desserts”) are so all-encompassing, it barely matters.