When you walk into a place called the Trailer Park Lounge, you pretty much know what you’re in for — and if you don’t, the lime green exterior and repurposed-toilet ashtray (“No if’s and and’s, only butts!”) will give you a hint. For sixteen years, the folks at the Lounge have been serving up sloppy joes and open-grill burgers with a healthy helping of camp. It’s like immersing yourself in a PG-rated John Waters–tinged dream, complete with tinsel, a shrine to Elvis, and all the neon of Vegas’s Fremont Street. If you want to enhance your appreciation of this nostalgic nirvana, sidle up to the glittery vinyl seats at the bar and order one of the potent margaritas. Sure, this is one of those spots that screams “Tourist trap!” But it can be fun to act like an out-of-towner every once in a while, noshing on grilled “Fat Dogs” and sipping some tasty blue monstrosity called Jim Bob’s IQ.
271 West 23rd Street, Manhattan
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