Bars and Nightlife

The Bikini Lounge is the kind of watering hole Charles Bukowski would have immortalized in poem or Jack Kerouac would have lived across from while banging out On the Road. A place where the beer is cheap and the chicks are extra-friendly. The sort of taproom where you can meet anyone from a teamster to a mad artist to a street philosopher all in as much time as it takes you to amble the length of the lounge. This is especially true on First Fridays, with all roads leading to this 57-year-old tiki tavern with its regulation pool table, jukebox, and grass-skirted wahine painting hanging behind the bar. There’s the feeling that anything can and probably will happen, like being in a central London pub on a Friday night or playing blackjack on the Strip in Vegas. Off nights, the Bikini Lounge reverts to a neighborhood hang, but on First Fridays it’s like a little bit of New York’s East Village right here in Phoenix. And for our money, it’s the greatest dive bar ever. Readers’ Choice: Chez Nous

Last call is a sad, sad song, at any hour. You’re boozed up, you’re having fun, and before you know it, the bartender is pulling your drink and kicking you out. There’s nothing more hated than the bartender’s mantra “you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” Well, if you’re in the vicinity of Farmer Avenue in Tempe, there’s a party waiting. Just east of Farmer is Ash, the street that’s home to Casey Moore’s, a longtime favorite neighborhood watering hole. After the bar lets out on a Friday or Saturday night, it’s common to see inebriated twentysomethings wandering the street, stumbling and laughing their way from house to house until they find something interesting. Our advice: You’ll find it on Farmer, between Ninth and 13th streets. Somehow, there’s always a party on Farmer. But be warned: If you’re more into Hurley than hairdos, it’s best you find your after-hours fun somewhere else. The hip kids might eat you alive. Readers’ Choice for Best After-Hours: Mickey’s Hangover

Okay, so Postino’s a little metrosexual. It’s the patio that’s not a patio, the couches swiped from an old issue of Real Simple, and those little cocktail tables where you’re crammed right up beside some couple making Nick and Jessica eyes at each other. The ambiance is perfect for you if your favorite mag is Marie Claire, but what about us Maxim, Playboy and FHM readers? Fortunately, when we get dragged to Postino by our significant others, there’s always the compensation of the comestibles; i.e., some of the best bruschetta you’ll ever eat — dare we say it, manly bruschetta with a variety of toppings such as white Tuscan bean, ricotta with pistachios, crushed tomato basil or prosciutto with figs and mascarpone. Or you can go for a bowl of assorted nuts or big, fat Italian olives, both just salty enough to make you want another glass of Kiltlifter to drink as she sips her Zinfandel and talks about how much it sucks that Friends is off the air. Ain’t relationships grand, fellas? Too bad the food’s not as good when she forces you to go to Bed, Bath and Beyond with her.

Hungry for a slab of beefcake? No one could accuse Dick’s Cabaret of false advertising — the club’s got plenty of its objectified namesake, bobbing in the bare air beneath rippled six-pack abs. Like their cultural kin the Village People, the dancers at Dick’s Cabaret fit a flurry of fantasy roles, performing as sailors, construction workers, cowboys, and whatever else tickles their, uh, fancy. Dick’s boys are hard workers, too, performing every day but Monday, when the club is closed. A warning to would-be lascivious lushes and tipsy tippers: Dick’s Cabaret doesn’t serve liquor — hard or otherwise — and no alcohol is permitted on the premises. It’s a good thing the shows are so intoxicating.

Slinky, suave, sophisticated, and about a dozen more s-words besides, the Merc Bar is the sort of place where you can expect to see drop-dead dime pieces in backless black dresses sipping French martinis with Ketel One and Chambord, while GQ-gorgeous guys enjoy their Belvedere vodkas straight up. The interior is dark with wood paneling plucked from some Eurotrashy ’60s ski-resort flick starring Elke Sommer. And all about are low couches, chairs and ottomans that the beautiful people of PHX rearrange like some giant, earth-toned game of mah-jongg. Lush, loungey music emanates from the stereo, and for a moment you can pretend that Bill Clinton’s still the prez, the stock market bubble never burst, and all’s right with the world. The name refers to Mercer Street in Manhattan, on which Gotham’s Merc Bar, the sister to the P-town establishment, sits. The waitresses look like supermodels, and the clientele on any given night comprises a meet market that only peddles filet mignon, if you catch our drift. The self-assured and the self-appointed make the scene, and to appear there tells the world you’re a person of refinement and taste, a player who can afford the better things in life, even if you’re not rich — yet. Readers’ Choice: J Bar in the James Hotel

There are bars where you go to watch the games, and then there’s the bar you go to be a sports fan. Not only does McDuffy’s in Tempe stay true to the holy trinity of sports — beer, big screens and betting — it offers a little something for every sports fan.

Only a 10-minute walk from Sun Devil Stadium, which comes in handy for brewski-packing bargoers who need to sober up on the way back to the car, McDuffy’s has been a favorite refuge for avid sports fans since it opened in 1988. It’s got off-track betting on horse and greyhound races, and the bar boasts more than 30 beers and a reverse happy hour after 10 p.m. for those post-game munchies. With 12 giant screens and more than 70 additional televisions, it’s no wonder McDuffy’s is able to show every available NFL and NCAA tournament game, in addition to most match-ups in baseball, hockey, golf, boxing, water polo, wrestling, skiing, log rolling . . . need we go on?

See you there. Readers’ Choice: Zipps Sports Grill

We have a theory about The Big Bang: Your mom will love it. Now, we have to offer a caveat. Not just any mother will appreciate this place. It’s true that the first time we walked in with Mom, happy hour was in full swing and an America West Airlines employee in tight jeans happened to be gyrating across the surface of one of the two dueling pianos, singing along to Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.” Really, though, it’s all good, clean fun, as the “dueling” piano players keep the tunes (mostly hits from the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s, crowd favorites like “Red, Red Wine” and “American Pie”) coming, and waitresses make the rounds with test tube Jell-O shots. Soon our mom was dancing in the aisles, guzzling beer and belting out “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” with the best of them.

Just don’t tell Dad.

Where’s the beefcake? Ladies 18 and up can make like Wendy’s — and get hot and juicy, indeed — at Club Dwntwn, where the U.S. Male Revue lets ‘er rip every Friday and Saturday from 8 to 10:30 p.m. And going postal never seemed like such fun. “The best of the West . . . undressed,” these boys give new meaning to the term “lap” dance, licking ladies from leg to lobe. While the movie, uh, takeoffs range from hot (Dallas takes the stage — and our breath away — in a white Top Gun uniform) to not (the guy in the scarecrow getup? If he only had a clue . . . ), the Vin Diesel look-alike certainly knows how to fill a pair of tighty whities . . . and “Sexy Chocolate” left us more than a little curious about the contents of his wrapper. Think the best things come in small packages? Not with this male service.

In our opinion, the only sports worth playing are those that don’t get in the way of creature comforts like watching TV, drinking brewskis, eating potato chips, and smoking ciggies. Sure, we’d love to compete in the decathlon, but you try doing the pole vault while puffing on a Camel and see how easy it is. That’s why we’ll stick to the sport of kings and rogues alike, pocket billiards, a game wherein “sinking balls” is actually a cause for celebration for most guys. When it comes to shooting a little stick in the PHX, we prefer a clean, unpretentious spot where you can enjoy some suds, inhale as much tar and nicotine as your lungs can handle, and avoid breaking a sweat in air-conditioned bliss. That’s why we love Clicks. Not only does it have 22 pool tables, darts, air hockey and foosball, it’s got a dozen beers on tap, all of which are invariably served to you in a frosty mug; and a full bar, including frozen margaritas — a must for any serious pool shark. Clicks boasts a genuinely fun atmosphere, with attentive waitresses and barkeeps, as well as a general manager who’s featured in a sci-fi/fantasy comic book series called The Villikon Chronicles. (Check the Web site if you don’t believe us.) All we need now is for Clicks to install some La-Z-Boys so we can sleep off a drunk when need be, and the place’ll be perfect. Readers’ Choice: Clicks Billiards

The classic martini — not those pink, blue and yellow frou-frou concoctions that bottle blondes imbibe at chichi clubs — has had many champions: everyone from FDR and Richard Nixon to W.C. Fields and James Bond. But we’d like to cop a quote from surrealist director Luis Bu–uel, who wrote in his memoir My Last Sigh that the making of a dry martini “should resemble the Immaculate Conception,” especially when it comes to adding the vermouth. At Durant’s, if you don’t watch carefully, you’ll miss the barkeep’s addition of that “whisper” of vermouth to your martini. See, everything is done traditionally here. The glass is chilled, and the martini itself is stirred, not shaken, to prevent the “bruising” of the gin, which supposedly happens when too much water gets into the damn thing. Normally, you get two fat olives as a garnish, unless you’re one of those oddballs partial to Gibsons, in which case you get two cocktail onions. (We won’t even go into those heathens who prefer vodka over gin.) See, in the case of the martini, its beauty is that of a simple thing done well, and that’s a lot harder to find these days than you might expect. Unless, of course, you go looking for it at Durant’s. Readers’ Choice: AZ 88

Remember that stunning, brunette bombshell you saw shopping in the produce section at Albertsons the other day? Remember how you thought to yourself, “I’ll never get next to anything that fine”? Well, think again and pay a visit to Skin, where for a mere $10 lap dance, you can not only have that dime piece snuggle up next to you, she’ll practically be wearing her birthday suit, as long as you don’t count the G-string or the eight-inch heels. That’s right, even an average Joe like you can feel like a playa for a day at Skin, which, hands down, has the best bods in the Valley on display in a dark, upscale environment where you can kick back, enjoy a Scotch and pretend you’re in your own personal harem for the evening. The best part about Skin is that, unlike at other dollar ballerina parlors in town, you aren’t pressured constantly to buy a lap dance. Maybe that’s because Skin’s management knows that with such an embarrassment of riches at its disposal, it’s only a matter of time before you cave and empty your pockets. How else are you gonna get to rub up on Brooke Burke and Halle Berry look-alikes? Face it, bub, Skin is your only path to paradise.

Sometimes, karaoke is good — if we’ve had enough to drink. But often it is very, very bad.

If only we had a gong. Wait, we do, at Hamburger Mary’s. On Tuesday nights, friends and foes alike pack the popular gay and lesbian establishment, and pay a buck for the privilege of banging the silver saucer-shaped instrument. Whichever musically impaired maestro is cattily caterwauling at that moment then gets a 30-second countdown to double the donation or be cut off. Usually the victim will plop down the money, only to get even louder in defiance, because usually it’s not about talent, but enthusiasm. The stakes get higher and higher as non-fans continue to drop in dollars, and this dance repeats itself long into the night. By the time last call is shouted, the till is overflowing and will be donated to charity.

Let’s say for the sake of this Best Of that Pam Grier’s character Jackie Brown from the 1997 Quentin Tarantino flick of the same name appears before you, cuddles up next to your sorry ass on the couch, and says, “Baby, let’s go out.” Where should you take her? Why, to Chez Nous, of course, where you and Jackie will feel right at home amongst the faux-rock, dark vinyl booths, and decor straight out of those Jack Hill blaxploitation flicks Grier starred in back in the early ’70s, like Coffy and Foxy Brown. There’s almost always some smooth R&B being played up on the stage, and the AC-cooled inky blackness of the club lends itself to romantic groping, if you’re lucky and Miss Brown feels obliging. Plus the drinks are tr’s cheap, so it won’t kill your wallet getting Jackie blotto so you can take her back to your pad and make sweet love. Yeah, with Chez Nous, the ’70s are only a few minutes away, and you won’t find any better place to kick it old-school like the mack you are, either with Jackie Brown, or without her.

Our thirst for knowledge is equaled only by our thirst for beer. We quench both at Tempe’s Rio Salado Brewing Company, where Saturday-afternoon brewery tours impart “a sensory experience of Rio Salado Brewing Company beer.” Beer buffs get to “taste and smell the raw materials, learn how they impact the beer, taste the steps of production, as well as the finished products.” RSBC’s “25-hectoliter brew system” pumps out German-style ales and lagers, all available in kegs and cases and on tap in the Tap Room, where action includes live music on Friday and Saturday nights, “Two fer Tuesdays” and “Manic Mug Mondays.” The Company has even taken to sponsoring a yearly spring prom. And with a new outpost on Mill Avenue (no tours, but plenty of suds), it’s even easier to consume Rio Salado’s specialty, “beer with passion” — which, in our opinion, is second only to beer with peanuts. Readers’ Choice: Four Peaks Brewing Company

We were hooked after just one sip, ordering another before the first glassful was even gone. Our waiter refused to give us the exact recipe for the espresso martini, but he did kindly volunteer the ingredients: Bailey’s Irish Cr’me, Frangelico, vodka and cr’me de cacao. And, yes, a shot of espresso. The waiter also described the espresso martini experience: “Your body shuts down but your mind keeps racing.”

That’s a little deep for us. All we can say is, that’s one hell of a buzz!

One of the surprises of moving to Phoenix for the first time from some place like Los Angeles or New York is being able to have a pint of P-town’s “home brew” — Kiltlifter Scottish Ale — on tap at a local saloon. Let’s be honest, when you’re a newbie transplant with some of that El Lay or Gotham ‘tude, your first reaction to PHX — not knowing the area — might be, “Why, God, why?” But a draught of Kiltlifter, the flagship ale of the Four Peaks Brewing Company in Tempe, is enough to convince you that not only is there civilization in P-town, but it has produced a damn fine brew-ha-ha, one worthy of incessant quaffing. Kiltlifter is an award-winning, Scottish-style amber ale that uses peat-soaked malt (the same used in making Scotch) to give the beverage a smoky sweetness, accented with a touch of English hops. It’s a sophisticated, refreshing drink, and Phoenicians should be as proud of it as they are of the Arizona flag.

What with our granny hailing from the Old Country, we freely give love to all of the Valley’s fine Irish pubs. But Chandler’s Fibber Magees garners garlands from us when it comes to Best Irish Pub because of the grub. It’s got the traditional Irish breakfast (fried eggs, rashers, soda bread, sausage, beans, et al.) all day long, Irish whiskey mushroom soup, and the Emerald Isle version of the potato pancake (i.e., the boxty), topped with your choice of Guinness and beef stew, corned beef and cabbage, or smoked salmon. Ease it all into your gullet with a pint of Guinness or Harp, and any number of Irish whiskeys, and enjoy the ambiance of stained-glass windows, antiques, rustic wooden tables and chairs, and ink portraits of Irish writers and heroes. Will Irish eyes be smiling? After a trip to Fibber Magees, we say, indeed they will. Readers’ Choice: Rosie McCaffrey’s Irish Pub

There’s a reason this weekly Scottsdale shindig has been a fixture of the turntable scene even longer than there’s been a scene in the Valley: DJ trends may come and go, but nothing gets the party people dancing like a good house music set. Resident DJs Pete “Supermix” Salaz and Senbad not only spin some sizzling wax, but sometimes even turn over the turntables to some of the best touring DJs in the country. Hundreds of well-dressed bodies pack the dance floor and cluster around the bar when this party’s really pumping, and if Next’s sleek interior weren’t lighted in soothing shades of blue, the place just might overheat.

There’s just something about Hot Pink that makes people horny. Maybe it’s the pounding music or the lyrics dripping with innuendo, but our guess is that the extreme inebriation brought on by $2 drinks is what really turns people on. The club is a sexual free-for-all — if you want something sleazy with no strings attached, this is your place. Look around the dance floor at midnight on a Friday and most everyone is making out. Check out the dark corners of the bar and you’ll find people getting a little more personal. Try to go to the restroom and you’re likely to walk in on drunken lovers doing the “wild thang.” Hey, with that kind of luck, you won’t even have to deal with the awkward morning after. Readers’ Choice: Myst

There’s no need to tell you what B & T stands for, nor where this underground club actually exists. That’s because nearly everyone in Phoenix’s incestuous demimonde has been there and imbibed after hours. The bands that have played there are renowned, as are the licentious escapades of the revelers, the latter being on a par with the satanic orgies of London’s late-18th-century Hellfire Club. Spankings, sexcapades and secrecy are the order of the day, and here many a nubile young lass turned on to the pleasures of exhibitionism. Those who are welcome often find invites in their mailboxes. Or such neophytes might accompany those in the inner circle, or simply be in the right place at the right time. Admission is allowed with the admonition that loose lips sink ships. But, alas, everyone loves talking about what’s forbidden, especially when it’s a speakeasy as established as this one. Hence, its status as P-town’s best worst-kept secret.

Why does George & Dragon win Best English Pub year after year? Could it be all the British beers on tap? The pictures of the Queen Mum and the Duke of Windsor while he was still King Edward VIII? The fact that it serves peas with its fish and chips and has plenty of HP sauce on hand? Or perhaps it’s because it offers spotted dick for anyone willing to eat it? Why, we haven’t had a better spotted dick since our days in London just prior to Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher’s fall from power. What? You’re squeamish about popping a spotted dick into your mouth? Get your mind out of the gutter, you perv! This spotted dick is a giant bowl of sponge pudding filled with raisins and sultanas and topped with a thick, creamy layer of Bird’s English custard. But back to our original question, the reason the good G & D always seems to win Best English Pub is for all of the above, spotted dick included. Can someone cue “Rule Britannia,” please? Readers’ Choice: George & Dragon Restaurant

Less than a year old, this swank, west-side strip club is already setting new standards with its plush, modern interior decor, and candy-apple-red exterior design. The girls are young, sexy and approachable, unlike the ice queens you find at other gentlemen’s clubs, and the ambiance is intimate and classy, as opposed to the warehouse atmosphere some spots have. The lounge features big, plasma TV screens, and a selection of handmade and imported beer, as well as the choicest liquors. And the place also offers daily promos, like two-for-one table dances Sundays through Thursdays, and hourly specials on Fridays and Saturdays. The owners bill it as “the biggest little strip club in Phoenix,” and in the case of the Pin Up Girl Lounge, we have to agree that sometimes great things come in smaller packages.

Ziggy’s transformation from Sun Devil-themed sports bar to popular punk-rock hangout wasn’t truly complete until the owners took the Best of the Pixies CD off auto-repeat and finally got the jukebox stocked with kick-ass discs handpicked by DJ Jefe, who also books bands there. Ziggy’s definitely amped up its cool quotient by bringing live rock ‘n’ roll, rockabilly, punk, garage and Americana to Mill Avenue not long after Long Wong’s shut down, but now that we can pop in some quarters and hear whatever tunes we want, it’s almost as fun just to grab a burger or a beer and rock out during the off hours.

Hovering on the border of Arizona State University, Oasis Cafe lights up Apache Boulevard with lively music and authentic Arabic cuisine.

And, of course, hookahs for rent. The hookah is a smoking pipe designed with a long tube and an urn of water that cools the smoke. Don’t forget the shisha: smooth, flavorful tobacco; we recommend apricot or strawberry.

Friendly conversation or a plate of hummus is the perfect complement to a session of hookah smoking, but Oasis doesn’t stop there. Belly dancers hypnotize crowds every Friday night, and televisions in the restaurant are tuned to the Dubai network out of the United Arab Emirates.

What better bar to watch the game than the one where you can actually watch the game? Located above the left-field bleachers at Bank One Ballpark, this isn’t your typical family-friendly Friday’s where the birthday girl gets a brownie.

Okay, maybe there’s a little of that, but what could beat chowing down on a half-pound hot dog while hearing the crack of a D-Back’s bat just below you? The best part — you don’t need a ticket to the game to get in, and while some avoid the bar in fear of a packed house, the 14,000-square-foot joint serves up to 1,000 people, so your chances of missing out on a seat are slim.

Even during baseball’s off-season, this Friday’s is a fully equipped sports bar, with 40 screens to satisfy every sports fan’s fancy. Readers’ Choice: Zipps Sports Grill

Forget the tasty ghost stories, oysters and local brews that make Casey Moore’s a favorite dining/drinking hangout for ASU students and Tempe residents. Conversation is the real mainstay of this historic house turned watering hole.

Just a brief stroll from the corporate cornucopia of Mill Avenue, Casey’s is camouflaged among quaint houses in a small neighborhood on Ninth Street and Ash Avenue. Not only is the place worth singing about (see lyrics in Jimmy Eat World’s “If You Don’t, Don’t”), the laid-back bar has a knack for rousing the most intellectual, conversational side of us all.

There’s something about the seating — wooden picnic-style tables and benches, and a comfy bar area — that cries for a good conversation. Don’t get us wrong; this is still a college bar with plenty of college antics and cheap pickup lines. But here, you’re more likely to find the alternative, vintage-happy academic referencing Confucius than cunnilingus.

It doesn’t matter whether your topic of choice is philosophy or procreation, however. Casey’s is the optimal venue for raising your Guinness — along with your point of view. Readers’ Choice: Merc Bar

Dwelling in our desert burg the way we do, with temps rocking C-note plus, what better escapist fantasy could one have than an evening at Scottsdale’s Drift Polynesian Restaurant and Tiki Lounge? Drift’s like that flick Blue Crush come to life, with Kate Bosworth and Michelle Rodriguez look-alikes walking around in clam diggers and midriff-baring tops, serving you pupu platters and exotic tropical drinks — such as the Evil Bastard, Pele’s Eruption, and The Grotto — all in wild, Polynesian-style glasses.

The atmosphere is kick-back, with huge Easter Island-style heads, glowing blowfish bodies, and Gilligan’s Island torches. And then there’s the big, glass-topped bar that wraps around a large aquarium, with two big TV screens playing Hawaii Five-O or surfing videos up above it all. The music’s an eclectic mix of hip-hop, funky electronica and Top 40, and there are plenty of circular booths to chill with friends and scope the crowd. The food’s tasty, the drinks are frosty, and the booties are bouncy, so put on that shiny shirt and be there, fool!

Thankfully, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a mullet here. E-Lounge draws patrons of all ages, but its largest draw is the twentysomething crowd. With ample, cushy couches, reasonably priced drinks, and hordes of hot women, E-Lounge is fast becoming the nightclub that local lesbians have wanted for years. The inside decor resembles a grotto inferno, with dark red brick walls, paintings of exotic, scantily clad women, and a spacious, sunken dance floor — a perfect pit for exhibitionists, and a great eyeful opportunity for voyeurs. Add some of the Valley’s hottest DJs (Domenica, Pete, and Laura B.) to the mix, and there’s bound to be beautiful booty shakin’ until last call — and maybe more booty after that. Readers’ Choice: Ain’t Nobody’s Bizness

This place would impress even the Queer Eye guys. From the opera bar to the leather couches to the jumbo shrimp appetizer, everything about Amsterdam is perfectly appointed, particularly the help — and the clientele. You’ll feel like you’ve died and gone to cable when you sink back with a martini (we recommend the French) and enjoy the, er, view, as well as the live piano music and frequent drag shows. For you fag hags (and boys who do the mani-pedi thing), we highly recommend “Martinis and Manicures” — just $5 for a mani, $10 for a pedi, 7 p.m. to close, plus $5 martinis.

Don’t bother asking for a “facial.” It’s not that kind of place. Readers’ Choice: Amsterdam

Hey, Dancing Queen, if those shoes haven’t scuffed a dance floor since disco, it’s time to leave the house. Deciding where to bust your latest Beyonc moves isn’t easy, but there are a few diva-worthy dance floors out there — all of them inside the confines of The Buzz.

The Buzz is perfect for the schizophrenic dancer who’s not really sure what groove to follow. The maze of bars and themed rooms surround a large dance floor lighted by hypnotic lasers and energized by scratch-happy DJs who spin everything from house to funk to hip-hop.

Save the last dance until you’ve perused the rest of the two-story fun bar. The Rat Pack Lounge offers a little Sinatra-inspired R&R — perfect for rejuvenating yourself — and the rooftop patio is essential for airing out those sweat-soaked digs of yours. Don’t lounge around too long, however. The Buzz is best experienced by dancing yourself dizzy. Readers’ Choice: Axis/Radius

To borrow a line from John Belushi in Animal House, now that Arizona has gotten off its keister and extended the drinking cutoff until 2 a.m., we advise you to start drinking heavily. And there’s no better place to start drinking heavily than at McDuffy’s Wide World of Entertainment in Peoria, which has 21 different beers on tap and at least the same number in bottles. This sleek, 13,000-square-foot sports bar is jam-packed with large-screen TVs tuned to all of your favorite athletic competitions, and then some. McDuffy’s also offers off-track betting year-round, so you can lose your shirt (or win a bundle) while getting hammered. And the kitchen prepares some of the best bar food, bar none, everything from beer-battered fish and chips and roast beef sliders au jus to hand-crafted pizzas, made to your exacting specifications. Moreover, with its half-price happy hour — and a reverse happy hour on Sundays that includes Sabbath tourneys of “beer pong” (Yahweh must love that one), McDuffy’s has become a destination drinking, dining and fun zone for the entire west side. If only Belushi were still around, he’d love it. Readers’ Choice: Four Peaks Brewing Company