Bars & Nightlife

No soggy mozzarella sticks or oily potato skins here. Four Peaks offers imaginative appetizers like Arizona chicken rolls (pastry-wrapped chicken, cheese and chiles) and spanakopita (phyllo dough stuffed with spinach, cheese, pine nuts and dill). The soups are homemade, and the salads come with a distinctive sweet jalapeño dressing. Other too-good-to-be-bar snacks include the Bleu Light Special Burger, topped with an amazing amount of tangy bleu cheese; the portabella veggie beer-bread sandwich; and the zippy, slightly sweet barbecued-chicken pizza. And of course, for a Peak experience, don't order any of the above without one of Four Peaks' home-brewed beers. That would be as tragic as missing the food.

They're still there, under wraps in greenHAUS Boutique and Gallery, the former home of the infamous 307 drag bar, and the onetime re-election campaign headquarters of former Mayor Phil Gordon: a pair of murals by the late Ted DeGrazia, one of Arizona's highest-profile exports to the world at large.

Best known for the paintings of big-eyed, primitive Native American tykes popularized in the '60s in a greeting card line launched by UNICEF, DeGrazia reportedly painted the long-covered-up, giant murals in the 1950s to pay off his drinks tabs when this building housed a series of fly-by-night cocktail lounges.

Both of the untitled murals, which are painted on plywood across the full length of 40-foot walls in browns and yellows on a field of deep khaki, depict the history of grain alcohol production, beginning with cavemen fermenting roots and ending with farmers bootlegging the stuff while prairie-skirted angels fly from the sun, clutching martini glasses and a pair of showgirls do high kicks of vodka-inspired joy.

So, why haven't the murals been rescued, restored, and moved to Tucson's DeGrazia Gallery in the Sun? Some say it's because the murals are painted directly on the space's interior walls, and removing them would destroy the ancient building. Others say it's because decades of cigarette smoke and cheesy repairs to the murals' peeling paint have rendered them valueless.

Our favorite story is this one: The murals are haunted by the ghost of DeGrazia himself, and every time someone begins poking around his old wall paintings, his ghost turns up and starts wagging his finger at anyone with big ideas of moving them.

Best Bar Food
Native New Yorker
several Valley locations

Best Bar For Conversation
Merc Bar
2501 East Camelback
602-508-9449

Best Bar To Be Seen
Six
7316 East Stetson, Scottsdale
480-703-3383

Best Bar To Watch The Game
Goldie's Neighborhood Sports Cafe
10135 East Via Linda, Scottsdale
480-451-6269

Best Beer Selection
Timber Wolf Pub
740 East Apache, Tempe
480-517-9383

Best Brew Pub
Four Peaks Brewing Company
1340 East Eighth Street, Tempe
480-303-9967

Best English Pub
George and Dragon English Restaurant and Pub
4240 North Central
602-241-0018

Best Gay Bar
Crowbar
710 North Central
602-258-8343

Best Lesbian Bar
Ain't Nobody's Bizness
3031 East Indian School
602-224-9977

Best Martini
Martini Ranch
7295 East Stetson, Scottsdale
480-970-0500

Best Pool Hall
Pink E's
3227 East Bell
602-482-8350
and 93 East Southern, Tempe
480-829-1822

Best Cigar Bar
The Famous Door
7419 East Indian Plaza, Scottsdale
480-970-1945

Locals who like to chase their margarita with a little dead guy spend time at Casey Moore's, because this popular Tempe neighborhood bar at Ninth and Ash is reportedly chockablock with ghosts. Built in 1910 by William Moeur, a leader in Tempe's early education system. Moeur and his wife, Mary, lived in the house, and both died there, too — William in 1929; Mary in 1943. But they haven't, according to local legend, ever actually left the premises.

Both of the dearly departed Moeurs have been seen dancing together in the window of an upstairs bedroom, and neighbors routinely report seeing a faint glow from another upstairs bedroom window. The couple also are apparently downstairs pranksters, too: Customers have reported flatware flying from tables and have seen chandeliers spookily swinging and paintings crashing to the ground. Casey Moore's staff also claims that furniture and place settings often are rearranged overnight, while the restaurant is empty.

Creepier still are reports that a pretty young girl with light eyes and dark black hair who was murdered in the house sometime after the Moeurs died there. Some versions of the house's history claim that the residence became a whorehouse in the 1950s, and that the dark-haired girl is a former hooker whose john smothered her with a pillow rather than pay. Boo!

Make a bathroom friend in a bar on Mill one Saturday night in Tempe and you might hear the urban legend about the developer who threw himself off the West Sixth building before it was finished. Versions of the rumor generally include mention of the Great Recession, the dire state of the finances of the project, and a gruesome gesture toward the top of the now-fully operational high rise. It's a long way down to the roundabout driveway resembling a bull's eye.

The story might give you chills on your way to Rúla Búla for Pub Trivia, but is it true? Not exactly, although there was, in fact, a suicide related to the development. The true story behind this tale is gnarlier than the version that lingers over downtown Tempe.

In 2008, deep in the throes of the Great Recession, Mortgages Ltd. CEO Scott Coles had collected nearly $1 billion from investors in the Phoenix area for large-scale development projects, including what was then called Centerpoint Condominiums on Sixth Street. Coles once had instilled confidence in his investors, but the returns on their money weren't coming through, and the project fell into deep debt. Rumors began swirling among investors that Mortgages Ltd. was broke and that the FBI may be involved.

Was he a classic Ponzi scam artist? Coles, who once paid $375,000 to have lunch with Donald Trump, was known as much for his opulent lifestyle as he was for his risky ventures. Before the tension among those awaiting repayment boiled over and the investigations could follow the money trail (back to Coles' multiple mansions, his cars, his lavish parties with attendees like Ludacris and Jenny McCarthy), Coles donned a tuxedo, took a cocktail of pills, and got into bed with a cardboard cutout of his wife. His kids found him dead in his bedroom surrounded by a makeshift shrine to her, including photos and fresh-cut red roses.

So where did the first version come from? The rumor about the jump may be a conflation of another infamous suicide story in the neighborhood: that of renown Cuban artist Pedro Álvarez, who leaped from the fifth-floor window of his hotel room at the Twin Palms Hotel on Apache Boulevard just five days after the opening of his show "Landscape in the Fireplace: Paintings by Pedro Álvarez" at the Arizona State University Art Museum in April of 2004.

You know him as Johnny D., as in Mostly Vinyl with Johnny D., the radio program on KWSS that celebrates rare and obscure soul and funk. But John Dixon is also an obsessive collector of recorded music — mostly on vinyl — as well as a record producer, a former A&R man, and a musician. Besides infusing the often bland local airwaves with a lot of soul, Dixon has made a career of archiving, documenting, and reissuing Arizona music by local artists like Floyd Ramsey, Loy Clingman, Eddie and Ernie, and Dyke and the Blazers — artists lucky enough to own their recorded tape masters. The longtime Tempe resident took some time off from preserving our musical heritage to talk about himself and the lost art of record collecting.

Robrt Pela: How'd you end up in Phoenix?

John Dixon: My mom and I got off the train in Tempe in 1953, and I've been here, off and on, ever since. Her plan was that she was going to stay in each place for two years. My dad was killed in Japan in World War II, and my mom was in the USO in Hawaii. From there, we moved to Minnesota for two years, then Oregon for two years, and Mom read about Tempe in a brochure, so we came here. We got off the train in the middle of August, and we nearly died.

RP: But you stayed.

JD: We were going to be here for two years and then head to Kentucky. But I started school while we were here, and Mom actually listened when I whined about not wanting to leave my friends. Instead of saying, "Shut up and get on the train," she gave up her wanderlust for me.

RP: Your mother is kind of a local icon, herself.

JD: Oh, yeah. All her students remember Mrs. Dixon. She taught in the Roosevelt District in the '60s, and she was the first white teacher they'd ever had. If you didn't show up at school, you got a visit from her that night. She brought kids clothes if they needed them. She'll be 98 this year, and she's doing just fine — "waiting to sign the book," as she says.

RP: Your long career as a vinyl junkie began in grade school.

JD: Yeah. I used to play records for the kids during lunch period. And there were record hops on the weekends at Tempe High. I was the vinyl guy. My friends and I would bring our sound system, and I had hundreds of records. Then the Beatles came along, and everyone wanted to be in a band. So then the dances all had live bands, and the DJs got relegated to playing between live sets.

RP: Even back then, you were playing obscure stuff.

JD: Well, I used to hang out at Pearlman's Records and Books in Tempe, and Mr. Pearlman used to take me with him to all the record distributors where he went to buy for his store. That's when I found out what a promo was, and that they were free. And I thought, "This is for me, man."

RP: Oh, yes. The white label promo — the vinyl junkie's heroin.

JD: I had a business card, and I would hand it out to the guys at the record distributor places. After a while I had a box set up next to KRIZ, KRUX, KUPD. The label guys would leave records for me, and that's how I found the music that wasn't getting played on the radio.

RP: Weren't you in a couple of bands back then?

JD: I was in the Sonics, and the Trendsetters. But I got drafted in 1967. When I got out I started working for [music distributor] Record Land, and now I was the guy putting the records in the deejay's boxes, trying to get them to play our records.

RP: And then you went to work at Capitol.

JD: Yeah, I was in promotion here, and then later in London. I was babysitting Be-Bop Deluxe, Gentle Giant, Kate Bush, and making sure that the Little River Band had their posters up in record stores in Dusseldorf. The new music scene in London was amazing — the Police had just started.

RP: New wave!

JD: Yeah. I came back here to Phoenix and started K15. We played the Ramones, the Plasmatics, the Feederz.

RP: I loved K15.

JD: It was all the up-tempo new music that nobody else was playing. We went off the air at sunset. But they just couldn't sell it, so we only lasted six months.

RP: What's up with us? I mean, those of us who've been collecting vinyl for most of our lives.

JD: It's in your DNA, your blood. I had to build a separate building to house my records. It's 14 feet by 28 feet, and I just barely squeaked all my albums and 45s in. I don't know where I'm going to put my tapes.

These young whippersnappers who weren't around when the only way you could get music was on vinyl — I mean, the joy of cracking open a new LP, staring at the cover art, reading the liner notes. It's a thing of the past. Eventually all our music will be on a little thing we carry around in our pockets. It'll be stored on our phones.

RP: I can't bear it.

JD: We're old farts. Dinosaurs, you and I.

RP: Some artists are putting out their albums on vinyl.

JD: It's a fad. It's less than 1 percent of the pressing. Some of these young bands think of vinyl as a novelty, so they're making 1,000 vinyl 45s before they put their new CD out. It's not the same.

RP: You've taken collecting to a whole new level: You don't just collect the records; you collect the master tapes, and the publishing rights, of music by Arizona artists.

JD: And the unsold overstock! I just bought 400 copies of 40-year-old records by Dick and Libby Halleman. I've got 40 copies of "Pizza Sure is Good" on 45.

But, yeah. I own the publishing and reproduction rights for a lot of old Arizona music. I get these tracks onto TV shows like Mad Men, and the songs are making more money now than when they were first pressed. I don't own any hits, but I have songs that sound like hits. If there's family left, I pay royalties to them. It's a way to keep Arizona music alive.

RP: What happens to all this stuff when you're gone?

JD: I'm a founding member of the Arizona Music Hall of Fame, and I'm still hoping my archive will be a part of that. In the meantime, the Musical Instrument Museum came along, and so luckily some of my stuff is out there. And I've continued to devote myself to the collecting, and getting the music out there in new CDs.

RP: You're always referred to as the "Unofficial Arizona Music Historian." What will it take to make you official?

JD: A proclamation from Jan Brewer? I don't know! It doesn't make any difference to me. I laugh at my unofficial-ness. In fact, I kind of like it. I'm just a kid from Tempe, but I've been so blessed to get to do what I do.

With its cushy, '40s-era floral-print-upholstered furniture arranged into intimate clusters, its warm amber lighting, and its generous cocktails, the Royal Palms bar is the most inviting place in town to go when your focus is on the person -- or people -- you came with. There's no dancing, and there's no "scene," although the people-watching isn't bad. The pianist supplies a soundtrack for that evening that's spirited but not noisy, so there's no need to shout over his arpeggios. And consider yourself lucky to snag the highly desirable little room to the left of the bar, the one with the cozy couches arranged around a roaring fireplace. This elegant spot, like the rest of the small bar, offers atmosphere in spades.

Don't dismiss McDuffy's just because it's popular and smack dab in the weekend chaos that is Mill Avenue (next to the Bash on Ash). Be wary only if you have a phobia involving multiple TV screens. (McDuffy's has 77 screens featuring every imaginable sports event on the planet.) The vibe is comfortable and festive, the beer selection is ample, and the chicken fingers are licking good. McDuffy's is the ultimate haven for Valleyites who can't get enough athletic support at home.

The bar is almost an afterthought at Pink E's; there's no question the place is all about billiards. In the middle of a shopping mall, with darkened windows and grunge music pounding inside, Pink E's draws a young bar crowd looking for that old-time pool hall atmosphere. More than 60 pink-and-green pool tables circle the bar, but the action is in the outer ring of tables, which are packed so close together you're likely to jab a neighboring player before the night is over. Some customers complain that a few tables lean to one side, but the pool sticks are relatively new, and the atmosphere is relentlessly hip. Slide three quarters onto a table, and you're in; Mondays and Tuesdays are free pool nights, with pool sticks renting for a mere $2 each. You won't have to wrestle for space with snooty professional players or wait in line behind a local tournament.

If there's going to be a long, long wait for a table -- and Pizzeria Bianco still packs them in on any night of the week, so that's a given -- then the time might as well be spent in the comfortable confines of the little building next door known as Bar Bianco. Housed in an early 20th century bungalow, this lovely wine bar's selection is short and sophisticated, and the mood manages to be at once chic and relaxed. Imagine being invited to a small party thrown by an elegant, gracious friend whose greatest concern is your comfort. (Okay, we don't know anybody like that either, but here's a good place to pretend.) There's no straining to hear your name called, and certainly no vibrating pagers; they'll just call the bartender from next door when they're ready for you. After sinking into an armchair for a while, it's easy to forget that you came here just to kill some time.

Amsterdam is the gay equivalent of Scottsdale's trendiest hot spots, where some of the most beautiful and body-conscious people in the city hang out. This cozy, dimly lit room is light-years away from the seedy, back-alley bars that characterize much of the gay scene in Phoenix. Amsterdam is popular with gay see-and-be-seens who want to drop their dimes in an elegant establishment, where one can hold a lover's hand without being harassed. The posh furniture, baby grand piano and classy character of Amsterdam give its patrons the distinct feeling of being, well, somewhere other than Phoenix. This bar has style, attitude and expertly mixed martinis -- not to mention the cutest boy bartenders around.

Punk's not dead; it's alive and well at this friendly little dive that caters to the Mohawks-and-combats crowd, the local greaser kids and all leather-clad types in between. Something about the old Damned poster on the wall, the bartender wearing a dog collar and the Jaegermeister on tap makes us feel at home when we wanna be sedated. A great jukebox, pool tables and super cheap drink specials are just a few of the things that keep luring us back to Blue Ox. An even better incentive is the occasional live show, be it punk and garage rock noise or down-and-dirty rockabilly.

The fairly nerdy game of Scrabble is riding a chic wave at the moment, but some of us have been playing all along -- at home, where no one but our closest friends and family could scoff and roll their eyes at our linguistic exhibitionism. But no more. We're outing ourselves, taking our boards to public spaces, unafraid and (dare we say it?) proud. Playing the game in a coffee house has become a bit of a cliché, but the new wave in Resort Scrabble has bolstered our confidence in public spelling. And there's no better place than the Phoenician's beautiful bar, where you can set up your game on a table outside on the terrace, order a cocktail or a frappuccino and enjoy the scenery. The view is great, the people-watching even better. And as you eye the other patrons of this lovely bar, waiting for your turn, you'll be stared at in return. Your Scrabble game will be met with much curiosity. Enjoy the attention and be proud.

Gosh and Begorrah, isn't this where you'd expect to find great hip-hop? At a strip-mall hangout with an Irish name on the west side of town? O'Mally's has long juggled its two identities: sports bar by day, dance club by night, shifting musical genres depending on the day of the week. A year ago, O'Mally's gave hip-hop a shot on Tuesday nights, and the results have been explosive. The Tuesday night freestyle contests -- in front of packed, hyped-up crowds that form circles around the competitors -- have been so fierce that at least one freestyler had to be carried out of the place when he took umbrage at a rival diss. And the club has become home to Kitch Kitchen, probably the Valley's most charismatic MC and surely the best rapper ever to play point guard for ASU's women's basketball team.

Dark and sultry like a Sinatra song, the Famous Door practically beckons you to pull up a barstool and blow smoke rings toward the bass player. Cigar smoking is almost expected in every dark corner of this swank supper club, with waiters ready to serve -- alongside a chilly martini -- almost any cigar brand you can name. Stogies are burning at the dinner table, at the bar, and all around the jazz performers who play in a haze every night after 8 p.m. Instead of a quiet, smoke-filled cigar room, the Famous Door makes its entire establishment a pseudo-cigar bar.

Added extras like a reverse happy hour every Thursday from 11 p.m. to midnight and a Sunday night jazz workshop have made the Famous Door a happening hangout for the have-a-Havana crowd -- for men both young and old and a surprising number of women.

If you can't afford to live up at Pinnacle Peak in some of the world's most spectacular desert settings, you can at least afford to rent the lifestyle for a few hours. It's easy, actually: Simply head up to Acacia, the Mobil Four-Star restaurant at Four Seasons Resort. Grab a table on the patio and enjoy cocktails in an oasis framed by the 40 acres of towering saguaro, ocotillo cactuses and sagebrush that are Acacia's backyard. Sure, you could grab a seat at the adjacent patio bar, too, but then you would miss out on a fine dinner to follow: Southwestern cuisine like tortilla lobster soup, sautéed jumbo sea scallops with wild forest mushroom ravioli in braised fennel saffron cream with vanilla-bean infusion. Or the roasted California squab laced with salsify and applewood-smoked bacon gratin, served on shallot sage jus. Cheers.

BEST POOL HALL

Pink E's
3227 East Bell
602-482-8350

BEST BREW PUB

Four Peaks Brewing Company
1340 East Eighth Street, Tempe
480-303-9967

BEST DIVE BAR

The Coach House
7011 East Indian School, Scottsdale
480-990-3433

BEST SPORTS BAR

McDuffy's
230 West Fifth Street, Tempe
480-966-5600

BEST BAR TO BE SEEN

Six
7316 East Stetson, Scottsdale
480-663-6620

BEST BAR FOR CONVERSATION

Zipp's Sports Grill
7551 East Camelback, Scottsdale
480-970-9507

BEST GAY BAR

Amsterdam
718 North Central
602-258-6122

BEST LESBIAN BAR

Ain't Nobody's Bizness
3031 East Indian School
602-224-9977

BEST BEER SELECTION

Timber Wolf Pub
740 East Apache, Tempe
480-517-9383

BEST HAPPY HOUR

Applebee's
several Valley locations

BEST BAR FOOD

Zipp's Sports Grill
7551 East Camelback, Scottsdale
480-970-9507

BEST PLACE TO DROWN YOUR SORROWS

Jugheads
5110 East McDowell
602-225-0307

Requirements: Darkness. Wood wall coverings a plus; and a wood bar itself, better. A hard-to-define but present odor, either coming from the belly-up buddy next to you or the ancient, labyrinthine pipes also preferred.

Plus: a sense of history (in Phoenix, this means at least 25 years old). Draft beer, of maximum three flavors. A less than six-dollar pitcher. A cold-ass bottle of Bud for around two bucks. Affordable shots of your favorite amnesia. At least one pool table and one pinball game; shuffleboard and darts a bonus.

Finally, a jukebox featuring '70s rock, tear-in-my-beer country and eclectic oldies. And a good, take-no-shit bartender.

Mecca fills the bill. It's dark and smoky, old and wonderfully worn. The indoor/outdoor carpet was once burgundy, the patrons range from neighborhoody to weekend hipsters to indigent.

Having opened in 1933, it boasts the second-oldest continuous liquor license in the county. The paneled-cum-patchwork ceiling droops poetically in the right places, making the average Joe feel 10 feet tall. The bar has a seasick quality to it, seemingly designed by munchkins with a desire to add on, like a vortex house on the side of the highway.

And if you have to break the seal, the rest room features a green shower curtain tween urinal and toilet for moments of reflection.

Is it nostalgia? Or maybe the sing-along factor? Something about the music at TT Roadhouse (oh, and that hot poster of Brigitte Bardot in leather hiphuggers) sets the place apart from being an ordinary pub. Guinness definitely goes down more easily with a little Ramones, some Bad Brains, and a healthy dose of Misfits. And you can't help feeling camaraderie along with your buzz when everyone around you knows the words to the Johnny Cash song on the jukebox. Throw in some ska and reggae tunes and you've got the perfect soundtrack to your night.

It usually takes more than a discounted pint of cheap beer to lure us into an entertainment venue defined by its amateur status, but out of loyalty to our readers, we braved the karaoke scene. Bill and Twyla, the poster children for the axiom "there's someone for everyone," guide the full-capacity crowd to find their muse with karaoke tracks of everything from "Peggy Sue" to Peggy Lee. Here, the waiters wear cummerbunds, the men dance without coercion, and no one would dare try to sing Linkin Park. Twyla even teaches the Electric Slide during the breaks. Folks with an overly developed sense of cool should avoid the place, but for anyone out for a good, completely unpretentious great time, Bill and Twyla have room in their lineup for you.

Among the titty bars, porn parlors and machine shops of East Washington, it's hard to resist its charms. In the giant asphalt pasture that is the parking lot of the Stockyards steak house, you'll find the 1889. And once you reach its swinging saloon doors, you just might feel like you've stumbled from a dusty frontier street into a Tombstone-style watering hole, complete with card games, whiskey by the bottle and painted ladies.

Only if. But still, while everything outside is blinding heat and stark industry, inside the 1889 is an antiquarian's fantasy of Old West atmosphere. The back bar is a colonnade of cherry wood, mirrors and brass. A baroque glass chandelier hangs overhead. And below, fat guys in neckties drink Bud Light, and girls'-night-out types drink Burgundy by the balloonful. Maybe best known as a happy-hour spot for east-downtowners, the 1889 still earns its keep as the standard-bearer of the frontier-saloon mystique, which it flaunts with the bar's most famous trademark: the antique-style murals you find on every wall -- scenes of vaudeville starlets turning away suitors, coquettes in neck-to-ankle swimsuits retaining their virtue, and the like. Plus, it features one of the Valley's truest and fastest-vanishing bar experiences: coming in from the blazing sunlight and into a windowless darkness so total that you have to stand at the door for 30 seconds, let your pupils dilate, and then step up to the bar for the business at hand.

We all want to be rock stars, even if we frighten children when we sing in the shower, can't play an instrument, and have the stage presence of a banana slug. At Hollywood Alley's Sunday night open mike, you get your best shot to feel like a real live rock star, if only for three songs. Facilitator "Optimist" puts together a great slate of folks of all levels of talent. From a talent-free "wanna-be" to the occasional, fabulous "could-be," the evening is entertaining regardless. If you don't like one performer, just order a beer, count to 10, and it's all over. If you want your shot at 15 minutes of microcosm fame, this is the best place to do it. There's even a prize for the best act -- though rumor has it the award has more to do with Optimist's eyes than ears.

The terrific food at Roaring Fork is no secret -- chef/owner Robert McGrath was named this year's Best Chef in the Southwest by the James Beard Foundation. But fewer folks know about his J-Bar, smack dab in the center of the restaurant and serving a killer, low-cost happy-hour menu Mondays through Saturdays from 5 to 7 p.m. Food and drink specials are such a deal, they're available at the bar only, and no to-go orders are allowed. How can we resist such high-cuisine bargains as chipotle-and-honey-glazed crisped chicken wings ($5), a blackened tuna BLT ($6), Amy's Texas-style queso (Velveeta with sausage, onions and jalapeños, $5) or mahi-mahi tacos ($5)? Those who know, though, go for the "Big Ass Burger," a 12-ounce monster topped with green chiles, longhorn Colby and smoked bacon served with French fries for just $6. It's all the tastier with a half-price margarita; our favorite's the Huckleberry, blending a frozen drink with huckleberry purée for just $3.25. J-Bar's our choice for upscale noshing, bar none.

Slinging sauce since 1959, the Coach House is purportedly the oldest tavern in Scottsdale. In a city obsessed with places new and fabulous, how refreshing it is to find oneself in a charming, friendly, old-fashioned shit . . . er, watering hole.

Its homespun character rises in part from the collages lining the wooden walls, displaying the drunken-to-varying-degree visages of thousands who have passed through -- or out. And because liquor and literature are natural complements, a shelf full of paperback books sits within reach of the bar.

Singing the House's praises, perennial patron Greg mentions its "tight-knit group" of regulars. Indeed, when ex-bartender Tim enters, his name rises in a Norm Peterson-style chorus. The place is, above all, accessible. It opens at 6 a.m. daily, except on Sundays, when the sobriety of the Sabbath is observed until 10 a.m.

Enough with the overdone beverages featuring four kinds of rum, six kinds of juice and a sugar cane swizzle stick. And ditto for those so-called "martini" menus, on which every imaginable concoction is called a martini, even when licorice or chocolate is involved. And don't even get us started on the horror of blue drinks. We're looking for something tasty, easy to drink, strong (but not noticeably strong), not out of a can or a mix, and not too gender-specific (scotch is such a guy thing, and cosmos are just too Sex and the City). Given these exacting criteria, then, the perfect drink is the Merc Bar's version of a Caipirinha. It's a refreshing, rum-based cocktail, simple and deceptively strong, just a little sweet, and flavored with lime juice and an abundance of sliced limes. It's just a matter of time before this lovely indulgence is co-opted by an annoying sitcom character, so enjoy it now while it's still kind of cool.

Though the calendar says the '80s are long dead, the decade of Sarah Jessica Parker, hair product buildup and economic recession lives on. (Hey, wait a sec . . .)

On Saturday "Retro Nights," Anderson's marks the spot for a handful of phenomena that left the building when Reagan did: $2.50 Long Islands, Duran Duran videos and Robert Smith-grade eyeliner. Yet somehow, this place revisits the '80s without getting cheesy, campy or Scottsdale-swanky. There's no attitude here -- just sweaty young people sporting everything from Nikes to neck spikes.

Yes, Anderson's attracts a faithful throng of somber goth kids, and it only makes things more interesting. As the lighthearted revival rises in the Main Room, the goth group mopes about the Elbow Room, weaving in and out of elevated cages and wondering how soon is now. The rooms' opposing moods make for a nice contrast -- Aerosmith vs. The Smiths, AC/DC vs. ABC -- but the overall vibe is so laid-back that any spot on either dance floor is fair play, whether you're doing the dance Safety, Neutron or Humpty; walking the dinosaur or walking on sunshine; dancing on the ceiling or dancing with yourself.

Oh, no, you're thinking. Not another theme night, like "Pimp-n-Ho" or "Ghettofabulous," where normally well-dressed crowds pull out the ol' do-rags and wife beaters, or the boas and stilettos. Well, you don't have to worry about that here. No, Devil's Martini, which gained recognition as the place with the hairdresser in the ladies' room, has "Carnival," when the champion "flair bartender" has often been seen flaunting his skills by juggling bottles Tom Cruise-style. Overall, Carnival's vibe is creative and flamboyant instead of trashy and stagnant. Finally, a theme night with class!

Since 1946, the Bikini Lounge has been the Valley's most unabashed tiki bar, and well it should be. It has everything that those Swingers-style posers would give their martini shakers for: the fake thatched roof over the bar, the bamboo light fixtures, the black-lighted batiks on the walls, and in the place of honor behind the bar, a giant painting of a topless hula girl. Or is it the Girl from Ipanema?

Then there are the added benefits: $1 Kamikaze shooters, $2 mini-pitchers of Milwaukee's Best, Roy Orbison and Tony Bennett on the jukebox (four plays for a dollar), and the knowledge that if you show up, tip well, and buy your tee shirts untested, you can still do your part to keep the posers at bay.

We love wine-tastings but are turned off by what often adds up to high prices. What's up with the $65 tab for a nice dinner paired with three-ounce pours? We'd rather skip the châteaubriand and go for another cork.

Sun Devil Liquors supports our penniless status, hosting tastings of approachable wines like Kendall Jackson for a low $5. But the best deal is every day in the basement, where a cozy brick-floored wine cellar awaits. Grab one of the few wooden tables, or take a seat at the bar and groove to piped-in jazz. Sample as much wine as you like, priced from just 50 cents to $3 each. Nibble on complimentary cheeses, or pack in your own snacks. Still too rich? There are free tastings every day from 3 to 5 p.m., from a more limited selection. Cheers!

Mermaids, manicures and specialty martinis usually don't mix with the aesthetic of a dimly lighted, seedy dive bar, but the Emerald Lounge pulls it off with panache every Monday night. That's when the Emerald, known for its nightly live music, strikes up the song of Lorelei and transforms itself into "The Mermaid Lounge." The decor is strictly Polynesian-a-go-go: multicolored strands of lights, hula girls, tiki gods, mermaid collages, kitschy ashtrays and vintage tablecloths. Add a personal manicurist doing $5 nail jobs, a live DJ, and a friendly hostess/bartender serving colorful martinis that go down smoother than ice water on a blistering Arizona afternoon, and you've got the Mermaid Lounge -- the ultimate evening for girls who wanna have fun and be pampered at the same time.

Sanctuary has revamped its old, overcrowded VIP room, and not a moment too soon. VIPers, remember what a suffocating box it used to be? Now it's bigger and better. They've even expanded it to overlook the main bar and dance floor below, so that you can really feel above it all. Of course, if you're trying to sneak in, it's just a tad more intimidating, but if you make it in, it's worth your toil.

Ice Breakers should be a chain, but it's not. At least not yet. It's got a great concept -- brew your own beer, alongside an encompassing brewery menu (sliders, Cobb salad, Reubens, baby back ribs, fish and chips, and burgers). And that personal touch adds up to a better-than-chain experience.

Ice Breakers offers interactive brewing. This means you get to brew your own beer, but, not being professional hops masters, you get a coach to guide you through the process. The deal even includes custom label design with your name, image, logo or other clever idea on each bottle. And you use the same equipment and ingredients as served in professional restaurants. You'd better really like beer, though -- the smallest batch available is 15 gallons -- a full keg (the equivalent of 72 22-ounce bottles).

And you'd also better be patient. The initial brewing takes up to three hours. Fermentation time is two weeks. Bottling the finished beer takes about an hour. How long it takes to down the final keg, though, is completely up to you.

As its name implies, the ultra-luxe Sanctuary Resort pampers its guests with seclusion and serenity. Elegant and intimate, perched on 53 prime acres of Camelback Mountain, the gorgeous property certainly encourages us to abandon our cares. The most stressful aspect of any visit, in fact, is deciding just where to relax as we enjoy a fine cocktail and a spectacular, rose-gold-azure sunset.

The opportunities to be impressed are endless. Perhaps we'll settle back on the outdoor patio of Jade Bar, watching as the city lights sparkle up into nighttime. It's so private it's almost a personal retreat, where we sip martinis or specialty sakes. Maybe we'll treat ourselves to dinner at the adjacent Elements restaurant, indulging in farm-fresh American cuisine sparked with Asian accents amid a sleek setting of wood, stone and fire. Wrap-around floor-to-ceiling windows mean panoramic views of Paradise Valley. Or we might just kick back by the swimming pool, an outrageous infinity-edge pool overlooking Camelback's Praying Monk rock outcrop. After the sun sleeps, the pool glows with light and dances with flames flickering from surrounding fire bowls. Simply Zen-sational.

For more than 50 years, the Durant family has been treating us to "good friends, great steaks, the best booze and bisquits [sic]." Is there something to be respected about tradition in a virtual baby town like Phoenix? Oh, yeah. Several years ago, Durant's management (old man Durant had died) tried to shake up the system and redecorate, renovate and rehabilitate the traditional menu for modern tastes. Well, why not just call a press conference to drown kittens in the canal?

Durant's is old-fashioned, and that's it. Nothing more needed. Which is why its martinis taste so much better than anywhere else. They're served by waitresses who have worked here for more than two decades. We can have a cigar alongside, should we want. Cell phones are ceremoniously tossed. We can drink martinis at lunch, and no one in the dark dining room will tattle to our bosses. We enter and leave through the kitchen, because it's nobody's business what we're up to once we enter Durant's. Life doesn't get any better in any generation.

We'll keep this one simple. How can you go wrong when you mix two crowd-pleasers: a martini and bubbly? You can't, and the proof is in The Flirtini, a concoction of champagne, vodka and vermouth you'll find at Zen 32. The result is the confidence of a martini and the lightheaded delight of champagne, quite the social lubricant. And the taste is even better than it sounds. But be warned: It goes down a lot easier than a regular martini and hits you a lot faster, too. Don't say we didn't warn you.

The hottest damn thing in Arizona isn't the summer sun; it's the "Suicide" wings at Long Wong's in college town. When you order the "Suicide" wings, they ask you, skeptically, if you've ever had "Suicide" wings. Realizing that the unsuspecting might have tried the wimpy version at other Long Wong's outlets in the Valley, the staff then follows up its initial question with: "Have you had our Suicide' wings before?"

They ask with a smile. There are no refunds.

These wings immediately encase your skull in flop sweat on the outside and trigger a Gatling gun of endorphin firings on the inside.

The secret ingredient in this kitchen is chili powder ground from habanero peppers, nasty little boogers variously estimated at 30 to 50 times the heat of a mere jalapeño. They ladle the habanero powder into the sauce with a shovel for the "Suicide" wings.

There is nothing spicier anywhere in the Grand Canyon State.

Looking for a place that plays more than just the four most popular dance songs? "Batucada" has moved to Soho on Wednesday nights, and if it weren't for the musical stylings of DJs Sinbad, Pete Salaz, Maji and others, you wouldn't be able to get the house-heads from Phoenix to mix with the posh Scottsdale crowd. This sultry music will make you want to move, and the atmosphere is relaxed and sexy. Plus, we guarantee that you won't hear another remix of "Rapture" or "I Can't Get You Out of My Head."

Michael's is one of the only restaurants in town where we don't mind if we can't get a table right away. Because while we're waiting, we can head upstairs and settle in at his high-class bar. It's almost like our own private dining area, plush with long cushy sofas, overstuffed armchairs, an incredible selection of wines and spirits, lovely views of Scottsdale's sunsets, and, if we're lucky, musical selections from our favorite lounge talent, David Grossman (he does a meltingly tender rendition of Kermit the Frog's "Rainbow Connection" and "It's Not Easy Being Green").

Plus, we can order selections from Michael's menu, like his always amusing amusé of Michael's "Silver Spoon" hors d'oeuvres, shrimp-stuffed rigatoni in Chardonnay tomato thyme sauce, seared foie gras on Sauvignon poached pear duck confit salad, or soy-glazed calamari on gingered crab risotto.

Hmm. Maybe we'll just table those dinner plans and stay right where we are in the bar.

Beautiful places attract beautiful people. And O is just that kind of place: a voyeur's paradise. Sit back and enjoy the people, the decor or the TV screens playing music videos. The people here are the cream of the crop, at least as far as looks go, in a city that is already known for its highly groomed folk. These guys and girls are hot and dressed to kill. Still, don't be fooled into thinking that the lack of a cover charge means you are getting a free show. You will more than make up for it in the price of drinks.

The Rhythm Room is a blues bar. But there's nothing sad about the snacks, where you can gather to gorge on barbecued ribs at midnight. This is parking lot cuisine, but it's cool, cat, where on Saturday and Sunday nights you can sink your teeth into "Sunny Sunshine Barbecue Sauce" drenched ribs, pork loin, beef tri-tops, chicken and hot links. It's served out of a mobile grill, and when you're satisfied, then you can head back inside for a cold brew and some sounds from Sistah Blue.

We're not sure who Casey Moore is, but we sure do like hanging out at his house. In fact, all historic homes should be this happening: 13 beers on tap, jocular bartenders who do handstands on the bar, and decidedly un-bar-like dinner specials. And should you find yourself eating in one of the second-story dining rooms, there's no need to order spirits: The home, built in 1910, is reputedly haunted.

Mr./Mrs. Moore's front porch and side yard are strewn with tables and benches where the laid-back and liquored-up can lounge. The crowd encompasses all kinds, from hard-drinking hippies to hot NFL has-beens, but the overall vibe is one of ease and unpretentiousness.

We are positively mesmerized by the crowds at Barcelona. The location in Chandler is pretty neat, throbbing with fine young things looking beautiful and looking to get lucky. But the outpost in Scottsdale is a much older, much more interesting group. Just look to the headliner, the Zowie Bowie Band, a punk-retro completely camp act with takeoffs of classic lounge-lizard songs like Sinatra's "My Way." This is a clientele that's not bothered by pricey cocktails and even pricier snacks. These are guys with slicked-back hair and sans-a-belt pants, women with high top hair and fancy dress clothes that remind us of the days of disco. Plus, the setting is sublime: The signature domed ceiling with hand-painted dancing cherubs appears to float over the main dining room, which later transforms into the dance floor. It's 25,000 square feet of old fart fun!

Comely ladies, accommodating bar staff, sharp-looking men, and a charming atmosphere are the ingredients necessary for beguiling a client. And the Merc Bar is just classy enough to show that you have taste, but cozy enough to avoid pretension. You can call it a refined hole in the wall. And Troy, the energetic general manager, will even make you his specialty, Caipirinha, which earned last year's Best Cocktail award from New Times.