With New York's countless flurries of the past few weeks, I cured my cabin fever with an outdoor adventure to Roosevelt Island.

Think: all-night gatherings behind closed doors and that element of danger that excites the night. Now you can party like it’s 1929 with Take Me Out.

Three centuries after they occupied Revolutionary War-era NYC, the Brits are back, happily in a more hospitable fashion. A new English-style gastropub has popped up in the residential neighborhood of Murray Hill (named for the Murray family, which owned a large farm in the area 300 years ago; legend has it that, during the Revolution, Mrs. Murray and her daughters entertained the Redcoats so long and so well, it gave Gen. George Washington's army a chance to sneak out of the city and escape capture. But I digress.

I don’t gamble, and I’ve never been to Vegas. So, how did I end up at Resorts World Casino New York City on the day after Christmas?

Back in the day when it was bohemian, Greenwich Village used to be full of jazz clubs. Those glory days live on at the Blue Note, a nightspot that's been swinging on a little Downtown street since 1981.

The Raven

Edgar Allan Poe may walk this earth "nevermore," but that doesn't mean you can't dance and drink the night away in his honor.

The Raven, a new subterranean nightclub in the dizzying Meatpacking district, is the place to get your Poe on. The venue's name, for you literary dunces, is a nod to the author's most famous poem—a harrowing account of a lonely man's maddening encounter with that ominous bird of yore.

Let's face it: Drinking is an art. At Art Bar, there's no mistaking that fact.

Let’s face it. No other city does holidays the way NYC does.

Last Saturday, I went on a European adventure—without ever leaving Greenwich Village. With an itinerary of visiting three restaurants and an agenda to sample a half a dozen types of wine, I met up with the City Wine Tours West Village group for an afternoon in Italy, France and Spain.

The Colonies may have declared independence from Great Britain in 1776, but the Union Jack still waves over a small, cozy drinking establishment in the Flatiron District.


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