When you step through the doors of this lovable, broken-in old haunt (it has not changed a hair in decades, and every table is a booth), your DNA is forever altered. After 45 minutes and a Reuben (exemplary) and a baked potato, you begin pontificating on simpler times, complaining that there’s too many channels on your cable TV box, and feeling just tickled that the oldies station is playing. Don’t miss the retro greatness of the cocktail lounge.