Condo-dwelling future business leaders of America should avoid this scene entirely, instead departing Mastry's for the bougie beer bar The Independent (29 Third St. N). Order an Okocim OK ("Okocim" may be Polish for "Bud Light"), spill out onto the sidewalk and have a blast discussing why the new Ikea should be built in St. Pete instead of Tampa.
Once the beer is gone and the conversation wanes, continue around the block to The Bishop Tavern (260 First Ave. N.), which has a full-liquor bar, a tiny second-floor concert stage overlooking the main room and a side room with a giant front-projection TV. On a recent evening, a rockabilly act thrilled the crowd in the main room (with the guitar player soloing from atop the bar), while others chilled in the anti-chamber sipping rum-and-cokes and watching Terminator 2 on the big screen.
The Bishop will eventually get too crowded (it's very narrow), and when it does, you can wander next door to The Tamiami Bar (242 First Ave. N.). This place has a pool table and darts room that is usually fairly empty. You might even find some space on a couch to snuggle with that heavily buzzed hottie you picked up two bars back.
Around 1 a.m., hustle back around the block to The Garden/The Lobby. Two bars in one, The Garden is a bar/restaurant that offers low-light atmosphere, single-occupancy restrooms (a precious and oft-overlooked amenity) and plenty of seating both inside and in an adjacent, lush courtyard. The Lobby portion is a martini bar located on the second floor overlooking the courtyard. On weekends, veteran trombonist Buster Cooper and friends play bop and standards outside until right before closing.
Bonus: The Garden is next door to Mastry's, meaning the designated driver won't have to herd his or her wasted companions very far before getting the hell out of Dodge. —Joe Bardi
The Soho Stumble: Hyde Park
Start at Hyde Park Café (1806 W. Platt St.) early in the evening before the hordes of bubbly, barely-clothed HCC girls push the line all the way back to Tijuana Flats — or you get too disheveled to be allowed in by the Nazis at the door. Order a Ketel One 'n' tonic from one of the myriad bars and try not to gasp when you get the tab. Don't stare when Derek Jeter walks by.
Gulp the drink down, take a deep breath. The night is young.
Be sure to peer over your left shoulder before crossing the busy street to kill a bottle of Miller Lite with the rest of the former frat brahs at The Rack (1809 W. Platt St.), the only sports bar this side of Tokyo that specializes in sushi. Cross the street again, make a right and proceed down Platt until bumping into The Deck (2202 W. Platt St.). Quaff a draft beer and gobble a slice of their greasy-but-not-bad pizza. Drop into the Red House Lounge (302 S. Howard Ave.), located next door to The Deck, for a shot of something silly like a raspberry kamikaze. Make a pass at the bartender, just for kicks.
Turn left on Howard Avenue and enjoy homemade sangria at Sangria's Tapas Bar & Restaurant (315 S. Howard Ave.). Lie to the attractive person sitting next to you about your trip to Madrid and the real sangria you drank there while dancing the fandango.
You should have a decent buzz by now. Smile. Stand up and stroll out the door like the sexy mofo that you are. Go around the corner to The Dubliner (2307 W. Azeele St.) and settle your stomach with a thick, creamy pint of Guinness. Belch.
Get back on Howard. Hit up MacDinton's (405 S. Howard Ave.) for a Jameson 'n' soda. Feel that Irish whiskey tingle as it works its way through your body. Deal with the fact that you are on the verge of being shit-faced. It's OK. Stumble south on Howard, past the drugstore, past the fancy food market, past the light at Swann Avenue, past all those beautiful, young, drunken souls and make a left.
