Astor Place Hairstylists

Forget Katz’s and the currently embattled Carnegie Deli: if you’re looking to transport yourself to the days of old with a cup of burnt coffee, skip the tourist traps and head to Second Avenue. A teeny hole in the wall with the original 1940s counter and stainless steel stools, this place serves up unapologetically classic diner fare like tuna melts and ridiculously delicious breakfast. Pull out your yarmulkes—this joint is kosher, and will put all other Matzoh ball soups to shame. Think you’ve had perogis? Think again. Though most customers are regulars, the friendly staff won’t make you feel like it’s your first time.

The New York gourmet cupcake craze arguably began when Carrie Bradshaw and Miranda Hobbes visited Magnolia, and ended when the Crumb’s Bake Shop chain narrowly avoided bankruptcy. All the while, Sugar Sweet Sunshine has been a ray of hope for true baked-good lovers, keeping it real with reliably delectable cupcakes for $2.25. The place looks like your grandma’s kitchen circa 1974, and the staff is as cute and sweet as the shop’s namesake. Walls are plastered with photos of regulars, and the coffee isn’t bad to boot.

I consider myself a book aficionado, and I usually hate literature snobs—but this place makes snobbery not only ok but even kind of cool. Don’t expect anyone to help you find what you’re looking for, or to discuss whatever obscure title he’s devouring behind the counter. While the Strand may have the monopoly on stacks to get lost in, these shelves are spilling over with used books for as cheap as $2. The store itself is below street level, and low ceilings make this tiny place feel like a literary hobbit wonderland. Love that musty book smell? It’s worth

Macdougal Street may currently be overrun with NYU students and burgeoning comics, but the spirit of the street’s beatnik past is alive and well at Reggio. Allegedly home to the first espresso machine on American soil, the mama-mia Italian vibe is strong here, despite that most of the wait-staff is Eastern European, gorgeous, and appropriately rude. Snuggle into a window booth and watch the street traffic while you listen for the ghosts of young Bob Dylan and Alan Ginsberg writing at an adjacent table.

Handwritten paper signs plaster the shop door and windows, and inside the tiny digs you’re expected to have used those messages to make your decision in a New York minute.