This place is blasphemous. Your nan would have a fit at the bearded faces of country music legends superimposed on the Da Vinci’s Last Supper, let alone the seventies porn in the loos. It’s loud, debauched and reeks of wood sodden with Bulleit Bourbon and stomped on by many feverish feet dancing to the seemingly impromptu honky tonk band in the corner.

One of Williamsburg’s finest semi-ironic Nashville style dive bars, you don’t have to don a cowboy hat to be granted entry to Skinny Dennis. Just brace yourself for a heavy pour and the resulting barrage of amusing chat up lines. This is the kind of place where bad things probably happen in the toilets.

We came for the Bourbon Sweet Teas, which are served in oversized mason jars (half bourbon, we don’t lie), but emerged with a newfound appreciation for Willie Nelson and men who play the fiddle like they’re…well, you know where we’re going with that. Go for a USD 3 PBR or if it’s hot inside and you need a pick-me-up, how about Willie’s Frozen Coffee from the Daiquiri machine, a milk slushy spiked with bourbon, brandy and coffee liqueur, topped with more bourbon for good measure.