"In some ways it's that Supreme Court definition of pornography—you know it when you see it," said cocktail scholar David Wondrich over the phone about what characterizes a dive bar. Certain hallmarks, of course, give us a general sense: the aroma of stale beer, "maybe a tang of urine," or years of "deferred maintenance"; a beat-up jukebox, cheap shots, and macro beer are par for the course. But the glory of a dive is more nuanced than well liquor or signs of structural decay.

For Wondrich, a dive—compared to the neighborhood bar, which is more of a closed shop for locals—seems to have "a higher ambition." "It's that sense of instant community. Everybody's there because they know anything could happen," he laughed. "Dive bars are portals to possibilities. Often you'll just go in, have your drinks, and leave. But that's not always the case. I've gone and done more crazy things with people after hanging in dives. You'll go on a quest at two o'clock in the morning; you're on a night train to Drunkistan."

“In some ways it's that Supreme Court definition of pornography—you know [a dive bar] when you see it.”

Those types of nights are the ones that keep us coming back, even if adventure is not promised upon every visit. To that end, the aura of a dive cannot simply be fabricated on command. It builds gradually over time. "It's not something you can take out of a box and nail on the wall and suddenly it's a dive," said Wondrich after talking about impostors you might find in places like Williamsburg. "Many of the best dives never set out to be dives. Some of these fancy bars, if they stay open, are going to end up as dives. There will be mismanagement, the crowd will get older, and new people won't come in. Next thing you know that fancy faux speakeasy is an actual dive. You can't jumpstart that really." 

That's a blessing in disguise, as the dive bars have been decimated due to greedy landlords more interested in turning a profit than preserving a neighborhood institution. From the looks of it, the dive bar continues to evolve—losing its tobacco perfume, gaining Lagunitas taps, and thereby challenging our idea of what constitutes one. That definition changes depending on whom you talk to, which is why we asked the following writers, chefs, and barflys to set their own terms when recommending their bucket-list dive bar:

• Besha Rodell, restaurant critic at LA Weekly (@besharodell)
• Rebecca Flint Marx, senior editor at San Francisco Magazine (@ediblecomplex)
• Edward Lee, chef/owner of 610 Magnolia (@chefedwardlee)
• Tim Carman, food columnist at The Washington Post (@timcarman)
• ​Regan Hofmann, food writer based in NYC (@regan_hofmann)
• Dave Cathey, food editor at The Oklahoman (@thefooddood)
• Richard Parks, writer and filmmaker based in Los Angeles (@reechardparks)
• Gabriella Gershenson, food writer and editor based in NYC (@gabiwrites)
• Naomi Tomky, food writer based in Seattle, founder of GastroGnome (@gastrognome)
• Suzanne Loudermilk, restaurant reviewer at The Baltimore Sun (@lsuzanne)
• Andrew Bohrer, writer and bartender consuming and imbibing as much as one can (responsibly) in the perpetually damp Pacific Northwest (@andrewbohrer)
• Chris Hannah, head bartender of Arnaud's French 75 (@thefrench75)
• Brian Lauvray, New York-based producer with roots in Toledo, OH (@brianyarvual)
• ​Edmund Tijerina, food and drink editor at San Antonio Express-News (@etij)
• ​Khal Davenport, senior editor at Complex Pop Culture (@khal)
• Aaron Goldfarb, drinks writer based in NYC (@aarongoldfarb)
• ​Matthew Dekneef, deputy editor at HAWAI'I Magazine (@mattdknf)
• Jan Warren, bartender based in NYC
• Joe Ricchio, food, drink, and travel writer based in Maine (@joericchio)
• Sean Evans, Complex news anchor, host of Hot Ones (@seanseaevans)

Here are 19 bucket-list dive bars to try before you die. 

Address and phone: 488 Flat Shoals Ave SE, Atlanta, GA (404-522-3950)
Website: badearl.com

Rodell says: "Atlanta is an amazing dive bar city, and many people would argue that the Claremont deserves the bucket-list honor. But The Earl in East Atlanta Village has played a much larger role in my life, and I consider it to be one of the world's great dive bars. It's got everything you need from a dive bar: dark room, old booths, horrifying bathrooms with witty drunken graffiti. If you stick to cheap beer and shots of Irish whiskey you can get drunk for barely any money. The bartenders are just friendly enough and just scary enough. The burger is cheap and good. The jukebox is awesome. And the back room is one of my favorite live music venues in the universe: small, black, sweaty, intimate. I've experienced life changing shows there, as well as seen some really crazy shit go down in the backstage room when I've been back there with musician friends. All of this may not be as exciting or weird as the elderly strippers at the Claremont, but The Earl is all heart, no gimmick."

Address and phone: 220 W. Broadway, Louisville, KY (502) 582-9123
Website: N/A

Lee says: "Freddie the man is a true original—a WWII veteran and an avid boxing fan; his story is the history of Louisville. The memorabilia in his bar is real, from Ali's boxing gloves to the vintage bourbon bottles. His bar is almost 50 years old, and the decor has never changed. The house bourbon is Cabin Still and it costs you $2 for a shot. The only food they serve is a wall of potato chips, and that's just fine. The jukebox is full of rock 'n' roll classics that in any other place would seem cliché, but here it is nostalgic. Remeber: Ali sat on these bar stools, and rumor has it so did Tom Waits. The first time I went to Freddie's a woman in sweatpants yelled at me for ordering a Manhattan. I deserved it. You can drink here, day or night. You can have a conversation here. If you're lucky, you can just sit around and listen to Freddie tell you stories of a lifetime in the best little bar in America."

Address and phone: 3394 22nd St, San Francisco, CA (415-648-0109)
Website: N/A

Marx says: "Everyone needs a good first-date bar, a just-right, take-me-or-leave-me place that announces that you are a person of discerning taste, but also a person who doesn’t try too hard. It helps if it has an a neon Art Deco palm tree over its door and an interior accented by white tablecloths that convey a gentle irony, particularly when juxtaposed with the little bowls of goldfish crackers and peanuts that sit on top of them. It helps if the bar is quiet enough to hold a conversation, but loud enough to soften the edges of awkward silences. It helps, in other words, if that bar is the Lone Palm. The Palm has lubricated countless dates in the almost 30 years it has sat on the edge of the Mission, and when I was single, it was there for me, too. Even though it’s known as a martini bar, I remember drinking a lot of bourbon. I also remember sitting there on the night of some big sports thing. A couple of guys wandered in. 'Are you showing the game?' one demanded of the bartender. She shook her head and motioned to the tiny TV that sat perched above the bar. It was showing a black-and-white movie. The guys left. Everyone else stayed, and smiled."

Address and phone: 1537 7th St NW, Washington, DC (202-670-9489)
Website: ivyandconey.com

Carman says: "Like the Sumatra rhino and compassionate conservatism, the dive bar of previous generations is almost extinct. The classic dive—the dimly lit third space for the hard-bitten, day-time drinker—has been supplanted by something befitting a generation more aligned to the fixed-gear bike than the Ford Gran Torino. Ivy and Coney, socked away on the second floor of a white clapboard structure, is the ideal modern-day dive. Founded by Chicago and Detroit expats, Ivy and Coney has the trappings of fancier drinking holes: craft beer, small-batch gin, a rooftop deck, liquor lockers, even a brunch menu, for chrissakes. Don’t hold any of that against the place. Ivy and Coney has the blue-collar spirit—and bargain prices—of an old-school dive. When the Bears, Tigers, Blackhawks, Red Wings, Lions or Cubs (lovable losers no more) play, the bar turns into a noisy clubhouse for displaced fans. There’s a palpable air of Upper Midwest partisanship, which is just a nice way of saying that, should you gloat too much over an opponent’s score, you might find yourself on the losing end of a fight. Or at least a vocal argument."

Address and phone: 227 S Wilmington St, Raleigh, NC (919-833-6557)
Website: slimsraleigh.com

Hofmann says: "If you put CBGB in a hallway, you'd get Slim's, the narrowest, oldest music venue in downtown Raleigh. At the end of this corridor of a dive, past the sticker-encrusted, battle-scarred bar, sits a tiny stage barely big enough for a full-sized band, one that's played host to a prestigious and eclectic selection of musicians since the bar opened in 1999. The beer selection is better than your average national-brand swill (though PBR still reigns here), and the hard drinks are affordable and strong, a point of pride among Slim's staff. The bathrooms are truly appalling, another nod to the CB's of yore. There's music most nights of the week, but if they're not your scene, there's an upstairs utility room that's been stocked with a pool table and vinyl-upholstered seating that makes up in elbow room what it lacks in character. Either way, Slim's has you covered when it comes to what matters most in a dive: cheap drinks and conversation."

Address and phone: 5137 N Classen Cir, Oklahoma City, OK (405-840-3339)
Website: ednasokc.com

Cathey says: "When celebrity chef Danny Bowien made a cocktail on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, he reached back to the best dive bar in his hometown, Oklahoma City. 'We’re going to do something that’s very dear to my heart,' Bowien said.  'In Oklahoma, there’s a place called Edna’s, and they do a drink called a lunchbox.' In a town swimming with dive bars, Edna’s is the Triple Lindy of low-down highballs. It’s the place you’re most likely to witness a shirtless middle-aged man walking across the parking lot through a morning snowstorm to retrieve his credit card. Edna Scott opened her bar Feb. 21, 1989. Before she passed away in 2014, Edna was happy to talk about Elvis, whom she’d met. Folks played Jerry Lee Lewis’s “Great Balls of Fire” every night just to watch Edna dance to it on the bar. The lunchboxes still flow thanks to Edna’s daughter and grandson. The drink she made famous is simple: one frosted mug filled with Coors Light and amaretto. Then, as Bowien told Fallon, 'We’ve got to pound these.' That means its orange dreamsicle notes are fleeting. But after two or three, dollar bills intended for the tip jar end up signed and stuck on the wall."

Address and phone: 3357 Wilshire Blvd, Los Angeles, CA (213-385-7275)
Website: thehmsbounty.com

Parks says: "To sum up the HMS Bounty, I’d probably tell you about the jukebox filled with seven inches, the antique brass cash register, the red leather booths, and dark wooden walls. That the sleeper-favorite dinner order (sand dabs) is surprisingly good. To say hi to Annie, the bartender, who keeps my business card pinned up behind the bar. That it’s across Wilshire Boulevard from the old Ambassador Hotel, where Hollywood starlets once stole away for trysts in bungalow apartments and where Bobby Kennedy was shot. That it's also down the block from the Brown Derby, where the Cobb salad was invented, and a short walk to a Korean spa in a mall basement where, for $30, a person will scrub you with an exfoliative glove for an entire half hour. But before all that, what I should probably tell you, a Bounty novice, is how to find the bathroom.

After bellying up for as many rounds as it takes to develop the urge, you won’t excuse yourself to some dank corner of the barroom, but rather, you’ll shuffle up the few steps along the wall across from the bar. You’ll push open the door and emerge, vole-like and blinking, from that dim-lighted, windowless wooden ship into the grand lobby of the Gaylord, the deco apartment building the Bounty anchors. Nautically navigate your way across as straight as possible, riding your whiskey wave past settees and old rugs, high-ceilinged chandeliers and ficuses, a piano (should you play it?), and a security guard (maybe not), to the mouth of a wide downward staircase. And you’ll stumble down into the mellow blue-and-white basement where, through one of several small doorways, you’ll find the Bounty’s head. Appropriately enough, it’s below-board. Now you know the way."

Address and phone: 326 Spring St, New York, NY (212-226-9060)
Website: earinn.com

Gershenson says: "When I was approached to write up my favorite dive bar, the editor asked me to justify my choice. That would be the Ear Inn, an old, salty seafarers joint near the Hudson River in downtown Manhattan. I responded, 'because it smells like beer and used to be a whore house.' That should be enough to persuade dive bar enthusiasts to stop by. But there's more. In Manhattan, everything seems to be in a constant state of renewal, being torn down and built back up. History is in the skeleton, the bones of a place, but rarely do you see an interior that's stood, more or less unchanged, for decades, or centuries. The Ear started its life as the James Brown house in 1770, built for an African aid to George Washington, and later became a brewery, then a tavern, and a few things in between (like said whorehouse). The first time I went was probably 15 years ago, and I was struck by how steeped in age the barroom looked, and felt. Maybe it was the low, painted-wood ceilings, the aging bric-a-brac covering every bit of wall, the uneven floors, or the overall weathered feel of the place. I didn't know its history, but you could just tell. The booze is conventional, and the food is a step above that. But that's really not the point. I like to go there to feel that feeling, with a beer in hand, and maybe catch a glimpse of the sun setting over the Hudson River from the curbside benches that fill up around dusk. And imagine what New York might have been like, way back when."
 

Address and phone: 8549 Greenwood Ave N, Seattle, WA (206-782-9260)
Website: N/A

Tomky says: "Like a mullet, the Baranof offers business in front (an unremarkable diner) and party in back: a nautically-themed dive bar with Jell-O shots and karaoke. It can be strange to cross the empty room (the diner closes after dinner) to get to the two rooms in back that form the bar, but once there, you've located the quintessential dive bar. Fishing nets make pathetic stabs at being decor, cheap beers slide across the bar, and the KJ doesn't take any bribes—though she did once let my friend cut the line to sing "Kiss From a Rose" to the woman he was marrying the next day. Part of being a dive bar is balancing the dichotomy of both essential comforts—that people will know exactly what awaits them, and that on any given night, anything could happen. Which is why it seems so fitting that one day, I learned that Macklemore did karaoke to his own song there. As long as he did a few Jell-O shots on his way in, it was just another day at the Baranof, whose motto boasts 'hot beer, bad food, and lousy service.'"

Address and phone: 1730 Thames St, Baltimore, MD (410-276-9866)
Website: catseyepub.com

Loudermilk says: "I’ve met characters from all over the world at the Cat’s Eye Pub in Baltimore’s waterfront Fells Point neighborhood. I even met my husband there. (That’s another story!) But it’s hardly a romantic destination. The grungy, 40-year-old pub with its colorful ceiling of draped flags, upside down Christmas tree, wood bar, bathroom graffiti and cold beer is the place to go for live music seven days a week. Even actor-comedian Jim Belushi stopped by recently to jam with his harmonica on the tiny stage that draws blues, jazz, bluegrass, Irish and rockabilly bands. On weekends, the front room can be crowded, but that doesn’t stop people from dancing. You should, too. You never know who you’re going to meet there—maybe a future spouse."

Address and phone: 1430 NE Sandy Blvd, Portland, OR (503-235-7972)
Website: N/A 

Bohrer says: "Some bars decay into dives while others are born in the gutters—The Sandy Hut is neither. This triangle shaped bar with a stone façade has witnessed much history, and evolved with it. Oregon banned booze (for the 2nd time) in 1915, so when The Sandy Hut opened as a restaurant in 1923, it was already eight years into a self-imposed prohibition. The Sandy Hut still offers their original 1923 Fat Man Burger (served cyclops style) but can now also serve a $2 tallboy to wash it down. Conversely, they offer $14 prime rib if it’s payday and an $8 Mai Tai that actually contains orgeat, for the true cocktail nerds. The décor is midcentury nuevo-dive, long booths, plenty of wood paneling, oddities, and a pool table crested with lion heads—free of course.  The Sandy Hut straddles the past and present of PDX perhaps better than any other joint in Portland.  This is a town that values hoppy, handmade beers and hometown spirits, which are on the menu but lays equal need of cheap eats and happy hours that start at 2pm. The Sandy Hut delivers it all."

Address and phone: 4301 Burgundy, New Orleans, LA
Website: N/A

Hannah says: "In New Orleans there are many dive bars, and there are also many camps claiming authority on what makes a dive bar a dive bar.  For me, a dive bar warrants favorable opinions from each camp, and BJ’s does just that. BJ’s doesn’t fall in the category of a disreputable bar, but instead a neighborhood bar where mostly local residents go to drink and socialize. But BJ’s is an unglamorous, old cypress green cottage turned bar in the Bywater—a neighborhood downriver from the French Quarter almost completely filled with service industry workers (which is blue-collar when it comes to NOLA, even with the influx of hipsters). Inside is well-worn but far from characterless, and you need to press a buzzer to get in. Once inside, you just might notice more than one kind of Bitters behind the bar. Take a deep breath. Peychauds are from here; this is not a cocktail bar. The drinks are cheap, there are no windows, and the jukebox isn’t hooked up to the internet. My kind of dive."

Address and phone: 1762 E 18th St, Cleveland, OH (216-621-0055)
Website: beckysbar.com

Lauvray says: "Around the corner from Playhouse Square's hustle and bustle, Becky's Bar and Grill is the best dive in the crowded field that is the Buckeye State's battle-royale of outstanding dives. Why and how you ask, dear reader? It's not the specials (Three-dollar Dortmunder Golds from GLBC on Wednesdays? Just take all of my money, please). And it's not the ambiance either, though "cinder block chic" has never been so welcoming. It's not even the mighty fine mushroom burger you can order. No. Rather, it's the convergence of the high and low, the fact that you see Cleveland's fancy coming in or going out of downtown after a Cavs game, shoulder to shoulder with a line cook who just finished his shift, seated next to a broke-ass CSU undergrad sipping a three-dollar Dortmunder before getting back to studying. Becky's is Cleveland, and it shows in the best way possible."

Address and phone: 206 Brooklyn Ave, San Antonio, TX (210-227-4551)
Website: N/A

Tijerina says: "Barely half a mile north of the Alamo, in the middle of what was once the Irish Flats neighborhood of San Antonio, sits one of the city’s best dives: Tony’s Bar.
It’s an unpretentious spot in a building that dates to the 19th century, where owner Tony Lopez has been operating since 1999. Tony is a soft-spoken, slightly built man in his 70s, who remembers regulars and always has a moment for a deadpan wisecrack. One example: “These sausages are fat-free—I don’t charge for the fat!” Inside, the main light comes from a pair of large television screens and red rope lighting. Maybe some of the light bounces off a disco ball in a side room with a dance floor and an eight-line slot machine. When the jukebox plays, it’s a mix of styles that expresses the essence of this city, or puro San Antonio, as we say around here. That mix is country, Tejano, and funky hits from the 60s and 70s. On most nights, the blue-collar regulars don’t look twice at newcomers, and the vibe brings to mind the living room of a working-class Mexican American family. But when either the Spurs or Cowboys play, good luck finding a space, because it fills up quickly. No worries—as long as you’re rooting for the Spurs or Cowboys, you’re family."

Address and phone: 931 Chambers St, Trenton, NJ (609-396-5457)
Website: N/A

Davenport says: "Although there are a few watering holes in the capital city of New Jersey, Championship is the diviest of them all. It’s full name—Championship Sports Bar & Grill—harkens back to a time when there used to be sports playing on the TVs and food cooking in the kitchen, but neither of those things happens anymore. They’ve been replaced by a diverse group of punks and artists, mirroring the burgeoning arts scene in the city of Trenton. Everything from $2 drafts and wine served in mason jars to their Monday “Art Chill Night” (which involves getting twisted and playing Picasso) gives Championship a bigger sense of character than any other spot within Trenton city limits."

Address and phone: 18 Vendue Range, Charleston, SC (843-723-1700)
Website: griffoncharleston.com

Goldfarb says: "Charleston is by now a well-known foodie tourist town, with many of the city's best bars and restaurants generally packed with hip out-of-towners photographing their food on Instabrag to the schmucks back home. I'm guilty of it myself, and grabbing a seat at Edmund's Oast for some housemade charcuterie and vintage Westbrook beer remains my favored activitiy when I visit the Lowcountry town. But during the day, while trying to survive the often-sweltering heat, I also enjoy popping into The Griffon. A dive right by the water, it's the rare local bar that is usually packed with locals. Twenty years worth of dollar bills are stapled to the walls, the food is fried (love the frickles), and, surprisingly, the tap list is pretty damn good—onne thing to remind you you're still in an artisanal mecca. (OK, you can still get an ice-cold PBR if you believe dives should only have macro slop.)"

Address and phone: 19 N Hotel St, Honolulu, HI (808-538-9145)
Website: N/A

Dekneef says: "You hear Smith’s before you see it. It might be an aunty belting Whitney Houston, an uncle crooning Kalapana or a group of military guys howling Garth Brooks. Whatever way you happen upon it, for a dive bar this vibe is warm, if unexpectedly inviting, thanks to its cheap drinks and $1 karaoke every night of the week. Smith’s (a.k.a. Smitty’s) is the oldest bar on Oahu, and it shows in all the best ways possible: dated tiki decor, Great Depression-era prices on pints of beer, and complete ignorance of your bad Yelp review. If you’re into WWII history, it’s basically a neighborhood landmark, remembered formerly as a hangout for sailors stationed at Pearl Harbor during the war. Time travel 80 years later and this tiny, narrow joint is still rocking with a crowd as diverse as Honolulu. Especially on Hotel Street’s First Friday, with locals, construction workers, and young professionals doing a little pau hana (after work happy hour), mixing it up with military and tourists, biker gangs and old timers—everyone crammed together like a tin can of Spam. Good fun, even if you just stop by for a Longboard and a song."

Address and phone: 7104 35th Ave, Flushing, NY (718-899-9553)
Website: N/A

Warren says: "One of my best friends grew up in Jackson Heights, and when his mother moved back to South America he took over her apartment. Luckily, it was right around the corner from Legends, exactly the sort of bar all New Yorkers grew up around—no frills, inexpensive, and friendly. What made this place stand out was a tiny counter in the back of the bar that sold some of New York City’s best barbecue in the early aughts. Originally Pearson’s—now Legends Texas BBQ—sold meaty ribs, brisket glistening with fat and encircled by a deep red smoke ring, and an excellent pulled pork sandwich. They’ve recently expanded their menu to include some Mexican necessities. Wash all that down with an ice cold domestic and talk sports with some locals (as long as it’s Mets and Jets, this is Queens). It's dive bar heaven. It's worth a trip out to Jackson Heights just to see how old locals and new immigrant communities can come together and make something beautiful."

Address and phone: 7, Front St, Hallowell, ME (207-622-3360)
Website: N/A

Ricchio says: "For me, labeling an establishment a "dive" implies more than just the casual nature of the place. In the case of Easy Street, as soon as I climb down the “Bunny Hole,” as it is referred to by ardent patrons, I am transported back to the days of hanging out in my friend’s basement when I was in high school, wolfing down tabs of acid like they were Tic Tacs. Dimly illuminated by colorful lights, and littered with a combination of Formica tables and plush couches, Easy Street's ambience suggests Tiki, Mardis Gras, and the Day of the Dead all wrapped into one debaucherously wonderful package. There is an extensive, and somewhat terrifying, array of paint-by-numbers art adorning the walls, which gives way to vintage black velvet nudes presiding over the pool tables. It is the perfect venue to guzzle Mai Tais while enjoying live entertainment or performing karaoke badly—they even converted an old refrigerator into a draught system if suds are your thing. In a town that is known for its affinity for alcohol (locals refer to Hallowell as a “Drinking town with an antiques problem), proprietor Bruce Mayo is the ringmaster behind everyone’s favorite late-night circus."

Address and phone: 3258 N Sheffield Ave, Chicago, IL (773-281-4989)
Website: sheffieldschicago.com

Evans says: "I used to live a few blocks away from Wrigley Field, and for those unfamiliar with the local rituals, it's a time honored tradition in Chicago to get blackout drunk in the bleachers and spend the rest of the day wandering Clark Street in a stupor. Wrigleyville is Sodom and Gomorrah on game day. Consequently, many of the bars in the immediate vicinity smell like they have tapeworms in the keg lines. It's crowded. The music stinks. You look to your left and see a dude with boat shoes projectile vomit on the sidewalk. You look to your right and see a fist fight in the Taco Bell parking lot. It's a lot to deal with sometimes. Sheffield's is the area's oasis, and as a result I've logged more hours there than any other bar in the city. It's *just* far enough off the beaten path to avoid the puke and blood spill, yet it's popping enough to make some bad life decisions. That's the perfect dive bar recipe in my opinion. P.S. Sheffield's also has an adorable beer garden/outdoor space, which is important in terms of attracting a more conventionally attractive crowd. Definitely another plus."