It is not often that we are actually depressed by a bar, but Sandy’s disturbing mix of sagging, plastic Bud Light banners, worn, frat house couches and one coin-op pool table could make Richard Simmons want to slit his wrists. As if that wasn’t enough, take a look outside at the angry, gray commuters inching across the 59th Street bridge and you’ll want to just throw yourself down a well. While we were there, the bored bartender (a bartender being one who actually tends to the bar) sat and watched Three’s Company re-runs on the big screen TV with the sound loud enough to drown out the jukebox. Want a beer? You’ll have to fight with Chrissy’s baby-tee for the bartender’s attention. Recommended only for those who have nothing left to live for. [MF]
699 2nd Ave.