Jackalope is famous for its hot rockabilly crowd and copious velvet nudes on the wall. It can be hard to reconcile the Bastille-turned-opera-house-meets-’50s-diner quality of the interior with the taxidermic masterpiece that is the bar’s namesake, mounted proudly above the gaudily back-lit rows of liquor bottles. It’s also hard to choose where to hang out: in here, or in the semi-outside upstairs beneath a convincing fake tree. Both places sport flatscreen TVs seemingly always showing our favorite movies.

Jackalope is home to a legendary drink, the “Helldorado.” It’s a little bit of everything, served in a ludicrously large martini glass filled with roughly the equivalent of five drinks; they won’t even serve it to you unless you’re sharing it. Cocktails are generally made with canned juice and mid-level spirits; there are a few great beers on tap, though.

The bar food is surprisingly good, like a sandwich of juicy wood-grilled chicken with melted brie, bacon, and Caesar dressing on a wheat bun. Burgers are big and juicy, if not as good as Casino’s across and down the street. Wings are great, especially honey jalapeño; the “porno hot” boast little more than Skinemax-grade spice. For vegetarians, there are several salads and a superb, not-too-oily Portobello mushroom sandwich. Corn-dog minis go particularly well with velvet breasts.