Probably the most beautiful collection of Lebanese outside of Beirut, you’ll be hard pressed to single out any unattractive drinkers or even those with an ounce of spare body fat at this late-night beachside hangout. It’s consistently completely rammed, even on a Sunday when the DJ deigns to bust out the eighties tunes. You can sit inside, but nobody does, preferring to stand shoulder-to-shoulder on the ocean-side deck. Split into three sections woe betide anyone who becomes confused – turn left and you’ve got the mega-spenders, their tables groaning with bottles of vodka, right and it’s diners chucking back sushi and shouting conversation and in the middle, Joe Plumber and his gang enviously wishing they could head in either direction. The door tends to be guarded by the usual surly bouncer frowning disapprovingly on every single male, no matter how chiseled, but will happily wave past couples or mane-tossing girls with a grin.