If the sight of a male couple snogging makes you purr, "Aw, how sweet," then you are guilty as charged, and you may as well take advantage of what the Café has to offer. Every night of the week this joint is throbbing with hot young things asking -- even begging -- for hags to call their very own. They need confidantes to share their secrets with, feminine eyes for fashion advice, undistracted ears, and a compliment every single minute ("You are so fabulous!"). In return you'll receive your own compliments, winning smiles, a few free drinks, and 50 new friends. (You know who you are, Miss World, constantly flanked by five tank-topped boys.) Sure, the Café could be considered gay cliché, but every hour is happy there, with lines out the doors on weekend nights. It boasts the only nonstop dance floor in the Castro (though, granted, it's a tiny one), and like the Metro, it has a nice airy balcony from which to catcall at pedestrians below. The men are strong, the drinks robust, and the ambience is all positive, honey.