18. Pat O'Brien's
Address: 718 St. Peter St.
Their "famous" Hurricane cocktail tastes like complete shit, and only serves to get this crowd exponentially more fucked up than they should be. And it ain't because they're underage. Because they're not underage. They're usually very much of age. Very much of age. Imagine pleated khaki-wearing junior law partners from all across the country, bellying up to the piano bar singing "Brown Eyed Girl" while linking arms with their bros and holding back the vomit from the sugary awfulness of the drink that put the bar on the map. Hint: If they sell the mix of a bar's signature drink at tacky t-shirt shops on Bourbon Street, the actual place where it is made and served should probably be avoided at all costs.