Finally—a home for Francophiles obsessed with the reign of the Romanov dynasty. Clearly the lovechild of Napoleon Bonaparte and Anton Chekov, Anyway Café is fittingly in the bowels of the East Village. Attracting brooding, tortured souls who are poring over their novels that they can’t get published, Anyway’s unbelievable homemade infused vodka offers a wonderful form of self-medication. This place is spatially challenged, but the low-lit vibe is cool, almost evoking sexy French images with just a hint of KGB. The youngish 30s crowd enjoys crepes and caviar, and if you are need of “mood lighting,” it doesn’t get much darker than this.