he best way to feel like a big man: look down on the plebs from on high. Just ask Manute Bol, Tenzing Norgay, or David Koresh. Altitude 737 (737 feet from the ground), a three-floored club in Montreal's tallest building, condescends to the rest of the city's passé, ground-level joints. 737 boasts two summer-only terraces, a selection of drinks you can only afford if you own at least four suits, a prohibition on vertigo sufferers and, occasionally, Wesley Snipes.

Chef François Da Ponte has produced a menu with signature items that include Eggplant Caviar with tomato and tarragon, and Calamari Cake with warm goat cheese. Post-dinner, you'll find the crowd begins to filter up to catch a glimpse of the sun setting behind Mount-Royal and the music gets pumped up a few decibels to encourage the remaining punters to stay. Patrons range from old brooding types to young hipsters and the occasional after-dinner daters.

A very Friday night spot, 737 often crams 1000 partiers into its various levels. On most other off nights, expect a number of drinkers, perhaps bored of the tired dance anthems, to exit early, making room for an entirely new crowd. For the most part, though, little groups of local and visiting types dressed to the hilt will be gathered around the various seating areas.

If you find yourself hell-bent on drinking nothing but vodka, try testing out 737 mixology by ordering a satisfyingly strong vodka martini. And while staff churns out quality cocktail goods, it is evident that 737 is Champagne territory. When your insides are suitably scorched, move on up to the terrace wherein club-goers can soak up more drinking and dancing above the city.

Open throughout the year, 737 looks out over the view of the Montreal skyline, offering a bit of fresh air and the chance to hear the voice of your one-night stand. While the high-energy scene can occasionally get overwhelming, locals are drawn into this roof-top haunt by the music, which is played loud enough to make the earth down below vibrate. And even though it can get cramped, rest assured that the $18 drinks are poured with a heavy hand. . Resist your urge to kill pedestrians with dropped pennies, Patrick Bateman.