At 2 a.m., the small dining area of the hot dog shack is filled with grungy-looking twentysomethings awaiting their food. Milling between the vintage Pac Man arcade games with cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon in hand, the clientele is a boisterous mix of those coming and going to the nearby indie rock temples and hip East Village bars.

Discreetly tucked away in a corner of the room sits the façade of a telephone booth which, when opened, reveals a red phone seated on the right-hand wall. The hungry masses don’t seem to notice that every so often someone enters the booth, only to never return.

The restaurant is Crif Dogs (113 St. Marks Pl.), a popular late-night destination for alcohol-diluting snacks like fried hot dogs wrapped in bacon. Toppings range from teriyaki sauce and pineapples (The Tsunami) to a fried egg and American cheese (the Good Morning).

The telephone booth, though, hides a secret known to only a handful of the hungry patrons: a high-end, reservations-only bar known as PDT — which stands for Please Don’t Tell.

PDT is only one example of a growing trend in the Manhattan nightlife scene towards discreet drinking temples — spaces whose front doors are as softly spoken as the imbibers who pass through these hidden gateways.

The physical design of these establishments evokes a time that has long since slipped away, when distinguished gentlemen stood in the place now held by loud frat boys clamoring for jaegermeister, and conversations focused on local politics instead of the cost of everyone’s designer handbags.

The drink lists at these establishments are typically designed by celebrated mixologists (the title being one colloquially bestowed upon truly innovative designers of mixed drinks), and all are dedicated to the tradition of quality.

Liquors are often infused with exotic ingredients on the premises, and large blocks of ice are cut down into a variety of specific shapes, including a 4 inch long rectangle for a highball glass, to ensure a each drink is appropriately diluted by the melting ice.

PDT’s list includes classics such as a gin and tonic made with house made tonic syrup along with more fantastical concoctions such as an old-fashioned made from bacon-infused bourbon and maple syrup.

But the drink list isn’t the sole highlight; local celebrity chefs have kicked in to design their own hot dogs for the menu.

David Chang of the celebrated Momofuku outposts crafted a bacon-wrapped deep-fried dog topped with his Ssam Bar’s house-made kimchee puree. Molecular chef Wiley Dufresne, who has appeared as a judge on Top Chef, was far more esoteric with his design: a deep-fried dog covered with deep-fried mayo, tomato molasses and freeze-dried onions.

While Milk and Honey (134 Eldridge St.) doesn’t offer any kitchen service, it has carved out its own niche as possibly the hardest bar to find in the city.

Hidden behind the front of a tailoring shop in Chinatown, M&H has no listed phone number, which means that in order to get in, you have to know someone who has the private number (which is confounded by the fact that it is constantly being changed).

Once you are buzzed in through the signless industrial door, however, your rewards are evident. Dim lighting falls on large, dark-leathered banquettes, and the mellifluous tones of Bix Beiderbecke and Duke Ellington can be softly heard over reverently hushed conversation.

If you’re looking for a drink menu, you won’t find one; a waiter or waitress, dutifully dressed in prohibition-tinged clothing, simply inquires as to your preferred spirit, and the bartender then tailors a concoction based upon your requested flavor combination (salty, sweet, tangy and so forth).

At $15 a drink, it isn’t cheap, but the pours are just as generous and potent as one might expect they were almost 100 years ago.

For those who don’t want to spend the time tracking down the unlisted number to M&H, owner Sasha Petraske has opened up a less-exclusive venue in the West Village called Little Branch (20 Seventh Ave. South). The rules of behavior and bartender outfits remain much the same, and the entrance is denoted only by a suited gentleman working the door, but the number is listed for the public, meaning that anyone can enjoy phenomenal takes on classics like mojitos and hemingway daiquiris (light rum and maraschino liqueu mixed with lime and grapefruit juice).

Adding to the atmosphere is a black grand piano, which is used by the variety of jazz trios that grace the room with live music on Sundays through Wednedsays.

Of course, some of the new brand of speakeasies focus more on the atmosphere than on hidden entrances and difficult reservations.

Pegu Club (77 W. Houston St.) has the dark-wood-and-dimly-lit décor that defines the new speakeasy, and mixes all of the drinks on its inventive menu with freshly squeezed juices and house-made ingredients (such as ginger beer), but on a weekday evening you aren’t likely to have any problem walking right in off the street. There’s even a sign to tell you where the door is.

So what accounts for the popularity of these nouveau speakeasies? It could be that New Yorkers have grown weary of celebrity-heavy scenes and endless lines at popular night clubs. Or perhaps it’s an increase in gastronomical awareness that is making Manhattanites seek out drinks that transcend the typical watered-down fare.

Or it could be that the transporting, quiet atmosphere simply provides a short break from the hectic bustle of the city. Whatever the case is, the movement isn’t showing signs of slowing down; for those whose taste buds appreciate the finer things in life, its easy to see why that’s news that’s worth speaking about.