Fifteen minutes before 11 a.m., when the doors open, two men in suits hover outside Tracks Raw Bar & Grill in Penn Station. It’s not clear at first whether they’re bartenders who have been locked out, commuters who meandered away from the Long Island Rail Road for a private chat, or just eager customers. At 11:00 the door is unlocked; the men grab seats at the long mahogany bar (customers after all). Within 10 minutes, four more people walk in, sit down and order a beer. They seem to quickly forget that they’re in Penn Station, arguably the city’s most hated transportation hub. Whatever else Tracks is, it’s an oasis from the brake dust and human herds moving through tunnels during rush hour.