Do birthdays matter? Not really. But they are, at the very least, an excuse to do something you might not usually do as a middle-aged father of two. On a recent Saturday in September, one such milestone became the perfect rationale to drag an assortment of friendship flotsam across the Los Angeles coastline, working our way down through a carefully selected array of Southern California beach dive bars. This journey marked the second time that utilizing assignments for publications like Eater and Punch helped rationalize, or perhaps outright subsidize, a birthday bar crawl. Beneath the personal celebration lies a broader truth: these old, salt-crusted pubs represent an essential, last-remaining stronghold of regional culture, demanding both our respect and our financial support to survive in a rapidly changing landscape.
The itinerary for the day was built around drinks, snacks—consisting mostly of hurried bites of iconic bar burgers—and a deliberate progression moving from Santa Monica down to Manhattan Beach before wandering inland for dinner in Torrance, a city renowned for housing some of the best Japanese food in the United States.
The strategy was to start relatively early, soaking in as much sunlit ocean breeze as possible while ensuring a normal amount of sleep at the end of the night before waking up at traditional parental hours. A well-executed bar crawl thrives on flexibility, allowing participants to jump on and off the moving train as they see fit. A brisk itinerary is vital, moving quickly from place to place without worrying over who shows up when or where. The modern logistical key is simple: instruct everyone to add necessary estimated times of arrival to the group chat as applicable, letting the afternoon unfold organically.
Stop 1: Chez Jay — Santa Monica — 3:25 p.m.
Opened in 1959 and situated roughly an eight-minute walk from the beach, Chez Jay has remained a steadfast refuge in a city that has aggressively priced out historic neighborhood bars and restaurants. It is an establishment where patrons can order a martini or a beer under two primary, albeit lighthearted, unwritten rules: "take no pictures, and throw your peanut shells on the floor." Though one of those rules was inevitably broken, the spirit of the place remained intact.
The kitchen was still closed when the group arrived, but the peanuts were plentiful and the pours were heavy. The interior features red booths and red checkerboard tablecloths that evoke the atmosphere of an old Italian restaurant, though Chez Jay functions fundamentally as a classic steak-and-seafood destination for evening dining. The crawl started strong with six people in attendance, including the author’s father and stepmom, setting a convivial tone for the afternoon.
Stop 2: Hinano Cafe — Venice Beach — 4:38 p.m.
Operating on a busy stretch of Venice Beach since 1962, the Hinano Cafe has long been an iconic surfer haunt serving beer and burgers. Because it lacks a full liquor license, the focus remains squarely on malt beverages and straightforward comfort food, alongside a traditional surfer-bar breakfast served daily from 8 a.m. until noon.
As the group arrived at the perpetually packed venue, our numbers swelled with the addition of more friends. Pitchers of beer were poured in a standing-room-only setting surrounded by board-short-wearing day drinkers who were far too young and energetic for a gaggle of graying dads to linger long. After ordering and splitting an acceptable $12.50 hamburger served on a sesame seed bun—a pleasant edible intermezzo—the group decided to move on, leaving the youthful atmosphere behind with the mutual sentiment that it might be fun to revisit the vibe from the perspective of 1975.
Stop 3: Prince O’ Whales — Playa del Rey — 5:30 p.m.
Having crossed to the other side of the marina—traditionally a major traffic dividing line in Los Angeles County—the crawl settled into a remarkably dense cluster of three bars situated along a mere 0.2-mile stretch of a hidden, working-class LA beach community. By this point, the sun was beginning to drop, and the ocean breeze offered a soothing effect, though the steady accumulation of drinks certainly played a role in relaxing everyone’s shoulders.
The group sauntered into Prince O’ Whales, an establishment that has served drinks under its current moniker for over five decades, following another 18 years operating under the name "The Bowsprit." The interior features two indoor bars, though one remained closed for the afternoon. The bartender possessed the precise brand of amiable grumpiness expected in a proper sailor’s saloon, while the front room hummed with a loud crowd of patrons watching college football—a subtle reminder of the advancing age of the birthday group.
Retreating to the back patio, the group found a serene patch of cement, faded paint, sun-withered wood, and a ping-pong table. This particular round was highlighted by the quintessential late-summer weather that anchors the appeal of living along the Southern California coastline.
Stop 4: The Harbor Room — Playa del Rey — 6:01 p.m.
After a brisk 90-second walk, the group arrived at what is widely known as the smallest dive bar in Los Angeles. Stepping inside feels akin to visiting a California-themed yokocho alley in Tokyo, save for the thoroughly lived-in dark wood paneling that gives the impression of drinking in the bowels of a turn-of-the-century vessel crossing the Atlantic.
A friendly, intoxicated stranger quickly integrated himself into the group, posing numerous inquisitive questions. Drink orders experienced a brief conversational detour: an initial request for a vodka-soda resulted in a gin and tonic, prompting a subsequent pivot to a gin martini. The martini arrived accompanied by a literal "sidecar"—incredulously presented as a rocks glass containing a splash of rapidly warming gin.
Wandering curiously into the adjoining Italian restaurant, the author was convinced by a group of welcoming women to order food. Entrusting them with the menu selection yielded a foil container of steaming hot ravioli delivered straight to the bar table near the end of the martini. The immersive environment prompted fleeting reflections on the comfortable permanence of neighborhood establishments, underscoring the enduring appeal of these spaces.
Stop 5: The Shack — Playa del Rey — 6:27 p.m.
A review of iPhone photo timestamps reveals an impressive operational efficiency: the group successfully consumed a round of martinis and a plate of ravioli in a mere 26 minutes before embarking on another short walk to the next destination. The Shack, a classic old surf bar and restaurant, boasts a set-decorated aesthetic defined by the perfect degree of authentic wear and tear.
Significantly more spacious than the previous stop, The Shack offered ample room at the bar. The group ordered an assortment of wings and the signature Shack Burger for everyone to sample. The burger arrives crowned with a butterflied Louisiana hot link, serving the culinary function of a juicier, snappier, and spicier strip of bacon. Meanwhile, the birthday celebrant remained quietly impressed by the capacity to comfortably consume five or six drinks—a specialized skill that sees diminishing application in everyday domestic life.
Stop 6: Ercole’s — Manhattan Beach — 7:23 p.m.
Nearing its centennial anniversary—having originally opened during Prohibition, though not continuously operated as a bar since its inception—Ercole’s easily could have served as the anchor or final destination of the entire tour. Known among local circles as the home of the best dive bar burger in LA County, this proud establishment has defied rapidly escalating real estate prices to preserve its identity as a neighborhood dive.
Operating as a sacred escape from the surrounding affluence of Manhattan Beach, the interior is constructed almost entirely of dark wood and vintage beer signs. Clear operational customs govern the space, featuring one line for ordering drinks and another for the restroom. A diverse cross-section of patrons—ranging from gray-haired residents in Hawaiian shirts to tattooed bikers—fills the room, all seemingly aware of the privilege of occupying space within its walls.
In the corner behind the bar sits a small grill situated beneath a prominent yellow sign proudly declaring "no fries." The cheeseburger represents an exercise in simple chargrilled perfection, utilizing meat sourced directly from the adjacent butcher shop and served in a basket alongside a bag of potato chips. Although the menu also lists a teriyaki chicken sandwich, its existence remains an urban legend to regular visitors. Time constraints forced a swift departure, prompting a quick phone call to the final restaurant reservation to report a minor delay of approximately 20 minutes.
Stop 7: Torihei — Torrance — 8:00 p.m.
Having maintained a disciplined approach focused on snacking rather than heavy eating throughout the beach dive crawl, the transition to a long table adorned with sake and beer at Torihei offered a welcome culinary shift. There are few more comforting plates of food in the world than Torihei’s simmered slab of daikon radish, served steaming in a rich dashi broth and blanketed in katsuobushi flakes that dance from the heat.
As a classic neighborhood izakaya specializing in yakitori grilled chicken skewers and oden simmered dishes, the restaurant provided an ideal environment to decompress. The group sipped beers, crunched on tender chicken cartilage, and shared grilled chicken meatballs before concluding the evening with bowls of soborodon, featuring seasoned ground chicken over rice.
Having navigated the coastline, sampled classic bar cuisine, and celebrated an unofficial milestone alongside family and friends, the journey concluded successfully. Home, showered, and safely in bed before 11:15 p.m., the expedition proved that middle-aged birthdays can still be approached with a sense of adventure.
