Do birthdays truly matter? For a middle-aged father of two, they mostly serve as an excuse to break out of routine and execute a meticulously planned escape. On a recent Saturday in September, one such milestone became the official justification for dragging an assortment of longtime friends and family across the Los Angeles coastline. The mission: a coast-hugging bar crawl through a selection of Southern California’s enduring beach dive bars. Marking the second time this particular writer has utilized editorial assignments for publications like Eater and Punch to rationalize, and perhaps subsidize, a birthday excursion, the journey reaffirmed a deeply held belief. These old, salt-crusted pubs represent an essential, rapidly disappearing stronghold of regional culture, demanding both active patronage and profound respect in an era of relentless gentrification.
The crawl was designed as an afternoon-to-evening expedition spanning from Santa Monica down to Manhattan Beach, before cutting inland for a traditional Japanese dinner in Torrance, a city celebrated for hosting some of the finest Japanese cuisine in the United States. Taking place on a pleasant September day, the itinerary prioritized drinks and light snacks—heavy on the bar burgers—while soaking in the late-summer ocean breeze.
The strategy behind a successful multi-stop crawl of this scale relies on flexibility and momentum. The goal was to start relatively early, catching the afternoon sun while preserving a normal sleep schedule to ensure a traditional wake-up time for dad duties the following morning. Embracing a brisk itinerary meant moving quickly from place to place without fretting over exact headcounts. Instead of traditional coordination, friends were simply instructed to drop their estimated times of arrival into a shared group chat and jump on or off the moving train whenever schedule permitted.
Stop 1: Chez Jay – Santa Monica – 3:25 p.m.
Opened in 1959 and situated a mere eight-minute walk from the sand, Chez Jay has successfully weathered decades of rapid commercial development that has systematically priced out old neighborhood establishments across Los Angeles. It remains an essential urban refuge where patrons can settle in for a beer or a martini under a pair of simple, enduring rules: "take no pictures, and throw your peanut shells on the floor." Naturally, one of those rules was bent, though the alternative offerings remained entirely intact.
While the kitchen was not yet open for dinner service, the bowls of peanuts were plentiful and the afternoon pours were notably heavy. The interior features red booths and red checkerboard tablecloths that subtly evoke an old-school Italian eatery, though Chez Jay operates fundamentally as a classic steak-and-seafood establishment come evening. The crawl kicked off with a strong showing of six attendees, including the birthday celebrant’s father and stepmom, setting a high bar for the afternoon ahead.
Stop 2: Hinano Cafe – Venice Beach – 4:38 p.m.
Moving further south, the group arrived at Hinano Cafe, a perpetually packed landmark operating along a busy stretch of Venice Beach since 1962. Serving as an iconic surfer haven, the cash-only establishment deals primarily in beer and burgers—operating without a full liquor license—and maintains its authentic coastal character by serving breakfast daily from 8 a.m. until noon.
As the group pushed through the doors, the gathering swelled with additional friends joining the ranks. Pitchers of beer were hoisted in a standing-room-only environment surrounded by day-drinkers in board shorts who looked considerably younger and more vibrant than the aging contingent of fathers. The group paused just long enough to order and split a straightforward $12.50 hamburger served on a sesame seed bun—a pleasant, functional edible intermezzo before retreating from the youthful crowd. It is the kind of establishment where one might fondly imagine returning for a quieter drink in 1975.
Stop 3: Prince O’ Whales – Playa del Rey – 5:30 p.m.
Crossing over the marina—a notorious traffic and geographic dividing line in Los Angeles County—the crawl transitioned into a dense, highly walkable cluster of three distinct watering holes tucked into a 0.2-mile stretch of Playa del Rey, a hidden, working-class beach community. By this point, the sun was beginning to dip, and the cool ocean breeze worked to ease the group’s shoulders, though the accumulated beverages likely shared the credit.
The group stepped into Prince O’ Whales, an establishment serving drinks under its current moniker for over half a century, following an 18-year run under its previous name, The Bowsprit. The interior features dual indoor bars, though one remained closed for the afternoon, and the primary room was bustling with loud patrons watching college football—a stark reminder of the passage of time. Seeking tranquility, the group carried their drinks out to the back patio, a weathered sanctuary of cement, brick, faded paint, and sun-bleached wood complete with a ping-pong table and quintessential Southern California late-summer weather.
Stop 4: The Harbor Room – Playa del Rey – 6:01 p.m.
After a brief 90-second stroll, the group reached a destination affectionately known as the "smallest dive bar in Los Angeles." The Harbor Room evokes the feeling of a California-themed yokocho alleyway in Tokyo, save for its deeply lived-in interior lined with old timber that makes patrons feel as though they are drinking in the hull of a turn-of-the-century transatlantic vessel.
Here, a friendly, inebriated stranger gravitated toward the group to strike up an animated conversation. A mix-up at the bar resulted in an unexpected cocktail trajectory: an intended vodka-soda transformed into a gin and tonic, which quickly pivoted into a gin martini. The martini arrived accompanied by an unusual "sidecar"—literally a rocks glass filled with a splash of rapidly warming gin.
Drawn by curiosity, the birthday celebrant wandered into the adjoining Italian restaurant, where friendly staff members persuaded him to order food. Moments before the martini was finished, a steaming foil container of hot ravioli was delivered straight to the bar table. Surrounded by this eccentric charm, the thought crossed the celebrant’s mind that should domestic tranquility ever fail, renting a barstool here for the twilight years would not be the worst contingency plan.
Stop 5: The Shack – Playa del Rey – 6:27 p.m.
Reviewing time-stamped photographs later revealed an impressive feat of urban efficiency: the group had successfully consumed a round of martinis and a plate of ravioli in a mere 26 minutes. Momentum carried them onward to the next stop, located just a short walk away.
The Shack stands as a classic surf bar and restaurant featuring just the right amount of authentic wear and tear to feel like a permanent Hollywood set piece. Offering significantly more interior space than its predecessor, the venue provided enough room at the bar to order a round of wings and the signature Shack Burger for the table to sample. The establishment’s standout burger arrives crowned with a butterflied Louisiana hot link, functioning essentially as a juicier, snappier, and spicier alternative to bacon. As the afternoon progressed, the celebrant noted a quiet sense of triumph regarding his sudden, unexpected resilience to consume five or six drinks—a capacity that rarely faces testing in everyday fatherhood.
Stop 6: Ercole’s – Manhattan Beach – 7:23 p.m.
Nearing its centennial anniversary—having first opened its doors during Prohibition, though not always operating as a bar—Ercole’s easily could have served as the flagship anchor for the entire crawl. Celebrated locally as home to one of the finest dive bar burgers in Los Angeles County, this defiant establishment has successfully resisted escalating coastal real estate pressures to preserve its status as a quintessential neighborhood pub.
Serving as a sacred escape from the surrounding affluence of Manhattan Beach, the interior is constructed almost entirely of dark wood and vintage beer signage. A strict protocol governs the space, featuring one designated queue for ordering and another for the restroom. The clientele represents a colorful cross-section of society, from tattooed bikers to retirees in Hawaiian shirts, all seemingly aware of the privilege of occupying space there.
In the corner behind the bar sits a modest grill positioned beneath a bright yellow sign proudly proclaiming "no fries." The cheeseburger is an exercise in minimalist chargrilled perfection, utilizing meat sourced directly from the adjacent butcher shop and served in a basket accompanied by a bag of potato chips. Though the menu mentions a teriyaki chicken sandwich, its existence remains a local myth. Pressed for time, the group made a swift exit to ensure they wouldn’t be excessively tardy for their final reservation.
Stop 7: Torihei – Torrance – 8:00 p.m.
Because the beach dive crawl relied on strategic snacking rather than heavy meals, the transition inland to Torrance offered a welcome change of pace. Settled around a long table adorned with cold beers and carafes of sake, the group was greeted by what felt like the most comforting dish on earth: Torihei’s simmered slab of daikon radish, served in rich dashi broth and blanketed under a moving layer of smoked, dried skipjack tuna flakes (katsuobushi).
The classic izakaya specializes in yakitori (grilled chicken skewers) and oden (slow-simmered ingredients in broth). The group enjoyed rounds of beer paired with tender chicken cartilage and grilled chicken meatballs, bringing the evening to a close with bowls of soborodon featuring seasoned ground chicken over rice.
Having completed the ambitious coastal expedition, the birthday celebrant was home, showered, and safely in bed before 11:15 p.m., bringing an unorthodox neighborhood tour to a seamless and satisfying conclusion.
