Dive bars I have known and loved

Patricia Smiley here…

I like dive bars, the seedier and more atmospheric the better. The lights are dim and the ghostly aroma of banned cigarettes still leaches from wood-paneled walls. The padding on the bar’s rub-rail is pockmarked with cigarette burns and battle scars that have never healed. Good dive bars draw real people of every age and socio-economic group and employ bartenders with a sense of humor and a nose for trouble. Dive bars make me want to pen noirish tales of roads not taken and lives gone terribly wrong.

One of the favorite hangouts from my misspent youth is the Lock Spot in the Ballard district of Seattle. It had a jukebox and a pool table housed in a dark stale room that promised mystery and perhaps a bit of danger. I don’t remember much about the food, but I can vouch for the pitchers of Olympia beer. As a bonus, the pub was adjacent to the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks. After tipping a few I could wander out to watch boats make weigh from interior lakes to Puget Sound and see farmed salmon fight their way up a "fish ladder,” in training for the real world.



In a former life, I worked in juvenile detention at the King County Juvenile Court in Seattle. After my shift ended at 11:00 p.m., 10-20 friends and I would party together. One of our favorite watering holes was the Golliwog tavern in the Central area. We stayed until the bar closed at 2:00 a.m. Then we headed to somebody’s house to talk trash until the wee hours of the morning. One night (I wasn’t there), some bad guys robbed the bar and locked several of my friends in the walk-in refrigerator. Nobody was hurt but what a great story it made.

It’s been a long time since I visited a dive bar. So Friday night I went with a detective friend of mine to the Cozy Inn in Culver City, one of her favorite haunts. A former cop once owned the place and law enforcement types from various departments are still among the regulars.



I arrived around 6:45 p.m. and claimed an open space in the free lot adjacent to the building. As I sauntered inside, I saw dive-appropriate signs hanging on the walls. “Be good or be gone” and “There will be a $5.00 charge for whining.” Cigarette smoke pierced the still air. Apparently, the Cozy Inn is one of the last places on the planet where you can still light up inside a public building. Customers watched the Lakers game, or played pool, darts, or shuffleboard. Bartender Tommy greeted my friend with a hug as we bellied up to the bar for a drink.

The patrons appeared to be a close-knit community of locals and regulars with a laid back convivial vibe. A woman named Suzanne interrupted her pool game to walk over to the bar and introduce herself. The drinks were cheap and strong. Cash or debit cards only, thank you very much.

You can bring your own food to the Cozy Inn from a variety of local eateries within walking distance, including Cinco De Mayo, Johnnie's, and one of my personal favorites, Tito’s Tacos.





The coolest of all cool things was the hook under the bar where I could hang my purse.

We watched the Lakers win, played our favorite songs on the jukebox, and laughed each time Tommy changed into a different logo shirt and ball cap to mark events as they unfolded, i.e., an LAPD get-up when we arrived, a Lakers jersey at game’s end. When I left, I knew I’d be back. I felt like Ernest Hemingway.



Online reviewers have called the Cozy Inn “rad,” the “best dive bar ever,” “This place rocks!” and “A true gem in LA,” even though one habitué warned away those who “have no understanding of dive-bar, shuffle-board, jukebox, and shit-talking etiquette." Right on, sister!

Do you have a favorite dive bar, pub, funky neighborhood hangout we should know about?

Happy Monday!