Arizona Cafe

While Little Chef closes early and banks on takeout containers, Arizona keeps the grill running deep into the night—pool tables occupied, plasma screens glowing, that fryer working overtime when you need it most. This is the spot that feeds the post-shift crowd, the can't-sleep regulars, the groups who started at Sunshine Company hours ago and need something greasy to anchor the night.

The Chicago dog earns its reputation: snappy casing, proper sport peppers, the full garden of toppings that separates a real one from the beach-bar approximation. It's an oddly specific thing to nail in a surf town, but they do. Beyond that, it's classic dive-bar sustenance—burgers, hot dogs, wings, fries—executed with the consistency that comes from making the same things hundreds of times a week.

Service swings wildly depending on who's behind the bar and how deep into the shift you're catching them. The regulars know which bartenders to wait for, which nights run smooth, when to just grab your food and claim a pool table instead of lingering at the rail. It's a cash-and-locals operation in a neighborhood that's seen most of its old guard priced out or paved over.

The space looks exactly like what it is: a no-frills sports bar with good bones and zero interest in renovation. Plasma TVs instead of flatscreens. Worn felt on the pool tables. The kind of place that opens for breakfast, serves beer all day, and keeps the kitchen live until the stragglers finally call it. If you're wandering Bacon Street past midnight looking for food that isn't a taco-shop burrito, this is your move—just know what you're walking into.