The Hangover: San Diego, Side Piece Bar

I would say I have a strange obsession with fucked vibes. I like to see social norms stretch and distort as if they are falling into a blackhole of weirdness. This is what drives me to try out every dive bar I come within 20 miles of. I generally like non-dives as well, but the mileage varies based on the clientele and prices. 

Friends of mine love going to bars in Pacific Beach (PB), a youthful part of San Diego reserved for people in their 20s and those trying to fuck them. It’s the dedicated party zone. My buddies fuck with the energy of people that haven’t quite learned how to handle their alcohol or have just discovered cocaine. Those vibes aren’t deep enough into the fucked spectrum for me. 

The fucked vibes spectrum isn’t a spectrum as much as it is the MC Escher painting with the stairs. PB’s staircase is where the most annoying people are — the recent coke converts, and people who are vomiting, want to fight, or one then the other. 

A new bar opened in San Diego in mid-July. As soon as a friend told me about it I wanted to see which staircase it sat on. It wasn't the bar by the company that owns about 22 in the city, which coincidentally opened within a week of the bar in question. It was close enough to where I lived and next door to their restaurant, Bay Hill Tavern. The bar is situated in a suburb amongst all the other suburbs in San Diego, Clairemont. It’s as nondescript and average as every other American suburb, but with a little less of the American-style paranoia.

I'd been to Bay Hill Tavern a few times. It was never good. Though, it was less weird than its predecessor, the Irish-style pub with obscenely hot employees. It was the emptiest bar in Clairemont with the sexiest women working. One woman was a dyed-red head who was 6’1” and painfully thin, but toned. Her model-esque body was matched by her cheekbones and jawline that resembled a statue of antiquity. Her eyes and smile looked like an AI image prompt gone poorly, but it wouldn’t have been unfair for her to have it all. The other woman I interacted with had, to borrow a phrase from 21st century philosophers, Migos, titties that were “jumping out the gym.” They always looked like if she took a deep breath they were going to tear her shirt and bra to pieces. Her smile could coerce a tip from a retired man who’d been on a fixed income and really couldn’t afford it, but she reminded him what it was like to be horny 30 years ago… I digress.

The food at the Irish spot was bad. The drinks were expensive — especially for the time and part of town they were in. When I asked what the deal was with the spot, the lithe woman told me it was being underwritten by the owner who had a few bars in Gaslamp, an aged up PB with more dress codes and higher prices. The women who were employed by his restaurant group picked up extra shifts at the shitty pub in Clairemont. Bay Hill Tavern didn't have a high bar to clear, but hadn’t managed to every time I went. 

The food was bad at Bay Hill Tavern. The drinks were, mystifyingly, worse than the food. Every time I went, I was somehow surprised by the experience. Once I waited 15 minutes for a menu at the bar. There was an instance where I ordered tortilla chips and they were so stale I thought I was biting into drywall. It was one of the few times I’ve returned food to the kitchen instead of pretending I ate enough of it when the server asked. I’d gone a few times subsequently because I wanted it to workout, but it just never did. 

When my friend, Waring, told me Bay Hill Tavern opened a bar in the space that used to be the evil microloan spot, I was skeptical. I’m all about multiple chances though. I arrived about 30 minutes after they opened and asked Waring to join me.

I wasn’t new to Clairemont bars. They were filled to the brim with “Clairemont locals.” They were mostly people whose parents or themselves lived in Clairemont since the area was established, or close to it, and somehow managed to make it part of their personality.  

I didn’t know what the Bay Hill Tavern crowd looked like, but I imagined they were the same profile as most in the area, if not a smidge younger. My concern with Side Piece was it would be filled with Clairemont gremlins that were less affable than people in San Diego generally were. Thankfully, it didn’t have that problem. The locals were definitely present when I arrived. 

I showed up hungry as hell. The kitchen for Side Piece is the kitchen at Bay Hill Tavern. I expected the food to be mid, if not bad. I was hopeful because kitchens do change over time. Sometimes it takes a restaurant a little while to hit their stride. The menu at Side Piece didn’t offer much. I figured that was because the restaurant was next door. They offered wings, pretzel balls, fries, pepperoni pizza, chips and dip, something that eludes me, and that’s it. I ordered the pretzel balls, fries, and their espresso martini (my personal fav cocktail for the moment). 

Their espresso martini is probably my second favorite in the city. The coffee flavor is strong and the drink has a slight liquor burn. It didn’t carry the bitter after taste that ill-prepared coffee can have. My favorite aspect is that it isn’t the dessert version of the cocktail — that is to say it isn’t sweet. It’s a well-balanced cocktail. I drank three.

The food was good. The pretzel balls were soft with the perfect pretzel exterior. The beer cheese was a great addition for the pretzels (and fries). It stayed warm as I typed and wondered where Waring was. The fries were pretty good, too. 

I spoke to Jeff. I’m not sure what his role with the restaurant was, but he introduced himself to all the groups present and checked how they were doing. We chatted about the food and the espresso martini and their drink menu. Apparently one of the employees brought a bunch of beans back from Italy.

The decor looked like what I’d call “Midwestern Cool.” I call it that because I imagine people from the Midwest would be impressed by it. (I’ve never been to the Midwest. I don’t know anything about it or the people. I don’t plan to learn.) The walls were divided in half — light gray paint on top and dark gray on the bottom. Some areas had brick wallpaper. It was a mix of natural brick behind the bar and gray brick near the kitchen. The shared cooking space could be seen through the kitchen port to the left of the bar. There was a mural with Marilyn Monroe and a palm tree, which added some of the only non-neutral colors to space. The other colorful thing was the pool table’s vivid green felt, not yet worn out from people who had spilled drinks or too many games played on it. Pool was $2 a game. 

Waring eventually showed up with his fiancé. He’d also invited a few other people to join us. We spent a few hours chatting and drinking in the air conditioned room, which was a nice reprieve from the heat. Everyone had a great time.

The bartenders were nice. I fucked with the spot. I’d definitely go back. The only thing I’d ask for would be a happy hour. I’m a slut for a good deal.