[Editor's Note: We all know local music and dive bars go hand-in-hand. So in the interest of merging the two together on Heard Mentality, we bring you our weekly nightlife column Dive, Dive, My Darling. Read as our bold web editor, Taylor "Hellcat" Hamby, stumbles into the dive bar scene every week to find crazy stories, meet random weirdos and guzzle good booze.]
Taylor Hamby / OC Weekly
The Huddle is an OC staple, cool enough to attract Costa Mesa hipsters yet unpretentious enough to cater to obvious transplants sporting workshirts with un-ironic cut-off sleeves, cowboy hats and beer bellies. Young, old, shitfaced and composed: All are welcome at the Huddle--if you're brave enough to venture past the neighboring sex shop and through the bar's windowless, concrete façade. But it's such a hospitable, comfy place, with cheap booze and open pool tables, that one of my friends accidentally used the ladies room that night, despite the clear signage. He had only had half a beer at that point.
On one recent venture to the Huddle, we passed a man selling assorted baseball caps, all displayed on the hood of a sedan parked in front of the entrance. The market for drunken sports fans going out for a smoke must be lucrative here. Inside, a block of old-school Modest Mouse spewed from the jukebox, put on by a man with an Anaheim Ducks tattoo on the back of his hand and mutually enjoyed by our bartender, who sported slicked-back hair and a red checkered shirt.