THE ENABLER

The Prospector in Long Beach devotes a section of its bar menu to “Hangover Vittles.” This is like a gun range selling gauze packs. To paraphrase a great American philosopher: The Prospector is the cause of, and solution to, all life’s problems.

Part dive bar, part hokey steak house, this 42-year-old party starter is decorated to look like a low-rent Disney version of an 1849 Gold Rush camp and is populated with regulars ranging from grizzled dock workers to faux-grizzled hipsters. It evokes a less bonkers Clifton’s Cafeteria, nailing that neglected-theme-park vibe while functioning equally as a grotty taters-and-ribeye joint, a bustling venue for marginalized rock bands and a hole to fall into when your wife takes the dog and pickup truck. Most of its patrons on a slow Wednesday night looked as if they hadn’t seen daylight in weeks.

If, after several generous whiskey-and-soda pours, however, you need to make a quick exit from town (and The Enabler doesn’t ask questions), it’s also 10 minutes away from the Long Beach Airport. Therefore, The Enabler asks: Could you conceivably spend your entire adult nightlife in the Prospector? You’d have problems doing so, but then again, you’d find solutions at the Prospector just as easily. 2400 E. 7th St., Long Beach. (562) 438-3839.

-- theguide@latimes.com