It's Halloween

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Why can’t every day be Halloween? Are you disappointed when the stores switch over from Beetlejuice to Santa? We have just the place for you.
- Cris

The Beetle House

If you would rather dress in costumes than in couture, Los Angeles has the perfect place for you. Tucked into a nondescript stretch of Melrose, Beetle House is a little goth-themed restaurant that feels like Tim Burton’s imagination and LA’s love of kitsch ran off together and never looked back. It’s part dinner, part show, part mischief and all of it somehow feels like exactly the right amount of weird.

Walk through the door and the whole place leans in to welcome you. Candles flicker against the walls. A life-size Jack Skellington lurks in the corner like he pays rent there. It’s the only restaurant I’ve ever visited where you half-expect a ghost to guide you to your table and honestly feel disappointed when a human does it instead.

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LA has more themed restaurants than sunscreen options. Beetle House is special because it feels lived in, like the people running it truly love this odd little universe they’re creating night after night. Every detail is intentional. The menus look like spellbooks. The cocktails glow in colors your dentist probably wouldn’t approve of. The servers stay in character long after most people would break. And the whole thing hums with an energy that lands somewhere between “Halloween party” and “midnight séance, snacks provided.”

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The dishes lean fully into the vibe. Why order steak when you can order Edward Burger Hands, a monstrous tower of beef, bacon, and chaos? Cocktails are so yesterday so order something like This Is Halloween, which arrives smoking, bubbling, or backlit like the star of its own movie trailer. Even the fries look like they received stage directions before hitting the plate. And everything is delicious.

But the real magic moment usually happens about 30 minutes in, when the actors start roaming. These aren’t quick photo-op characters. These are fully committed, theater-kid-meets-crypt-keeper personalities who treat the dining room like their own chaotic Broadway stage. Beetlejuice himself is the unofficial mayor of the place - loud, sarcastic, and just sincere enough to make you wonder whether the guy under the striped suit was actually born wearing it. He’ll flirt with your table, steal your fries, roast someone’s outfit, and then pose for a picture like he’s being knighted.

Behind all the theatrics, Beetle House has a bit of a cult reputation in the city. The original location opened in New York and was small, scrappy, beloved but when the LA version arrived, it quickly became the unofficial annual meeting place for every person who thinks Halloween ends far too early. Costumes at dinner? Totally normal. Celebrating your unbirthday? Standard practice. Ordering dessert because it “looks haunted”? Encouraged.

One of my favorite stories floated around from a guest celebrating a birthday there. Beetlejuice spotted the cake, loudly declared, “Another year closer to the grave, kid!” and proceeded to lead the entire restaurant in the most aggressively theatrical version of “Happy Birthday” ever sung. The birthday girl cried from laughing so hard; the staff apologized to absolutely no one.

And for all the chaos, there’s heart. Beetle House has the cozy, self-aware vibe of a place built by fans, for fans, people who adore the strange, the campy, and the wonderfully theatrical corners of pop culture. If you show up looking shy, they’ll bring you out of your shell. If you show up ready to play, you’ll fit right in. If you show up dressed like Beetlejuice himself, you may or may not be offered a shift.

LA is a city that takes itself very seriously. Beetle House does not. And maybe that’s why people love it, because after sitting in traffic for an hour and a half, there’s something deeply restorative about stepping into a place where the only rule is “Have fun, even if it gets weird.”

So if you’re in Los Angeles and craving a night that feels a little off-kilter in the best way, reserve ahead, bring your sense of humor, and leave your expectations at the door. Technically you can show up without reservations but you’re unlikely to get lucky and get a table. You’re stepping into someone else’s daydream - the strange, sparkly, wonderfully crooked kind - and for a couple of hours, it’s yours too if you plan ahead.

See you next Wednesday.

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