Old Key Lime House sits on the Intracoastal in Lantana, in a building older than the town around it. The Lyman family put it up in 1889 as a home and sold fish and oysters out of it before Lantana was incorporated. It didn’t become a restaurant until 1989. It’s now painted a green you could probably see from orbit, with pink and blue shutters, walls packed floor to ceiling with archival photos, historic records, and a century of accumulated local junk. Five bars. A chickee hut they’ll tell you is the largest tiki bar in South Florida. A fiberglass great white out front wearing a sign that reads NO CLIMBING ON SHARK. The key lime pie is mandatory. Melissa Etheridge turned up unannounced on a Thursday last January and played with the house band. None of that is why the place works, though. That would be the chill, and they have it down to a science.
The Full Story
The subcategory of rustic beach bars with valet parking is a small one, but Old Key Lime House is on it. This isn’t a beach bar putting on airs. It’s crowd control. The place is enormous.
Not one, not two, but five bars. Two inside, one at each entrance. A monster tiki bar under the chickee with seating on all four sides. The Sky Bar upstairs. And a fifth I’ll come back to. Countless seats between them, most covered, some fully open. Enough license plates, signs, and assorted kitsch nailed overhead to keep you reading for an hour. TVs everywhere, and enough Gator flags to tell you exactly where the loyalties sit.
Is there sand? No. I’d rather tell you now than have you figure it out in the parking lot. What you get instead is water on three sides, boats working in and out, pilings, moored sailboats, and a sunset over the Intracoastal that doesn’t much care that you didn’t get a beach.
Head up to the Sky Bar if you want some elevation with your view. If Arthur is on the stick, you’re in for a night. He’s as chill as the vibe of the place, which is saying something.
Which brings us to the fifth bar. What do you do when you’ve run out of room for another bar at a marina? You pull up a catamaran, paint it bright green, build a tiki hut on the deck, hang a sign that says Boat Bar, and start slinging. Water on all sides. There isn’t a bad seat at the Boat Bar.
I keep coming back to chill because it’s the whole thing here. Chill is tricky, though. It can read as aloof, and sometimes it is, because tourists can be genuinely obnoxious and this staff has seen every version of it. But if you connect, it’s real, and it’s exactly what you want out of a beach bar. It’s a two way street. Be the kind of patron who appreciates chill and the staff will appreciate you right back. Be that guy who snaps his fingers and demands service, and you’re lucky the locals don’t introduce you to the Intracoastal.
The taps lean Florida, which I respect. Islamorada, Cigar City, Funky Buddha, Sailfish, Copperpoint out of Boynton, Civil Society out of Jupiter. And one handle is a Golden Road and Kona collaboration called Beach Bum. A building that’s been standing since 1889 now pours a beer with that name? Roll out the red carpet, why don’t you.
Insider Tips
A barback walked by in a shirt reading “World’s Largest Gator Club” over a Florida logo, so I asked. Game days, he said, the place is packed, the lights go blue and orange, and every time the Gators score, Jell-O shots come out.
Gator fans, you have your mecca.
Beach Bar Bum’s Prime Seat
There’s so many. Any seat on the Boat Bar will put a smile on your face, the Sky Bar is a great hangout, and the tiki bar is a classic. But if you grab a seat along the rail next to the boat slips, you can’t go wrong.
And just chill.
Thirsty for more? Dive into the Bum’s full guide to the best beach bars in Florida.
