In its inaugural season, Riva in West Haven has set out to be a lot of things to a lot of people. Hawaiian tiki bar. Live music venue. Legacy hot dog purveyor. Cornhole court. Nightclub. Ice creamery. Sports bar. De facto Little League concession stand. Occasional mechanical bull arena.
It takes a visit or two to figure out what it can be to you.
Even when it comes to entering the grounds, Riva gives you choices: the entrance facing the Little League fields that passes the pink-striped umbrellas of the ice cream parlor; the doors from the main parking lot that take you into the interior bar with its soaring ceiling and giant screens; or the carved front portal opposite the beach, guarded in my experience by a genial, well-muscled bouncer.
Wherever you enter, a live band may be playing on the stage in front of the turf yard, jamming, say, to Travis Tritt’s T-R-O-U-B-L-E. (The website lists dozens of musical acts, with currently announced live and DJ performances stretching well into October.) Children may be playing cornhole while adults lay claim to teal adirondack chairs or orange umbrella tables. The fashion vibe may be various, with the most common look I saw pairing a tank top with a Louis Vuitton pochette that has a spare hair clip on its strap. I can’t say whether the handbags are real, but the young palm trees lining the patio certainly are. (Don’t think about the fact that they’ll probably have to move inside soon.)
Next stops: food and drink (or drink and food. Priorities, yeah?). There’s no table service, so you order food at the counter by the vintage-look “Chick’s” sign and then go sit with your beeper until it’s ready. (If you know your West Haven history, you’ll remember Chick’s, a drive-in with a 65-year legacy that operated at this site until 2015.) The boardwalk food we tried was well-executed: hot dogs, burgers, a giant fried dough. Naturally, there were more choices; the menu ventured as far afield from its drive-in origins as empanadas and a brussels sprout salad. The Pub Salad ($16), featuring hamburger, wasn’t picture-worthy, but its little nests of pickles bore a pleasant resemblance to the ones your kid picks off their Happy Meal. The Fried Chicken Sandwich ($14) and Sweet and Sour Burrito ($14) were each the kind of sweet/salty combo that goes best with medium-to-heavy drinking (disclaimer: goopiness may present logistical challenges).
The perhaps surprising star of our meal was the Italian Sushi ($16): mozzarella, red peppers, black olives and basil wrapped in prosciutto and drizzled with balsamic glaze. Personally I would’ve done without the pizza olives, but overall it was still pleasing to the eye, the teeth and the tastebuds. Another standout was the Tuna Shrimp Salad ($20) featuring pineapple, edamame and mixed greens dressed up with a zippy sesame dressing and a splash of spicy mayo. Glassware would’ve been preferable to eating out of a plastic clamshell (something similar could be said for the drinks), but at least if the party cranks up no one will blow out their flip-flops on broken crockery.
For ordering drinks, you (again) have choices. Take a seat inside beside a cheerful mural that you, West Haven history buff, might recognize as depicting the Savin Rock amusement park, which lasted in one form or another from the 1870s to 1966. Or sidle up to the massive outdoor tiki bar with its thatched-look roof, churning frozen drink machines and cheeky tikis not unlike the ones that burst into animatronic song at Disney parks. One of them is clearly Elvis.
But no prior knowledge is necessary to enjoy these delights. In fact, you might be better off not worrying your pretty head about how Polynesian deities ended up here or where West Haven’s New England vacation-land glory went. Riva wants to serve you a piña colada, virgin or with rum. Don’t overthink it. Along with the tiki drinks, there are many beers on tap and in cans and a whole menu of things in cans that aren’t beer. Non-tiki cocktails included an option that was simple and refreshing: the Cucumber Cooler ($14) with Effen Cucumber Vodka, lime juice, simple syrup, club soda and a slice of cuke.
Riva is a place where you can have literal buckets of fun: the Bucket of Paradise ($20), with Malibu rum, peach schnapps, pineapple juice, OJ and grenadine, or the Sandy Beach ($25.95), a child’s sand bucket filled with soft serve, syrups and marshmallows and topped with a beachscape of graham cracker crumbs, gummi sea creatures and plastic palm trees. Everyone involved emerges sticky and happy. The ice cream side of things is called Sandy Point Creamery. In addition to its no-cover-no-carding entrance by the Little League fields, the Creamery has its own alcohol-free rooftop deck and bird’s-eye view.
Your correspondent grew up eight hours from the nearest beach, so she’s dazzled by the Long Island Sound. I still can’t believe that I can have a drink and look at the sun hitting saltwater on a weekday. That’s all Riva needs to be for me.
In order to give the full beach experience next year, Riva will have to survive the winter. Rumor has it that some of the outdoor parts will be seasonally enclosed, and fire pits stand at the ready. The indoor bar is maximally designed with murals, floor-to-ceiling windows and good screens for football.
Riva’s online reviews are annoyingly peppered with objections to the $10 cover for evenings with live music, many by people who seem not to have actually come inside. I can’t speak to the evening vibe, having only been there for a weekday lunch and a Sunday afternoon hang, but perhaps I’ll be lured back for “Nashville night” with the aforementioned mechanical bull. I won’t worry my own pretty head about mechanical bulls being more of a Texas thing. The $7 “Jamo Shots” might ease the dissonance.
Of course, a visit to Riva is not about getting an authentic Nashville experience. Or an authentic Hawaiian experience. You are not, likewise, in the Hamptons or the Caribbean. But you are most likely within a short drive from your own home, and you’re steps from the beach, damn it, so turn your face to the sun and experience it while it still feels warm.
Written and photographed by Sarah Harris Wallman.
