When Captain Keno's closed after 54 legendary years, a piece of Encinitas' soul went with it. But the iconic red booths—witnesses to countless late nights and local stories—now live on at Breakers.
If you grew up in Encinitas, you know the feeling. That moment you'd push through the door at Captain Keno's, eyes adjusting to the low light, feet finding the familiar sticky floor. The smell of cheap beer and frying food. The sound of laughter bouncing off wood-paneled walls. And those booths—those deep red, tufted leather booths that had held generations of locals before you ever slid in.
For 54 years, Captain Keno's was more than a restaurant. It was our living room. Our pregame spot. Our post-surf refuel station. The place where surfers met fishermen, where groms sat next to old-timers, where everyone was welcome regardless of whether you had two dollars or two hundred in your pocket.
When Keno's closed its doors on September 30, 2024, it felt like losing a family member. But this story isn't about an ending. It's about how a piece of that legacy lives on—right here at Breakers.
Every great dive bar has an origin story, and Keno's was no exception.
Gerry Sova was 30 years old in 1970 when he walked into a casino in Las Vegas and hit it big on the keno machines. Most people would've blown those winnings on something flashy. Gerry had a different idea.
He took that money—around $100,000—and bought a run-down building on Coast Highway 101 in Leucadia for $110,000. The place had been the Shamrock Café back in the day, a drive-in spot for people cruising between San Diego and LA. Then it became El Rancho Steak House. By the time Gerry got his hands on it, the building had been sitting empty for years.
His first day? He made sixteen dollars. Sixteen bucks. Encinitas only had about 6,000 people back then, and most of them didn't know he existed.
When I had no customers, in the '70s, I used to go out there and stand on the street and flag people in.
— Gerry Sova
But Gerry was stubborn in the best way. He kept at it. And slowly, word spread. The locals started showing up. Then they kept coming back.
Here's what made Keno's different from every other spot on the coast: Gerry refused to jack up his prices.
While new restaurants were charging fifteen bucks for a cocktail, you could walk into Keno's and get a well drink for three dollars. Three. Dollars. The spaghetti dinner? $2.99. Shrimp cocktail? $1.99. Chicken fried steak with all the fixings? Under five bucks. You could roll in with a twenty and buy a round for your whole crew.
Cash only, obviously. There was an ATM in the bar if you needed it.
For generations of local kids—surfers, skaters, high schoolers, college students home for the summer—Keno's was the great equalizer. You didn't need money to hang there. You just needed to show up.
But the prices were only part of it. What really made Keno's legendary was the vibe.
Picture it: a maze of different dining areas, each with its own personality. The main room with those giant red booths. The 70s diner-style section. A weird little living room area next to the bar. Wood paneling everywhere. Christmas lights that stayed up year-round. Vintage beer signs. The kind of controlled chaos that you can't design—it just happens over decades of people living their lives in a place.
Fishermen would come in straight from the boats, salt still crusting their jackets. Surfers would stumble in after dawn patrol, half-asleep and starving. Retirees would nurse their coffees at the counter. Rockers would pregame before shows. Families would bring their kids for Sunday breakfast.
Everyone mixed. Nobody cared who you were or where you came from. The only rule was to be cool.
For over 40 years, Gerry hosted free Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners for anyone who showed up. Five hundred to six hundred people would come through, no questions asked. If you could pay, you'd throw in three bucks. If you couldn't, you ate anyway. That was Keno's.
In 2021, developer RAF Pacifica Group bought the land under Keno's for $10.5 million. Everyone knew what was coming, but we didn't want to believe it.
The final night—September 30, 2024—was exactly what you'd expect. The place was packed. People who hadn't been in years showed up for one last drink. Strangers hugged each other. The jukebox played all the old songs. By closing time, folks were walking out with anything they could carry: bar stools, light fixtures, framed photos off the walls.
Gerry, 84 years old, took it in stride. The man had given Encinitas 54 years of his life. He'd fed thousands of people who couldn't afford a meal. He'd created a space where an entire community could find each other.
When Benji Weatherley heard Keno's was closing, he knew he had to do something.
Benji grew up around here. He's surfed these waves his whole life, came up through the same spots as the rest of us. He knew what Keno's meant. And when he was building out Breakers—bringing his family's Hawaiian cafe legacy from Haleiwa to Encinitas—he had a vision.
The idea of buying all this stuff is to repurpose it, to preserve the nostalgia of this town.
— Benji Weatherley
So he bought the booths. Those iconic, deep red, tufted leather booths that had held fifty years of conversations, first dates, reunions, and late-night confessions. He bought the bar stools. He even grabbed the old O'Hurley's cocktail sign that had been misspelled for 65 years and nobody ever fixed because that was part of the charm.
Now they're here. At Breakers. The same booths where your parents might have met. The same seats where you plotted your first real surf trip. The same red leather that soaked up decades of spilled beer and belly laughs.
When you slide into one of those booths at Breakers, you're not just sitting down for a meal. You're connecting with something bigger. You're part of a story that stretches back to 1970, when a guy with some keno winnings and a dream flagged people in off the highway.
The building on Coast Highway is gone now. They're putting up condos where Gerry once served $2.99 spaghetti. That's the way it goes sometimes.
But the spirit? The spirit is right here.
Next time you're at Breakers, ask to sit in one of the Keno's booths. Run your hand over that red leather. Think about all the conversations these seats have witnessed. Then order some garlic shrimp, grab a Mai Tai, and add your own chapter to the story.
Breakers Cafe Bar Grill 481 Santa Fe Dr., Encinitas, CA
Gerry Sova gave this town something irreplaceable. Benji made sure it didn't disappear completely. And now, every time someone settles into one of those booths at Breakers, the good times keep rolling.
That's what community looks like at this Hawaiian restaurant in Encinitas. That's what aloha means.
Mahalo to Gerry Sova for 54 years of keeping it real. And mahalo to everyone who ever called Keno's home. The booths remember.
