By DCist contributor Rob Kunzig

This is how you do an ice cream luge: take an ice cream sandwich, lick a furrow in the side, and pour a shot of amaro — a bittersweet Italian liqueur — down the trench and into your mouth.

But the woman at Pop’s SeaBar, a board shorts-causal bar and snacks joint in Adams Morgan, is skeptical. Her ice cream sandwich is half-thawed and a little mushed. Instead of trenching, she chomps half the sandwich and shoots the tiny pitcher of amaro.

She didn’t follow directions, but she captured the spirit: When you’re eating at Pop’s, says owner Justin Abad, you shouldn’t take anything too seriously.

“When we came up with this, we thought, ‘How do we make it fun? How do we make it unique?’”

Pop’s is an homage to Florida’s gulf coast — Abad’s native shores — and the beaches of New Jersey, where partner and executive chef John Manolatos spent his summers as a child. The mood is easy and airy; high ceilings and strong, even lighting give the feeling of happy hour in June (which will be welcome in February, or maybe just depressing). Lamps fashioned from crab baskets hang over the bar; wood signs — hand painted by Manolatos’ girlfriend, artist Megan Lloyd — advertise the oysters of the day.

The menu is simple, short and salty, a roster of upgraded boardwalk fare: hot dogs get wrapped in Taylor Pork Roll (spam-like, sodium-soaked, Jersey-made and delicious) and topped with cole slaw; the chicken gets brined, fried and dunked in Jersey Sauce — tartar with a twist of capers and pickles. Crabcakes and fried catfish make an appearance, along with smaller plates like rockfish ceviche and smelts, minnow-sized fish fried with hot pickles and served up with tartar sauce.

Wedged into a shotgun shack on Columbia Road, Pop’s is the progeny of Cashion’s Eat Place, its neighbor and Abad’s and Manolatos’ first venture. It started with a joke, Abad says: Manolatos would always say they should roll up their D.C. operations, head to a warm, sunny beach and set up a seafood shack.

In St. Petersburg, Abad says, Pop’s would be nothing special. In D.C., the lack of pretentiousness is a novelty.

“John said, ‘People take themselves so seriously here. Why can’t we all just relax?’ That’s kind of what Pop’s is,” Abad says.

The cocktail roster is curated by Eddie Kim, formerly of Room 11. Each drink seems purpose-made to defeat D.C’s smothering heat. The orange crush comes in a tall glass with crushed ice and a slice of citrus; if you drink one, you’ll drink seven. For the rum-inclined, the jungle bird mixes 8-year El Dorado with Cappelletti, pineapple and lime.

The Down and Dirty Rickey stands out: Green Hat gin, lime, and a bracing pour of pickle shrub (vinegar syrup). It tastes like a mouthful of Jersey seawater, with only slightly more booze. It’s the perfect antidote for the torpor of deep summer, something to make you smack your lips in surprise.

But this is Northwest D.C., and the laid-back aesthetic doesn’t make for a laid-back tab. The ceviche gets served in a small plastic cup — beachy! — but runs $9.99.

Still, on the verge of autumn, Pop’s seems determined to spearhead an endless summer. Pumpkin beer can wait — there’s ice cream to be luged.