In Koreatown — L.A.’s ultimate all-night destination — people continue to pretty much do what they want. A frenzy of cocktail lounges, karaoke bars, barbecue joints and speakeasies, it’s not a place for the faint-hearted—or the weak-livered. We shall see if I can live up to the legacy of Messrs. Marvin and Burton.

I have an hour or so to kill before I’m due to meet my fellow Brits Andrew and Katie. So I head over to Wi Spa, a 24-hour massage parlor a few blocks from HMS Bounty. As I lay face down on the bed, naked and already wine-groggy, I wonder if I’ll come to regret this decision. But it’s too late for misgivings: a septuagenarian Korean-American lady is already walking up and down my spine, cracking my errant vertebrae with her toes. I cry out in muffled agony, but she shows no mercy. For a woman of such advanced years, she has incredibly strong hands — not to mention feet — and she’s not about to go easy on a timid tourist like me. I leave Wi Spa sore but satisfied, park my car in an all-night lot, and steel myself for the hours to come.

Andrew and Katie meet me at Soot Bull Jeep, which has a reputation for knockout Baby Back Ribs. We are the restaurant’s least likely patrons: Katie is vegan, and neither Andrew nor I eat pork. But it doesn’t seem to matter — there’s a long list of dishes to try. Katie chooses glass noodles, while Andrew and I opt for marinated chicken and shrimp. Perhaps not what a macho leading man would have ordered, but everything is excellent.