I’m convinced that the winding PCH down to Malibu is the best drive in the Golden State. I prefer it with the windows slightly down, to welcome a whistling ocean breeze, that mixes like brown sugar in a cappuccino–seamlessly–with classic rock melodies as they escape the car; all while taking in the waves (that easily rival packaged glitter for shine) on the right and the sunlit mountains on the left. It’s a Cali dream, if there ever was one.
It’s all so alluring I decide to head down south on a Friday afternoon for a one-day getaway–because sometimes you need to cave to impulse. I arrive just shy of sunset at The Surfrider. The self-proclaimed “California beach house” is perched across from the pier, providing the best Malibu has to offer; good views, good food (drinks too), and good vibes, in true surf-culture form.
With its natural wood floors and raw-cut accent furniture, peaceful beige palette, and modern-meets-coastal-chic aesthetic, it’s the kind of place that will make the most proper guests throw up a shaka sign. I skip unpacking and opt to watch the sun set from my suite’s private balcony. Between the wicker chair and a tassel-adorned hammock, I choose the latter — swinging into bliss as the view transforms from a pastel gradient to a fire in the sky. If this is “beach living,” I’m ready to trade in my stilettos and the ride the wave.
Around dusk, and post-traffic, my best friend joins me in the “Library” (the perfect spot to catch up on work or enjoy one of the many coffee table books) of the boutique hotel. We head out to dinner, leaving contemporary luxury behind for something more timeless and classic: Mastro’s. The restaurant is absolutely packed. Waiters in crisp white jackets deliver culinary masterpieces to tables that are buzzing with laughter, toasts, and utter delight. We place our extravagant order and proceed to catch up on everything. Before I have the chance to finish my first bit of news our handsome waiter arrives with two lemon drop filled shakers (the drinks are poured at the table, and presentation is key). With a sugar rim that’s more reminiscent of yellow diamonds than candy, and a dry ice-induced smoke show, the cocktail is more dramatic (in the best way) than a season of The Bachelor. As we indulge in one too many pieces of heavenly bread and a few obligatory cheers, our apps make their way onto the table. Buttery tuna sashimi is ignited with a soy chili tostada sauce and topped with delicate, yet biting jalapeño slices — it’s sushi expert-approved. For the dozen oysters we went with a split, half from each coast, and in true California girl form I preferred the West, go figure.
The five-star service and equally rated dining is juxtaposed by crashing waves, modestly lit up by the restaurant. I tear myself away from the window, just in time to see the good stuff: our 16-ounce filet mignon, split in two. From the sides of fluffy potatoes sprinkled with generous lobster pieces and the truffle-packed cheesy gnocchi, to the melt-in-your-mouth steak, it is decadence at its finest. Turns out, oysters really are an aphrodisiac…because I engaged in a full-on affair with my 400-degree plate. Just when I think the end is near, as in I may not survive my gluttonous evening, we get a candle-topped butter cake. I take a bite, convinced it was created by a magical force. Nothing can be that delectable. The cake comes back with us, in a sleek black box (a classy touch). We return to the suite for some rosé and gossip on the balcony, and take in the shimmering sky and brisk salty air.
I awake before my alarm to a playful glow. The piercing golden rays cut right through the linen drapes, illuminating the spacious suite. I proceed to the rooftop deck that looks far more like a hip Venice hangout than a hotel dining area. Note: the deck is only open to guests, keeping it intimate and exclusive, after all it is LA. I sip on my decorated cappuccino as the sugar melts away the server’s design, while reading a book in a cozy, pillow-adorned couch. Several chapters later I notice the quickly growing line outside the Malibu Farm Restaurant, just across the road, and realize brunch time is approaching.
The trendy spot boasts two locations, the restaurant at the beginning of the pier and the café, casually placed at the end. I take a coveted table outside along the glass wall; it keeps me safe from the building wind, yet gives me front-row seating to the ocean’s synchronized dance. I begin my meal with a shot…not that kind! This one’s “for your health,” and it’s got a kick thanks to a clever concoction of ginger, lemon and turmeric. Inspired by my healthy choice I continue on the path with a cauliflower crust “pizza.” Crisped edges, a crunchy raw cauliflower topping, homemade pesto, and cooked tomato slices mimic the real deal, while a frittata-like center makes the dish ideal for brunch. After two good choices I am ready for a “bad” one. I treat myself to the f’rose, a sweet, yet refreshing take on my favorite wine — it’s the adult slushy we’ve all been waiting for.
As I bask in the warmth of the beating sun, my entree arrives and I realize there’s something truly calming about listening to crashing waves playing a private show while enjoying mouth-watering skirt steak tacos. Yes, that right there is my happy place — on a pier in Malibu, eating farm-to-table food at a locally owned hot spot.
I leave Malibu with a happy heart, a full (maybe too full) belly, and a deep desire to return.
From views that left me smiling in awe, to unforgettable meals that I will no doubt crave for weeks to come, my stay left me relaxed, inspired and in a state of pure joy. Who knew such goodness was just a short, scenic route away?
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