I’m kind of crushing on August right now.I love it when you don’t make any plans and one thing leads to another and you end up by the beach gorging on a seafood platter during the golden hour. And like L.A., it’s always “on.” It closes only on Thanksgiving, and a first-timer might do well to test the waters (so to speak) on a weekday, before venturing in during the crush of a weekend.īut the weekend is where it’s at: the bikes, the chatty lines, the showoffs, the quintessential California moments.Įach hour, the ocean gets bluer, the sun softer, the blonds bleachier. “This is fabulous, very fun,” she says as the late afternoon winds begin to spin. But she notes that this feels like Sturgis too, except that you have that magnificent ocean as your backdrop, as well as the rejuvenating breezes, no sloppy summer air, as in most places in August. Kim Thompson is here for the first time from South Dakota, where the famed Sturgis motorcycle rally is under way. “Get the chowder in a regular bowl, not the bread bowl,” advises Lisa Amar from Oxnard, a Neptune’s regular with her husband, Franco. Nice boots? Where you from? Ever tried the chowder? Here’s the thing about long lines, though: If you’re going to live in L.A., you’d best learn the art of chatting up strangers. Or to settle in at the curb where the motorcycles roll in, as if crossing Neptune’s red carpet. There’s always room, and one fine option is to take your crab cake basket across the road to that bench on the beach. Have one person wait to grab a table, while another takes a place in line. Most times, I prefer the restaurant side, where the counter service takes longer and the tables are in short supply. Think of it as the secret speakeasy in the back. There are two areas to Neptune’s: the main restaurant that serves fried food and burgers and the often-overlooked seafood counter to the right, serving ceviche, steamed lobster and peel-and-eat shrimp.
If the fast-and-furious vibe doesn’t click your clock, the food will - perfectly fried calamari and shrimp, in a suit coat of batter, served hot as a Harley and lickety-split. Her boyfriend, Steve Michaels, is a little more fretful about the stunt cyclists, a reminder that he isn’t as young or stupid as he once was. Taking note of the daredevils performing along the highway, she shrugs and decides: “This is cool. “I really like how nothing changes here,” Oatway says. Oatway and her boyfriend, Tom Skene, soaked up some morning waves at nearby Zuma and are now self-soothing in this seafood emporium, opened in 1956 by Eastman Jacobs. But you just really need to say it aloud: That is insane. “That’s insane,” says Angelika Oatway, stating the obvious. Every 20 minutes, some idiot rider with a death wish pops a long wheelie as he exits the premises. A CNN crew is here taping a travel piece. The crowd is jovial, chatty, turned on by the spectacle of all this. To be honest, it looks like a hillbilly wedding - all ages, all types, swirly hair, the whiff of good ganja.įront and center are the motorcyclists and their heaving machines, crackling hot and panting at the curb like horses. We roll in looking like a Nick Nolte booking photo, all windblown and reddened from our ride in the Jeep. It tastes like the wave that just broke your board. On a sunny summer weekend, Neptune’s Net is my favorite place on the planet. Yet the most-beloved hangout - to my mind the reason Malibu exists at all - is a landmark roadhouse on the outskirts that is equal parts good grub and great floor show. I’ll place Malibu Farm, the organic cafe on the pier, as one of my favorite lunch spots. There are all sorts of better places to eat up here: Nobu if you want to be seen, and Geoffrey’s if you want to propose. Once in a while, you duck into Mickey D’s just because. The lesson? Malibu is much like anywhere else.
NEPTUNES NET HOURS DRIVER
We make do with the young woman in the gleaming new Porsche who blows kisses to the driver for letting her in, then cuts sharply into the McDonald’s lot for lunch. This day, there are no celebrities in sight. Throw a stone in Malibu, you’ll hit a Gosling.
Up here, half the dudes resemble Gosling. I would’ve gladly posed for photos, asked how her trademark mole was doing, whether she ever got back to northern Illinois, where we both grew up.Īnd I think another celeb, Ryan Gosling, once cut me off in traffic near the pier, but I can’t be sure. Speaking of wild, I bumped into Cindy Crawford once in Malibu, at a pet store, and she didn’t even recognize me, a significant disappointment.
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