California, here we come, episode 2. In which I have birthday cake by the ocean.

As a kid I never really liked fish.  This despite the fact that my parents were raised on fish, having grown up less than five miles from a beautiful beach teeming with colorful fishing boats harvesting succulent sardines daily.  (Now so good lightly grilled over an open flame, but just yucky as a kid.)  Mom and Dad's favorite was also salt cod prepared expertly by my mom as the local specialty of their region called Bacalhau à Gomes de Sá.  All I know is there was always a bowl with salt cod soaking in the basement laundry room for their Friday night fish fest during which I looked forward to my Friday fish sticks (no boiled potatoes, eggs, onions, olives, or olive oil for me).  I know.  Sad.  I'm not sure exactly why or where or when or how I finally came to appreciate seafood as an adult, but I could eat it every day now...

...except for fish sticks.

Nobody should eat frozen "fish" sticks.

Ever.

As I started planning our California adventure, my third priority (try to keep up:  TPIR was first, fleamarketing was second) was finding just the right location to enjoy a 50th birthday meal. That's even more pressure than I usually give myself, but the answer was right in front of me   (I was staring at the open Maps app on my iPad at the time of my epiphany).  Nobu.

No, Nobu Matsuhisa didn't suddenly add meatloaf to his restaurant menu, smarty pants, but dining at a Nobu restaurant has always been on my travel lists and our future proximity to the famed Malibu location made this the perfect foodie 50-is-fabulous opportunity.

Here are some excerpts from my diary this past summer...

Called Nobu Malibu immediately after realizing I would be near a Nobu and near Malibu.

Was told they take reservations 30 days in advance.

Called back 31 days in advance.

Told them I wanted a reservation for my 50th birthday in 31 days.

Was wished a happy birthday in advance and told to call back tomorrow.

Got the message.
Yada yada.

Got the reservation!

Admittedly, not as fascinating a read as Pepys or Jones (Bridget), but you get the idea.  I'm sometimes a frustrated obsessive planner, but I get the job done.  Birthday dinner was inked onto the schedule and exactly 30 days later, Mari and I snapped that happy little photo of ourselves about to walk into Nobu for our 6:00 PM reservation so we could enjoy dinner while watching the sunset.

I love my wife.

That 30 days gave me (barely) plenty of time to study the exhaustively appetizing menu so I could suggest some pleasantly palatable alternatives to my non-sushi loving wife.  Fortunately, the incredibly broad menu offered almost too many dining options for just one meal (almost).  I am not in the habit of photographing my food, but I did on this occasion so I could later savor the memories of one of my most mouthwateringly memorable and adventurous meals.

At left is my favorite, the Eggplant Spicy Miso; Lilliputian but potent.  Don't ask about the emerald green celebratory concoction (mostly because I don't remember what it was called or from what it was concocted).  Center stage is the Maine Lobster with Spicy Garlic.  Not sure this is what Maine lobstermen had in mind for their fresh catch, but amazing (if not well-traveled) nonetheless.  Finally, we had to try the signature Black (not my parents' bacalhau) Cod with Miso.  I want everything in miso now.

If you do make it out to Malibu for your own celebration, be sure to give yourself plenty of time to investigate the meticulously comprehensive menu online as well as plenty of time to inch along the last few miles of an always overflowing PCH.

noburestaurants.com

Unfortunately, there is no birthday cake on the Nobu menu, but we managed to share some sweet substitutes.  Besides, I'm definitely not a kid any more and a birthday creme brulee never fails to hit the spot nor fill a gap in a sweet tooth.

Lingering over an expertly paced meal and an equally satisfying sunset didn't leave much natural light for this final souvenir photograph, but you get the idea.

Now that I was 50, it was past my (California dreaming) bedtime and we had a fleamarket to get to the next morning in Long Beach.

Unearthing West Coast fleamarket treasures for the first time and the first of those few flavorful hot dogs next time.