On Par

Timeless Mediterranean-inspired hideaway Casa Palmero lies in the heart of the Monterey Peninsula, boasting prestigious golf courses, delicious Californian fare, and pristine ocean views

Tick! I swing my attention to the lush green rolling hills to find a golf ball soaring through the air, the slits between towering cypress trees acting as my windows to the sea. The dusk light dances across the beaming blue ocean, bougainvillea lining the terra cotta walls, human silhouettes illuminated above the rocky coastline. I’m sipping an Old Fashioned, my body enveloped by the warmth of the fire pit, as we laugh with five perfect strangers under a pink sky. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I found heaven. 

Nestled in one of the most pristine caverns of California lies Pebble Beach: an adult playground for golf fanatics, epicures, and wellness junkies alike. The prestigious private community and resort rests on the Monterey Peninsula, speckled with golf courses and luxury homes nestled in the Del Monte Forest, and is bordered by the whimsical village of Carmel-by-the-Sea. We find ourselves at one of several properties in the resort, Casa Palmero, on a sunny Friday afternoon, checking in for 36 hours of pure, unadulterated, food-filled bliss. The boutique hotel, tucked along the iconic 17-Mile Drive, serves as an intimate hideaway for travelers and locals. Originally built in 1927, the property merges a modern sensibility with an air of timeless luxury, characterized by Spanish architecture, historic fountains, and pinstripe chaise pool lounges.

We establish our evening’s agenda on arrival: acquire a crisp glass of vino, whirl around the resort in a golf cart, and dip into the in-room soaking tub. A quick wardrobe change brings us to the hotel’s nightly cocktail hour in the estate’s main-house, where I enjoy a local wine flight and consume my body weight in a bottomless prawn cocktail. We chat with our bartender, who anecdotally shares the history of the Negroni, to which we are easily persuaded to enjoy. Naturally, we’re fashionably late for our dinner reservation at the Inn at Spanish Bay, all-consumed by a game of pool in Casa Palmero’s Billiard Room. We dash to the circular drive where a golf-cart scoops and delivers us to Sticks at the Inn. 

We’re seated along outdoor firepits, the remnants of daylight slipping behind the horizon, as a slew of golfers pour in from the course. A Smoked Cinnamon Old Fashioned feels like a proper kickstart to dinner, conjuring a warmth and ease as we settle into the space, our spread quickly following. We begin with a whipped honey ricotta topped with marcona almonds, aleppo peppers, and citrus wine-poached pears, a sidecar of crusty sourdough from Ad Astra Bread Co. to accompany. My taste buds dance between sweet liquory pears and the zing of furikake ranch coating a plate of perfectly-blistered shishito peppers. The star of the show arrives: a Jidori half-chicken roasted in sumac and za’atar, sitting on a bed of saffron-infused couscous with harissa crème fraîche. A symphony of unexpected flavors and spices carry through each dish, while preserving the familiar heartiness of a comfort meal. 

We banter with our firepit neighbors, sinking further into food comas and our chairs, as a lively buzz carries us through our evening. We return to Casa Palmero in a similar fashion as our departure, this time with an insatiable hankering for a bath. I swing open the French doors separating the bathroom from the suite, sinking into the gargantuan tub, sipping a nightcap of bubbles among bubbles. The fireplace roars me into a hazy lull. 

Tick! I rise to a view of dawn patrollers on Hole 1, a knock on our door signaling the delivery of breakfast. A gentleman unpacks a picnic basket brimming with pastries, fruits, fixings, and coffee, which I practically inhale before dawning my waffle-knit bathrobe to beeline for The Spa at Pebble Beach, a Forbes Five-Star wellness haven. My morning is enjoyed in a state of flotation-wrap hibernation, but not before my attempt to wake myself via Wim Hof in the cold plunge. The massage therapist lathers me in a cocktail of South American coffee oil, Italian lemons, and Madagascan cinnamon, before enrobing me in a cloth to suspend over a water bed. I feel as though I’ve entered a cocoon, a state of zero-gravity floating through space, with little to no concept of time. I emerged as though I’ve been rebirthed into the candlelit room, a restorative nap to follow (required after one too many glasses of albariño the night prior). 

My state of relaxation whisks me poolside for tanning and reading, a much needed pitstop to work up an appetite for the Pebble Beach Food + Wine Festival. The festival is hosted annually by the Pebble Beach Company Foundation non-profit, encapsulating the essence of Pebble Beach’s hospitality and craftsmanship in the food and beverage space. We’re escorted a mile and a half down the road from Casa Palmero to the tasting pavilion, an epicure’s dreamscape of over 40 tastings prepared by renowned chefs across the country, and creative libations ranging from Casamigos tequila blackberry ice-cream floaters to “tiny ‘tinis” at Tanqueray’s french fry booth. Our first (and favorite) stop of the afternoon is the Peroni tent, where we enjoy beer spritzes and Osso Bucco with burrata and Calabrian chile oil prepared by Chef Antonia Lofaso. This is swiftly followed by Chef Karen Akunowicz’s arancini bites with honey, flurried in thick shavings of black truffle. Swoon. 

We peruse a variety of purveyors before settling in Veuve Clicquot’s outdoor Sun Club. The tent, reminiscent of a day club in the South of France, is draped in gold and white stripes, beach loungers and floating buckets of ice accenting the space. Pop! “The best sound in the world!” muses the bartender, to which their companion remarks, “The best sound is no sound,” with a wink. A jubilant energy fills the air, a smile plastered to everyone’s face. I suppose it’s hard not to smile among life’s greatest pleasures: a crisp glass of rosé champagne, the hot California sun, and a French omelette smothered in caviar. 

Our day of gourmandizing spills into evening social hour at Hay’s Place, the local watering hole situated on The Hay short course designed by Tiger Woods. My eyes being bigger than my stomach—despite our carnival of feasting—we opt for my personal match made in heaven: Aperol spritzes and a plate of hot, salty calamari. We relish in the company of friends made along our way, recounting the day’s festivities and sharing anecdotes. We watch groups of golfers tee off, musing about our own repertoire (or lack thereof). Our swings could use some work; but let’s just say our favorite shot of the day is often taken at the 19th hole.