Palm Springs in Spring

Saturday, March 5.

Eduardo and I are discussing the relative merits of sweet martinis compared to real martinis made with gin and dry vermouth. Fortunately we do not have to drink something made with vodka, blue curaçao, pineapple juice and soda made for a visiting middle-ager to this shangri-la in the desert.

We arrived last night at our friend Lamar's after a day long flight across the country aboard a packed United plane and then three hours of rush-hour Angeleno traffic to the dark hills of southern California. His home is wonderfully decorated with a collection of antiques from his folks' homes in Texas, then resident in his home in Woodley Park, Washington, with touches of his late love George. Eduardo adds the touch of elegance, making drinks one enjoys and allowing the use of his computer when mine refused to connect to the local network.

Life here seems to revolve around visits with friends and trips to rather nice restaurants. Last night about 9 we rolled into Wangs in the Desert, a Chinese restaurant where we happily killed two bottles of Joel Gott Sauvignon Blanc and Chardonnay (one each) ordered to match first a collection of pork, vegetable and seafood dim sum dumplings and then the dishes we ordered: beef with bok choy, twice cooked pork with smoked dried to-fu, kung-pao shrimp, and chicken with a garlic sauce. We went through it all and closed the restaurant. A lovely evening.

Arising this morning, we headed off to Shermans Kosher-style deli for a fish breakfast of bagels, coffee, juice and herrings. We introduced Lamar and Eduardo to gefilte fish (not peppery enough, but good). The lox smoked salmon was low-salt which made for a good taste and the egg-white omelette met every expectation. The decaf coffee was excellent and the waitress had a lovely wry wit to go with it.

From there it was off to the Indian Canyons in the Agua Caliente Reservation. The mile long Andreas Canyon walk was gentle, but not excessively easy. The green-ness of the site is not what you expect in the desert, but at this time of year after a wet winter, the California hills are more green than brown (read golden). The small flowers are in bloom in the crevices of the massively upthrusting rock formations and the occasional cactus present their yellow and magenta flowers. In the distance, the snow-capped mountains made for an afternoon of views.

We finished up mid-day with lunch at Spencers, with salads and beer...though Ben was more into his extra dry cappucino. Lamar and I headed for Stella Artois and Corona respectively. Eduardo enjoyed his asparagus soup and an ordinary Caesar's salad--chopped too finely, but with fried blackened shrimp, which tended to make up for fine chopping. Ben enjoyed his portobello sandwich and the same soup, while Lamar scarfed down his blackened ahi tuna salad and I my Asian chicken salad. We all helped Eduardo finish his sherbets--mango, lemon and raspberry.

Along the way we stopped by to see Gary and Bob whom we had not seen since a trip to Paris many years ago.

Fortunately shorts will be in order in this casual town. And even at dinner. We ate at Tropicale Restaurant, a recently reopened restaurant on the main strip. Regrettably we can only give the place a C+. While the ambient sound level was fine--we could hear each other--the courses were generally mediocre. While Eduardo was very satisfied with his goal cheese pizza, Ben and Lamar were disappointed with their dry halibut steaks, and I found my Moroccan meatball appetizer a bit industrial. We felt that most of the dishes could have been produced anywhere. Costco's might have been better; there was not a taste of lamb left. My pizza, chicken and maple syrup, which I chose because I thought it might be an interesting taste, not for a great love of maple, was ordinary. Bob seemed to enjoy his meatball piazza, and Gary made a good effort to eat an entirely overwhelming Cobb salad and some sauteed collard greens. The wine Ben chose, an unoaked Iron Horse chardonnay, was also disappointing.

All in all the company made up for it, but Tropicale does not get a recommendation.

We passed by the local Indian casino on the way home. It's not as impressive as the grand Morongo Casino we passed on the way from LA--no tower with lights flashing for its nightly specials--but it showed how much of the lands around here are owned by Indian tribes. We hope they make money from them.