A Weekend of Eating in Palm Springs
The smell of warm butter and garlic landed a strong uppercut to my tastebuds as we walked through the door of Pomme Fritte, and I knew we were in the right place. I was salivating before we were seated at the back of this bustling institution.
Our waitperson was a career server; he knew everyone in the restaurant, spouting off jokes and jabs as his large frame darted surprisingly nimbly between the tightly packed tables. We sipped Champagne quietly as we waited for our escargots, eavesdropping on a large group of movie execs gossiping about former clients behind us (my lips are staying sealed here, but we heard some good goss).
The meal — filled with French favourites and lots of red wine — was familiar and exciting at the same time and summed up all my feelings about Palm Springs, a colourful, warm and wonderful place to relax.
A quick Google search of this Californian town reveals a rainbow of pastel-hued mid-century houses and poolside umbrellas dotted with palm trees — an Instagrammers heaven. But the Disneyland of modernist architecture offers more than great photo-ops; it’s all about the old Hollywood glam, the architecture, the dining, the citrus, oh my!
I have friends who go every winter to relax by the pools, eat great food and hike in Joshua Tree but I didn’t quite get the magic of Palm Springs until I was sitting under one of those pretty umbrellas sipping on an impossibly good margarita with mountain vistas peeking past the 1960s courtyard of our hotel. This place is my wonderland and it’s nothing like I thought it would be. Sure, there were a lot of, ahem, old people, but dang on a Saturday night, the bar and restaurant patios along Palm Canyon Drive were bopping — filled with millennial bachelorette parties, weekend adventurers from L.A. and of course those balling boomers.
Adam and I both fell in love after one single weekend cycling through the quiet streets gawking at where Elvis had his honeymoon, lying by the pool of an expertly restored mid-century hotel and brunching with views of the 1930s Spanish Colonial-style resort stores of La Plaza.
If retirement is palm trees, glamorous cocktail bars and historical societies then sign me up!
Palm Springs remains a fantastic place to retire, but with a recent influx of hipster hotel chains like Ace along with ultra-high-end resort hotels catering to the Hollywood elite, this glamorous little enclave in the desert has remained well-manicured, and well-enjoyed, for over a century. And, like most trendy destinations, there are lots of new and hot dining options in Palm Springs — I tried in vain to land a table at the James Beard-winning Bar Cecil. But one of the best parts of dining in Palm Springs was actually the long-standing institutions.
All this to say, I’m now obsessed with Palm Springs and if you love plump citrus trees, gorgeous historical architecture and a fantastic dining scene as much as I do, you will be too.
Here’s where we ate in Palm Springs.
We rolled into town just as the sun set over the San Jacinto Mountains, giving the already rainbow-hued buildings a warm sepia tone. After a 5-hour drive from Vegas through the Mohave desert we were so grateful to land at our hotel, The Saguaro. I’ll write a newsletter about the hotel someday, but this colourful hotel was opened as the International Hotel in 1964, spending much of its life as a Holiday Inn until it was turned into the fantastic retro rainbow of architecture it is today.
The hotel restaurant is decidedly not a restaurant hotel. Although El Jefe does offer great room service and breakfast to guests (think chilaquiles, acai bowls and date shakes), it makes the “best of Palm Springs” list for its great Mexican cuisine, plus it’s just a fun (and hip) place to be.
We dined on the patio overlooking the courtyard and downed the saltiest, limiest margaritas I’ve ever had — a flavour I’m still chasing a year later. We devoured Baha fish tacos with crispy battered mahi and chipotle mayo, not stopping to wipe the juices running down our arms from the cochinita pibil tacos with pork and pineapple — even the house-made chips and salsa were fantastic.
After brunch at Wilma & Frieda’s overlooking La Plaza on Palm Canyon Drive, I was ready to move to Palm Springs both to join the historical society’s fight to save the 1930s theatre across the street and to eat at this institution every weekend. The comfortable restaurant with a menu filled with comfort food has been open for over a decade.
Giant cups of coffee brought us back to life after a very early morning driving around looking at all the famous homes in Palm Springs (thanks jet lag, but really thanks) and we read about the history of the town and its evolution from a cheap movie set to glamorous getaway for Hollywood. Then came the food — I had the Benny’s Bennie which arrived at the table with two eggs cradled by onion rings and a bridge of Duroc pork girdering the English muffins drowning in Hollandaise that was accompanied by a fantastically large hashbrown. Adam opted for the Signature Griddled Meatloaf with Eggs and house-made potatoes. I love a place that has multiple breakfast potato options.
One afternoon we took advantage of The Saguaro’s fleet of bicycles on offer to take a ride back in time through the well-manicured streets of Deepwell Estates near the hotel, where the likes of Eva Gabor, Jerry Lewis and William Holden once had homes. Naturally, we developed a thirst gawking at all that mid-century beauty, so we headed to Kreem for some ice cream.
As that California sun hit my face during the first lick of Creme Brulee ice cream I left my body for a moment — perfectly sweet and savoury cream cradled the crunchy bits of brulee which we all know is the best part. I don’t even know what flavour Adam had because I blacked out in delight.
I’ll spare you a rambling tale of this meal — I briefly raved about the garlicky and convivial atmosphere in the introduction to this newsletter, but I will talk about the food at Pomme Fritte, a Belgian bistro that has been serving delicious fare on Palm Canyon since the 1990s.
To start, we enjoyed the split roasted bone marrow and escargots, both enrobed in garlic and butter (shocker) and for the mains Adam went with the lamb chops while I went with my classic Steak Frites — which arrived at the table with half fries and half salad, which is, in my humble opinion, the best way to eat steak frites.
Before hitting the road to spend a few days hiking in Joshua Tree we braved the lineup outside Sherman’s Deli on the recommendation of at least a dozen people (most of whose food opinions I trust). The family-run Sherman’s Kosher-style restaurant has been open since 1953 and they operate like the delicious, well-oiled machine they are. Like most Jewish delis’ the line was expedited with precision and a quick pace; we were seated on the patio with fountain Cokes in record time.
Amidst the clattering silverware and chatter of families and friends, I consumed what must be the largest Club Sandwich in the entire world — on the menu, they literally say “it’s huge” typed out next to the Triple Decker Club Sandwich’s description —and I loved every bite of it. Adam opted for their iconic Pastrami on Rye that was piled oh so very high.
My first book, Where We Ate: A Field Guide to Canada’s Restaurants, Past and Present is a best-seller! You can learn about how poutine was invented, cook up meals from your favourite restaurants AND it makes a great coffee table book. Buy it wherever you buy books.
ncG1vNJzZmifkZevurzEsquopl6owqO%2F05qapGaTpLpwvI6pmKWlXai9s7XNoKpmqpWowaLB0Zqlras%3D