Palm Springs Sans Bikes

This month my partner and I were looking forward to a weekend getaway in Palm Springs, where a childhood friend’s daughter was getting married. The last time we were in the desert was 2008, when Obama was being inaugurated. Hence, it had been awhile. I recall our getting into a big argument that weekend, going to the art museum, and eating mediocre food. I had high hopes that this weekend would be better. And it was.

Before we headed South, I received some valuable information from our friend George, who also appreciates and writes about food and drink. He sent me a post from website The Infatuation. I eagerly went through its list of best bakeries in LA, trying to figure out which places could be a quick stop off the freeway. We ended up in Glendale, along a street that looked how I imagine it looked sixty years ago, in a good way. The shops were small and locally owned, cars were few and drove slowly, and people were going in and out of the post office, which seemed old fashioned to me (again, in a good way).

Choosing what to order at Zhengyalov Hatz was a breeze as the menu contains only two items: a whole wheat flatbread rolled up with a filling of greens and, for dessert, a diamond-shaped pastry. After giving our order to the no-nonsense cafe owner, we waited mere seconds before she handed us two plates. Another woman behind the counter was rolling out soft-looking dough while a third woman filled it with the sauteed greens and set it to warm on a grill. Our meal was delectable. The menu states that the flatbread (called Zhengyalov Hatz) was filled with “15 types of fresh cut herbs.” Those herbs, including mint and some green onions or chives, were cooked to perfection before being rolled up in a puffy flatbread. We felt both full and righteous after finishing our lunch. This feeling was somewhat tempered by the dessert we quickly devoured. Although the menu stated it was phyllo dough filled with chopped nuts and honey, I detected some pureed dates. But perhaps that flavor was the result of caramelizing the sweetener. Our coffees were just the right accompaniment to this lovely pastry.

The remaining drive was uneventful and full of traffic so were both elated to arrive at our destination and to stretch our legs. For dinner that night, I looked up several places close to where we were staying, but none enticed. We were equally uninspired walking up and down the main drag, Palm Canyon Drive, which was filled with hungry tourists like us.

Then Don noticed (he has an uncanny gift for sniffing out such places) Las Palmas, a small brewery. As he practically skipped through the door, I thought cynically to myself, “Oh, boy. It’s going to be standard brew pub food tonight.” Fortunately, I was completely wrong. That night, pop-up Hoja Blanca had set up a small outdoor kitchen in the back patio of the brewery. The food we ate from these talented cooks was out of this world! I chatted with one and asked him what his favorite items were. He proudly stated that they were all delicious and advised that three plates should suffice. They were and it was. We started with “Shishitos a la Esquite” which were grilled shishito peppers and corn, with a sheen of ancho chili oil, a generous squirt of aioli, cotija cheese, and cilantro. After the first bite, I wasn’t sure I was up for sharing with Don. Every mouthful was savory, salty, and bursting with fresh flavor. Next up were a taco and brussels sprouts. I am certain the taco (which contained a mole and salsa macha) was phenomenal, but my full memory of it was obliterated by the sprouts.

They arrived in a bowl, glistening with some sort of spiced oil and a thin ribbon of purreed greens. The combination of charred, unctuous brussels sprouts, a smattering of pepitas and pine nuts, salty, crumbly cheese, all topped with gorgeous bright green cilantro and edible flowers took my breath away. I kept telling myself to slow down and to eat mindfully, and I did close my eyes reverentially at one point. (Well, I may have kept one eye partially open to monitor Don’s fork). Accompanying this spectacular meal were beer and white natural wine. I wish I could be more specific, but obviously, I was rather myopic about the food.

Saturday dawned warm and sunny. We arrived at the afternoon wedding following a wonderful morning with old, dear friends who live in the desert. Everything about the wedding was carefully planned and beautifully executed, from the short and moving ceremony, to the tasty dinner, to the curated music which made the dance floor vibrate. Still, what remains in my mind is the moment when the sprouts from Hola Blanca arrived at our table, and I am grateful to have new and improved memories of Palm Springs. Finally, if you ever have the chance to see an exhibit of Robert Longo’s work, don’t hesitate. His enormous panels at the Palm Springs Art Museum are remarkable.